Page 2 of The Billionaire and I

“She’s my best friend, so yeah, I know what she’s like,” I said. “Stop picking on her!”

My friend Audrey—Dre, for short—had recently gotten fired from AccommoDating, Inc., the escort agency where we both worked. Elena had stopped giving her assignments after she ran out on some client who’d given her the heebie-jeebies. Apparently, Elena was giving Dre another chance.

“The client is James Preston,” Elena said. “He’s a real-estate mogul and billionaire. Drecannotmess this up for us. This could be a game-changer.”

“She’s going to do great. Just don’t make her nervous!” Audrey was a good girl, which didn’t really match up with being an escort. Sometimes, if she got nervous, she did things Elena didn’t like. Like pepper-spraying a client because he threatened to lock her up and hate-fuck her. You really shouldn’t pepper-spray the Johns. Even the kinky ones. They didn’t like it, and an unhappy client could get you fired!

The madam sighed. “Just come to the office, Jenny. You’ve been getting some calls, anyway. I need you back to work.” She hung up before I could protest.

I quickly threw on a dress, brushed my teeth, put on some lip gloss, and fluffed my hair. Then I locked up, which was a production. I lived on the first floor of a shitty building in Roxbury, a tough neighborhood in Boston. Even though it was summer, I closed all the windows and put wooden rods in the sills to prevent break-ins. The rods didn’t exactly work, but they were at least something. Then I pulled down the cheap blinds so people couldn’t look inside. Even though I couldn’t always pay my electric bill, I clicked on the TV so it blared and turned on every light.

If I weren’t gone so much, I’d get a dog for protection. Probably a Pitbull or a Rottie, and then maybe a fat, fluffy mutt of a sidekick to be its BFF. But I could barely afford rent, utilities, and my own food, and even though I was usually broke, I still worked all the time. So, I had no business getting a pet.

I grabbed my keys, my mace, and my bag. It wasn’t a long walk to AccommoDating’s office, which was located in the cheerful, upscale South End of Boston. It didn’t take long to leave my crappy apartment behind and find myself in another world. In this world, I was every man’s fantasy; I could borrow all the nice clothes I wanted, and I never got eviction notices taped to my door. I could pretend to be somebody else.

I took one last look around my apartment. It wasn’t nice, but it was mine. I kept it real clean. The bed was always neatly made, my plants were well-tended, and I vacuumed like three times a day.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.You are taking care of yourself.I hugged myself for emphasis, which was this weird thing I did when I was alone.You got this, Jenny. Go help your friend.

I squared my shoulders, locked up, and headed to work. My friend and my boss needed me, and that made me feel good.

I was something. I was somebody.

No matter what I’d been told all my life.

CHAPTER 3

Cole

I wasn’thappy when my father called and asked me to come to his office. Then again, I wasn’t ever happy when he contacted me. My workaholic, CEO, multi-billionaire father wasn’t exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type.

I eased my Porsche into the parking garage below his building in the Financial District. Dad was seventy-three, but you’d never know it. He had no plans to retire from commercial real estate. He was still at his desk every day, barking orders, making deals, and intermittently watching YouTube videos about how to improve his golf swing.

“Hi Cole.” His long-suffering assistant, Kevin, gave me a wry smile. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Lucky me.”

Kevin laughed. “He’s on his third cup of coffee, so watch out.” My father’s irritability increased with caffeine, but he refused to quit. Typically, by his third cup, he was yelling at the staff to bring him documents he already had and barking about his lunch reservations.

God bless Kevin. I had no idea how he’d survived so many years working for my old man.

I went into the office, which had a commanding view of the city that reached all the way to the Seaport. There were boats in the Boston Harbor, and people were having fun and enjoying the fine summer weather. But here was my father, who had all the money in the world, with shirt sleeves rolled up, a set of architectural plans spread out on the desk in front of him, and a sour look on his face. “Son.”

“Dad.” I flopped into one of the armchairs facing his desk. “You summoned me? What’s up?”

He jabbed a finger at the plans on his desk. “Your guy Ramos is screwing me on this. I can’t get the approvals and it’s holding me up.”

“He’s not my guy, and it’s not my problem.” My father had zero boundaries when it came to business. He was always demanding favors. I was a venture capitalist, so I knew a lot of people. Many of the people I worked with were from a younger generation, one my father wasn’t as familiar with.

Dad was always trying to leverage my connections to his advantage. He wasn’t above throwing my name around to try to get permits, special pricing, or other favors, even though I refused to ever use his. There was a reason for that, and it wasn’t just that I’d always wanted to make my own way in the world. My dad had a reputation for being a miserable prick—his name might open a few doors, but it closed some, too.

Dad raised his finger and now jabbed it in my direction. “You know Ramos. I want you to call him and tell him to stop blocking me.”

“I’m not going to do that. If Ramos hasn’t given you the approvals yet, it’s probably because the plans don’t comply with the newest ordinance.”

Dad’s face started to get red.Uh-oh.“Don’t tellmeabout the ‘newest ordinance.’ You think I don’t know the fucking city code? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“I think I’m talking to you, Dad.” I sighed. “And I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m just being honest.”

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