Those Three Words: A Single Dad, Billionaire Boss Romance(11)

“Well, ain’t you a knight in shining armor. She still had five months on the lease and her monthly rent was thirteen hundred dollars, so that’s”—he pauses while he does the calculations—“sixty-five hundred dollars.”

Not surprised he’s trying to take me for a fool.

“Now, Charlie, we both know that a tenant can break a lease in Chicago and the standard buyout is two to three months’ rent.”

Sixty-five hundred dollars is nothing to me, but I also can’t stand someone who would take advantage of a young woman like that.

He hesitates on the line, his heavy breathing audible. “Fine, three months in full.”

“Deal. I’ll send my driver over with certified check.” I hang up the phone before he argues with me, demanding more which I’m sure he would have done once I said something about having a driver.

I turn back to my computer and sift through a few emails when I see one that instantly makes my blood pressure skyrocket.

Warren Dorsey. A fellow billionaire, albeit a shady motherfucker who nobody in my circle trusts. He’s always looking for some tit-for-tat bullshit favors.

I open the email and see that the entire email consists only of what he’s written in the subject line: We need to talk.

He’s gruff and has zero tact. He prides himself on being ruthless and downright cruel to anybody who would dare to compete against him. He got his start in the tech world during the dot com boom and then leveraged his earnings into acquiring other failing businesses that couldn’t keep up in the market. What he does isn’t necessarily illegal but it’s unethical, and everyone knows he uses his power and wealth to keep a few elected officials in his pocket.

I let out a deep sigh and pick up the phone to give him a call.

“Graham, my boy.” He sounds loud in the receiver. I can tell he has his signature cigar in his mouth. When women talk about a sleazy slimeball, Warren is who they’re talking about.

“Mr. Dorsey,” I reply.

“Oh, come on now, we’re not that formal. Call me Warren.”

“Warren. What can I help you with?”

I hear his lips smack around his cigar. “We’ve got a situation, Graham. We both know that the Felton brothers are twisted little shits.”

They’re not. They’re just thirty-year-old twin brothers that have their dad’s expense account at their fingertips and more drive and ambition to expand their family empire than anyone else I’ve ever met. They’re fair and ethical and they’ve never had a single scandal to their name. Warren’s just worried they’re coming after his piece of the pie.

“They need to be knocked down a couple rungs in my opinion,” he continues.

“So what’s the problem they’ve created for you this time?” I try to humor him. For as much as I can’t stand the sniveling dick weasel, he’s not an enemy I want if I can help it.

“They’ve been sweet-talking Tech Titan Industries into a merger. They both know that I’ve been in bed with Tech Titan for the better part of two years. Sweet-talking those pussies and stroking their G-spot just right so I can buy them out.”

I cringe. Everything that comes out of this fucker’s mouth is offensive or just plain disgusting.

“And where do I come into this?” I ask.

I can tell he’s smiling on the other end of the phone. “I need you to go in there and throw your weight around a little. Maybe convince Tech Titan that merging with the Felton twats will be a mistake. One that they’ll regret, if you know what I’m saying?”

“You mean shake them down? Threaten them? Warren, I’m not doing your dirty work for you. I still have a business and reputation to uphold. I’m not a mobster with cronies who walks into global companies and threatens a hostile takeover.”

He laughs maniacally and I pull the phone away from my ear.

“Calm down, boy. I don’t mean threaten them. I’m talking about a civil sit-down. I’m putting a dinner meeting together with a few of the board members at Tech Titan and I’d appreciate if you were there. Hell, just seeing you at that dinner bodes very well in my favor.”

I inhale and let it out slowly, closing my eyes. “And what’s in this for me?” I ask the dreaded question.

“I’ll make you part owner. Twenty-five percent of the shares.”

“I thought it was twenty percent?” I say, reminding him of his last offer.

The last thing I want is to be in bed with Warren Dorsey, but I have to be very careful how I handle a proposition like this. If I refuse and he loses the deal, he’ll make sure he comes after me and my next business venture. I’ve seen him do it to a few others. It’s like watching a wildebeest fight for its life on the Serengeti. Slow and agonizing but it always ends in a bloody death.

“I’ll consider it, Warren,” I say. “Let me know when you plan on setting up the dinner.”

“Thanks, boy,” he says loudly. I don’t know if he tries to be insulting with everything he says. He might have fifteen years on me, but he’s not old enough to be my father. Calling me boy is his way of letting me know he’s got more power, money, and balls than me.

I work through a few other emails, then look at my upcoming schedule and chew through a contract negotiation that’s been in the works for several months.