One Night With The Tycoon (Billionaire's One Night #1) Read online

  One Night With The Tycoon

  A Billionaire Romance

  Roxy Sinclaire

  Sky Corgan

  Illustrated by

  Florette Covers

  Edited by

  Teresa Banschbach

  Contents

  Mailing List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About Roxy Sinclaire

  Also by Roxy Sinclaire

  About Sky Corgan

  Also by Sky Corgan

  Line of Scrimmage: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

  1. Kayla

  2. Sean

  3. Kayla

  4. Sean

  5. Kayla

  6. Sean

  7. Kayla

  8. Sean

  9. Kayla

  10. Sean

  11. Kayla

  12. Sean

  13. Kayla

  14. Sean

  15. Kayla

  16. Sean

  17. Kayla

  18. Sean

  19. Kayla

  20. Sean

  21. Kayla

  22. Sean

  23. Kayla

  24. Sean

  Epilogue

  Dirty Indiscretions: A Dark Mafia Romance

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2017 by Roxy Sinclaire and Sky Corgan

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Florette Covers

  Edited by Teresa Banschbach, Email

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the authors’ imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  Visit her on the web: www.roxysinclaire.com

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  Sign up for Sky’s mailing list and find out about her latest releases, giveaways, and more. Plus, get a FREE book! Click here!

  Follow her on Facebook and Twitter

  Chapter 1

  “Oh, shit,” Angela hissed as she scrambled to the microwave to pull out the Styrofoam cup of ramen noodles that had boiled over. She lazily tossed a dirty rag in the microwave and mopped up the mess, before giving up. Drying her hands on her jeans, she brought her dinner to her bed and sat down.

  The mattress on the floor served as her bed, sofa, and kitchen table in the scant Manhattan studio apartment. Since Angela moved in a year ago, she had already survived four roach infestations, two mice, and one nasty case of bedbugs. The bathroom that she shared with four other residents on her floor was always filthy and the shower was never warm. The whole apartment complex was filled with twenty-somethings trying to make it in show business by working at restaurants, or single mothers with way too many kids. Sometimes, the constant noise made it hard to think.

  Angela loved it.

  As she ate the noodles with a spare set of wooden chopsticks from a Chinese takeout, she flipped through a binder filled with articles filed neatly in plastic page protectors. There was the piece about the art gallery opening, then the interview with the up and coming chef, and then the exposé on the models at fashion week. Each clipping brought back a wave of memories. Angela wanted more—tougher stories, more prestigious clients, and more money. She really needed more money.

  Under her portfolio of past work were stacks of unpaid bills. For Angela, it seemed like she would no sooner cash the checks from her freelancing gigs, only to turn around and put the money in someone else’s hand. Her rent was always at least a week late, and the remaining balance on her student loans was always being shuffled around so she could defer the payment. Most meals consisted of anything she could buy for a couple dollars.

  Angela didn’t mind, though. Even though she never knew when her next job would come, she loved the thrill of it all. She worked hard to put herself through school, and while the work wasn’t great, it was still work.

  When she scrolled through her various social media accounts, she occasionally felt ashamed of her situation. Friends from high school were buying their first houses, getting married, even having kids. Angela hadn’t even dated anyone since college. It seemed like everyone she knew had a steady job and stable life while she was contemplating if she even needed electricity in her apartment.

  Still, Angela knew that to live the life she always wanted, there would be sacrifices to make. She could work for the newspaper in some small town, but what news would she find there? No, she knew that her big break would come eventually. But only in a bigger city where there would be more possibilities for her career.

  As the sun set through her tiny porthole of a window, she realized that she never showered or changed from yesterday’s sweatpants and college t-shirt. Sniffing the armpit of her shirt, she flopped back on her pillow with a dramatic sigh, knocking over several empty wine bottles in the process.

  Angela hadn’t worked in weeks, and she was running out of money. Before long, the fifty cent instant noodles that she got down at the bodega would run out. She could plead with her landlord to let her pay her rent with next month’s, in hope that she would have a job before then, but she was already behind. If she didn’t get a gig soon, she would have to find another job. Or worse, move back home.

  She was about to start looking through the local job listings when her phone began to shake on her coffee table. She didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway.

  “Hello?” Angela asked in a raspy voice from lack of human interaction.

  “Is this Angela Reynolds?” a female voice asked. “This is Maggie Park.”

  “Hi, Maggie,” she said after clearing her throat.

  “I don’t know if you remember me, but you were in my writing class at Northwestern a few years back. I was the grad student that taught one of the media courses.”

  “I remember you,” she replied. “What can I do for you, Maggie?”

  “I’m working at The Times now, and I came across your portfolio.”

  “The New York Times?” she asked incredulously.

  “That’s t
he one. I remembered your name, so I looked you up and saw that you were in the city now. How do you like it?”

  “I really like it,” she said with false cheeriness. She spoke in the same manner as she did when discussing her career at high school reunions. She wasn’t about to lie about her success as a journalist, but she didn’t want anyone to know the extent of it.

  “It can be hard to stand out in a place like this,” Maggie said, seeing through Angela’s façade. “But from looking at your portfolio, it seems like you’re doing just fine. The reason I was calling was because I think I have a story for you if you want it. Are you busy?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “You really have something?”

  “My boss is looking for someone who can do a human-interest piece. It’s not really hard-hitting investigatory stuff, but if they like what you come up with, you might find more for you to do here.”

