Page 45 of Recruited By the Billionaire

“Watch me, you whore!” Cole yelled back at her and tried to corner her. But she kept moving. He wouldn’t allow her to go to her bedroom, and he could easily cut her off if she tried to head for the front door again. That was why she made a run for the only clear path left: her kitchen.

Cole, realizing what she was doing, and the weapons that could be in that kitchen, ran after her.

But she was too fast. She was able to make it to the knife block and grab a butcher’s knife so fast that the rest of the knives, and the block, fell to the floor. But before she could even turn around he was upon her. She was able to stab him in the arm, but he was too big and too strong and he grabbed that knife from her angrily and threw her aside. She slammed against her refrigerator.

Then he began coming for her with that knife. “You cut me, you bitch!” he screamed out with a mouthful of spit. “Think some rich guy want somebody like you. I heard your conversation. I’m gonna disfigure your face so no man will ever want you ever again. And then I’m going to get what you should have given me when I first laid eyes on you. Who do you think you are? I’m about to show you who I am!”

Frankie was on her ass trying to back away from him as he lunged for her. But that was what she was waiting for. Because as soon as he lunged that knife at her, she rolled away from him, causing him to nearly lose his balance. But it provided just enough time for her to get back on her feet. He began racing for the door, as if he was certain that was where she was headed, but she knew he was positioned better to beat her to that door.

She made a beeline for her bedroom where her weapon was kept. That was her only option. And she ran as fast as she could.

But Cole was fast too. And he was running behind her. He was so fast on her tail that she couldn’t even close the bedroom door behind her. He was so fast on her tail that all she could do was sling open her nightstand drawer and grab the loaded gun she kept for protection that was staring her in the face.

But as soon as she opened that drawer, Cole was right behind her ready to show her who was the real boss in that bitch. He raised that butcher knife over his head, and was within a half-inch of stabbing it through Frankie’s back with such vengeance that it would have surely killed her. But Frankie grabbed that gun, turned around as fast as she could, and fired it repeatedly. Fired it like a madwoman. Hoping that at least one of those bullets landed.

All of them landed.

But she didn’t realize she hit her target until she saw the knife fall from his hand, and his big body began staggering backwards, as if he wanted to get away from the bullets that were already inside of him. And then he fell on out.

Frankie, relieved and terrified still, covered her mouth as uncontrollable tears fell from her eyes.

And then she heard her front door bust open and footsteps began running toward her. And her fear went into overdrive. Were there other people helping him? Who else would be in her apartment?

When she saw that it was the police, her fear turned into relief again. Apparently a good neighbor had heard her screams and all of that commotion and called the cops.

But the cops weren’t so welcoming of her. “Drop it!” they were yelling all at once as if they were vicious dogs ready to attack. “Drop your weapon now!”

Frankie was confused. Why were they treating her like the criminal? And then her cell phone, still on her nightstand, began ringing as if it was a normal, peaceful, beautiful evening.

But the screams of those officers out-screeched even her ringing phone, and she promptly did as she was told.

She dropped her still-smoking gun.

There was nothing normal or peaceful about it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Robert managed to take a quick break from the urgent meetings he had been attending all day, and took the opportunity to give Francesca a call. He was leaned against the wall outside of his boardroom at his corporate headquarters in Chicago, the back of his shoe pressed against that wall, as he listened to the rings and rings over the phone and then her voice on the Voice Mail. He looked at his watch. It was after seven. She might have had dinner with her girlfriend. What was her name again? Taymar?

Or was she upset with him for not bothering to phone her earlier? He couldn’t be sure with Francesca. She came off in many ways as this strong, independent woman who wasn’t thinking about needing some man to check on her. But as Robert was getting to know her better he saw another side of her. He saw her more as a fragile, tired-of-being-used-and-abused, very vulnerable lady who would appreciate her man checking on her every chance he could. And this was the first chance he could all day. And she wasn’t answering.

Or maybe she didn’t answer because she was on a date with some other guy.

But he knew she wasn’t like that. At least he hoped she wasn’t! Then he felt foolish for allowing himself to become obsessed with her again when he had too much on his plate as it was. He didn’t leave a message, tossed his phone back into his pocket, and went back into the boardroom.

For the next hour-and-a-half he sat at the head of the table in that boardroom, and listened to his department heads disagree vehemently with his negotiators. They all were seated at the table with Robert, and none of them could agree on the plan his merger team had put together. Robert, as usual, wasn’t saying anything. He wanted to hear them out first. It was his eighth meeting of the day, and every one of them posed so many different challenges that he was considering putting all merger plans on hold and redrawing the maps. Conquering the world didn’t seem as important to him as it had just yesterday. Which would shock anybody who knew him. It was even shocking him.

But when his conference room door opened, and Jerry came in with that worried look on his face, he knew there was yet another problem about to land on his plate.

“Everybody out,” Jerry ordered the negotiators and department heads. And not one of them hesitated getting out of there. As the chief operating officer for all of Robert’s companies, Jerry was their boss.

“What is it?” Robert asked when the door was closed behind them.

“Laine just phoned. She figure we’d better get ahead of the story before it blows up. And since you’ve spent some time with her the press might want to make more out of it than it really is. But either way the NFL won’t be happy.”

Robert frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?

“We’ve got ourselves a sticky situation. That’s what I’m talking about. The press is going to have a field day with this one. We’ll need to do some damage control and do it now.”

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