Page 5 of The Billionaire Is Back

Twelve Years Later

Grady

“I’m coming after you, Barber.”

It’s not the line so much as the delivery that makes me pause. The Baccarat-crystal tumbler of thirty-six-year-old Pappy Van Winkle doesn’t quite make it to my parted lips. It hovers in the air, like a thwarted kiss from a treasured would-be lover. Narrowing my eyes, I take measure of the man sitting behind his desk in this massive corner office.

Harrison Lynch and I have a lot in common. We’re the same age. Our cars are German. Our bank accounts are Swiss. If we named the designers of our suits and shoes, it would sound like a meeting of the five families and make you hungry for pasta. His office has nearly the same iconic view of Central Park and Manhattan skyline as mine has a few blocks away. We’re both CEOs ofwildly successful multinational real-estate development companies.

We’re both billionaires.

But the biggest trait we have in common? He cares just as little for all of that as I do. Neither he nor I do it for the money or the status or the material rewards. We enjoy the hunt. We thrive on the chase. We like the fight. For the past few months we’ve been engaged in a thrilling life-or-death struggle for control of his company.

But now we have one big, shiny new difference separating us.

Harrison Lynch has lost.

I’ve won.

After seemingly endless rounds of negotiations, his board has agreed to my purchase of his company, Relicteros. My company, Beacon Holdings, will be leveraged to the hilt purchasing all of his stock to make that happen. Buying out Lynch’s equity in the company will make him an even richer man. But it will also make him unemployed. There will only be one company, and it will need only one CEO. Me. My strategy has been to win over his board of directors because I don’t want this to be a hostile takeover—that’s not my style.

And that has bought me a lot of good will at Relicteros.

Except from the man who stands to lose his place as head of the company.

He generally has resting scowl face, but he somehow manages to harden it even more as he glares at me. My resting intense-but-not-too-intense-exceptionally-good-looking face breaks into a half grin. I take my timefinishing the thirty-six-thousand-dollar bourbon provided by my host. It is way too early in the morning for whiskey, but it’s always the right time for superior aged bourbon that I don’t have to pay for.

I didn’t come here to gloat. I’ve come to his office to hear his final plea—like a conquering warlord allowing the vanquished foe the courtesy of relinquishing his sword at my feet before I escort his former army to my more powerful country under my reign of victory.

Okay, that sounds a little like gloating.

“Did you hear me, Barber?” my opponent asks through gritted teeth.

I glance over at my faithful assistant, Alice Strout, who’s looking back and forth between us. Like a classy, well-trained German shepherd in a Chanel dress suit, she is fiercely protective of me. She would probably go for his throat, or at least throw her glass of sparkling water into his face, if I gave her the nod.

I savor a sip of bourbon before finally acknowledging Lynch. “That you’re coming after me? I did hear you. And I look forward to it. I admire your unshakeable confidence, considering you couldn’t beat me when we were on equal footing. Now that your entire board has chosen my offer, I’m finding it pretty hard to see how you’re going to do any better than you did before.”

I stifle the urge to addAnd I drink your bourbon. I DRINK IT UP!in my best Daniel Plainview fromThere Will Be Blood—which is pretty damn good, in my opinion. But I’ll save that for the encore.

Lynch squeezes his glass of bourbon tighter. I’m very concerned he’s going to shatter it. I’m not worried abouthis hand—I’m worried because that priceless bourbon will go to waste. I don’t like waste. Of money or time or Pappy Van Winkle.

His assistant places a delicate hand on his shoulder. Miss Lovejoy is her name. She wears her curly hair long and loose. Her flowery dress smells like incense. She seems like the kind of woman who would rather go barefoot than spend a thousand dollars on a pair of shoes, and she is definitely the reason Lynch’s desk is covered with crystals. His office has so many potted plants, I have an oxygen high. In other words, she is unlike any other woman in this office building and most of midtown Manhattan. Lynch looks up at her, and they begin a silent conversation with each other, leaning in and mouthing their words. The two of them appear so incongruous, but they clearly have a shorthand, and it looks like a conversation they’ve had before.

I take another sip of exquisite bourbon and look out over the city. I remember the first time I took in the view of Manhattan from the top of the Empire State Building. I was eighteen, and I thought to myself,One day, all this will be yours.I own and control so much more than I did when I first left Beacon Harbor, but every time I close a deal, in the back of my mind, Claire’s quiet voice asks,But what if it doesn’t make you happy?And I tell myself,It does. For now. But what’s next?And what’s next is alwaysmore. Becausemorekeeps you safe.Moreprotects what you’ve worked so hard to earn.

This bourbon will be the extent of my celebration. There will be no dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, no night out on the town with a limo full offashion models, no party. Well, maybe I’ll have Alice schedule one for the employees when the deal is official to mark the merging of our companies, but I won’t be there. The only upcoming indulgence is a charity gala that Lynch and I have to attend in a few weeks. The Manhattanites for the Ethical Treatment of Houseplants’ annual fundraiser. METH. Yeah, the overprivileged elite of Manhattan are unironically going to get dressed up to support METH. Both our boards are going to be in attendance as the society is a pet project of the wife of the most powerful member on Lynch’s board, Aston Pembroke. I had marked that as our probable last stand, the place where we could sway the other side one way or another. But my victory has arrived early, so now I’ll get to shake hands with the people who made it all possible when I make my appearance there.

I glance over at Alice, who is narrowing her eyes at Lynch and Miss Lovejoy. The two of them are still lost in their own conversation, but Alice is whispering something at them. Now she’s wiggling her nose at them. I then start my own silent conversation with my assistant.

What the hell are you doing?my wide eyes asks.

We’re winners, Barber. Winners. That woman is clearly a white witch, so I’m casting a spell on them.She wiggles her nose at me.Like inBewitched!

I grew up with Harry Potter! I am not a hundred years old, so I don’t get your references! Sit still and behave yourself,I tell her with my hands and eyes.

I glance back at Lynch and his assistant to see if they’ve noticed Alice wavingher index finger around like a wand, but thankfully, they are too caught up in each other.

I don’t usually have to worry about Alice being a distraction of any kind. I learned early on in my career to hire assistants who are old enough to be my grandparents. No distractions. Period. In any area of my life. If someone interferes with my business, they aren’t going to be a part of my life. Simple as that.No fuss, no muss,as my mom would say. I’ll chalk up today’s behavior to the high stakes of this deal.

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