Dirty Rumor: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(59)

But f*ck if I’m going to get conned into some big, romantic love affair, especially with someone like Alyssa here. Even if I had feelings for her—no, I can’t even say it without my mouth curling into a sneer. Having “feelings” for women is a surefire way to lose control over your life, over your reputation, everything.

Mine is too valuable for that. On the scale of ten billion in net worth, at my last count.

I turn to face her as she stands up from the bed, my arms crossed over my chest. My workout gear is soaked. All I want is a shower.

Yet I don’t see her leaving. Instead, I see her putting on an expression like she’s searching for something. Damn. She really is that stupid.

“Where…” She’s making a show of looking for her panties, a worthless scrap of lace that I had down around her ankles within three minutes of walking in the door. Don’t act shocked. She wanted it as much as I did. Well, maybe not exactly. Maybe she was in it for more than a hard f*ck and just a hint of bondage, my tie around her wrists. But I wasn’t.

“By your left foot.” They’ve been there the whole time. If she was hoping to entice me back into bed, she’s going to be disappointed. She only needs to be a little bit smarter to realize that this display is worthless.

She bends and scoops them up, her tits almost popping out of her dress, then straightens up, stepping into the panties and sliding them back over her sculpted ass.

I’m about to ask her if she needs help finding the door—we’re in the penthouse, after all, and it’s probably too huge for her tiny brain—when my cell rings in its spot on top of my dresser. I answer it before the first ring is over.

“Hunter.”

Alina rolls her eyes and pads out of the room. Good.

The voice on the other end of the phone launches into a business proposition, and instantly Alana is forgotten, last night’s conquest filed away along with all my other irrelevant memories. Then I get a whiff of a challenge. If there’s one thing I can’t resist, it’s a business opportunity on the brink.

“What happened exactly, John? It seems like the resource management here has been abysmal.”

On the other end of the line, John, the representative for the board at Williams-Martin, the publishing group, sighs. Williams-Martin, John has explained, owns Basiqué—their heavy hitter—and puts out a bunch of other magazines that lose money every second they exist. Not that I give a shit about magazines. But this company is about to go over the edge, and I could stop it…if I choose.

“I can’t argue with that.” He sounds defeated.

I take another long moment to consider my options. I don’t need this business. People can’t stop giving me money hand over fist. Come up with your own revolutionary development in condom technology and watch your net worth shoot into the stratosphere. But I can’t get enough of this shit. I’ll probably find out that none of these magazine properties are worth anything, and I won’t feel an ounce of sadness about shutting most of them down. Maybe all of them. Who knows? I buy them out, I have all the power. And another successful turnaround will only increase my legitimacy.

A memory of my slimy, weakass father flashes across my mind. He wasn’t legit. I’ll never forget the day they came to arrest him for a laundry list of embarrassing white-collar crimes. It wasn’t until the trial that I saw him for what he was: a coward and a fraud. The last thing I need is to get into a situation that looks like it’s just more of his “creative accounting.”

This isn’t creative accounting. From what John has said, this is a bailout.

And who has more power than the guy writing the checks?

I’ll do it. Why the hell not? I can afford to lose a couple million if it goes south, and either way I’ll come out smelling like roses. If I can’t turn around some publishing company when they’re up against the goddamn Internet, I won’t be the first.

“Tell you what, John. I’ll bite. But I’ll warn you—I don’t plan on leaving power structures intact. I’m going to be doing some reorganizing.”

“We expected as much.” The relief in his voice is palpable.

“Be ready for a call from my business manager by the afternoon,” I say crisply, then let him thank me too many times before I disconnect the call.

The thought of the destruction I’m about to wreak on Williams-Martin has my blood humming in my veins. I could go another round right now.

But Alina is long gone. Sometimes you’re too hasty, Hunter.

My heart is still beating with leftover anticipation as I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. It’s just a pet project, something I wouldn’t normally pay much attention to, but I could use just this kind of distraction from all the shit that’s been going on.

All I need to do is get to the office.





Chapter 4

Cate





Sandra shuts herself in her office for most of the morning while I force myself to sift through the daily deluge of emails, tracking shipments, scheduling, confirming, confirming, confirming. It’s hard to type with jittery hands, a jittery mind. But the work never ends. There’s always another issue in the works, always another set of clothes, models, designers to slot into Sandra’s schedule. I have to get it done, or the afternoon will be a nightmare.