  “That sounds great,” Angela said, standing up from her bed. “I’ll write whatever you have for me.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Maggie chuckled. “We’ve been looking for some new talent to write the little pieces that none of the big shots want to do. If you ask me, some of the regular contributors are too pretentious for their own good. We need someone who can take direction and work hard. Think you can do that?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, pacing back and forth.

  “Great. If you can make it work with your schedule, my editor could meet with you tomorrow. What time works for you?”

  “Anytime.”

  “How about ten-thirty tomorrow morning? When you get to the building, just tell the receptionist that you have a meeting with Constance Jordan.”

  “Okay,” Angela responded, a little dazed. “Thank you so much.”

  “It’s no problem. Good luck tomorrow.”

  Angela hung up the phone and fell back onto her mattress. She couldn’t quite process the phone call. What were the chances that she would get a phone call to write a story for one of the biggest publications in the country, especially when she had just a few dollars to her name? This couldn’t be real.

  After picking up a few different discarded wine bottles next to her bed, she finally found one that wasn’t empty and took a long drink.

  Then it was time to get to work. Angela grabbed an empty trash bag and filled it with the empty bottles, discarded coffee cups, and takeout boxes. She picked up the dirty clothes that carpeted the linoleum floor and threw them on a chair. The apartment wasn’t clean by a long shot, but it was good enough. She had enough space to think.

  Grabbing her worn down laptop, she did all the research she could on The New York Times. Of course, she was familiar with the place; she even studied them in school. But it was different when she was trying to impress them. Not a brownnoser by nature, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get in the editor’s good graces during the interview. She hoped her résumé and portfolio could do the talking.

  Angela read through the most recent edition of the paper, trying to pick up the style of the writing. It made her stomach rumble with nerves to think that she would be in the same building as journalists who were covering big stories like wars overseas and human trafficking cases within the country.

  She flipped through the other sections to find something like she would be writing. Angela groaned as she clicked on headlines about art gallery openings and marriage announcements of the city’s elite. It was all so dull compared to the hard-hitting stuff on the front pages. But, if she could get her foot in the door there was a chance that one day she’d be the one on the front page. Besides, at this point, she would write anything for a bit of extra cash.

  After reading a few short articles on the website, she had a feeling that she would be covering a dog show or something that no one really cared about. She’d write four hundred words or so, then collect enough money to convince her landlord not to evict her. All she had to do was impress the editor, and then she’d be in.

  She waited for about an hour for the shower to become free, then tiptoed through the puddles to prepare herself for her big break. Angela wasn’t a morning person and while she wanted to stay up all night practicing interview questions, she knew she needed to do everything in her power to help herself out. She placed her remaining clean clothes on a chair and tucked herself into bed just before midnight.

  Tossing and turning for a few hours before finally settling down, Angela was terrified, yet ecstatic by the possibility of being employed by The New York Times. Things were finally looking up and the timing couldn’t have been better.

  Chapter 2

  People in business suits buzzed around the entrance to the office while Angela slowly meandered around. In her excitement, she had arrived over thirty minutes early and wasn’t sure what to do.

  Angela wasn’t used to working for such important publications or going on job interviews, so her wardrobe didn’t contain any business suits like the ones she saw. She didn’t really own anything that could be considered business professional. The best she could come up with was a pair of black skinny jeans, a white sleeveless blouse, and a leather jacket. While this outfit served her well when she went out to interview sources, it seemed inappropriate for the current situation. She stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of professionals. She told herself that if she landed this job, the first thing she’d buy with her paycheck was a blazer and a pair of trousers.

  Finally, when she only had ten minutes to spare, she nervously approached the front desk. A fashionable man, who looked about her age, looked up from his computer to greet her.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked softly as he eyed her outfit.

  “I’m here for a meeting with Constance Jordan,” Angela stammered, thrown off by the receptionist’s judgmental looks. It wasn’t like she was applying to work at a fashion magazine. This was a newspaper, and she was only there to write one little piece and collect her paycheck.

  He tapped a few things on his computer before looking back up at Angela. “Ms. Jordan is in a meeting now. If you want to have a seat, I’ll call you when she’s available.”

  “Thank you,” she said sweetly, but the receptionist had already gone back to work. So far, she had yet to win anybody over at the paper.

  She picked at her chipped nail polish for a while before realizing that she was covering her jeans with tiny pink flakes. She tightly folded her hands and went through her strengths and weaknesses in her head.

  Angela had no problem listing her strengths. She graduated from a good school with a 3.8 GPA. She had only worked a handful of jobs in the past few years, but she had received excellent recommendations from her clients. She was a hard worker and would write anything that came her way. There was nothing that she wasn’t willing to do to advance her career in the field.

  Listing weaknesses was a weakness in itself for Angela. There was no good answer to that question that wasn’t a cliché. She couldn’t tell a potential boss that she cared too much or she worked too hard. There was no editor in the world that would see either of those things as a weakness. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to tell an interviewer her actual weaknesses—she didn’t always get along with others and was stubborn. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t like other people, but she didn’t take shit from anyone. People often told her that she had no filter and just said whatever was on her mind.

  No respectable employer would hire her if she said that. With any new job, the junior members were expected to pay their dues until their time to shine came.

  “Andrea Reynolds?” the receptionist called at a quarter till eleven.

  “It’s Angela,” she corrected, standing up from her chair.

  “Ms. Jordan is ready to see you,” he said, gesturing toward the sliding glass door. He swiped his key as she approached him. “Fourteenth floor,” he instructed.

  She walked through the doors to the bay of elevators. She was on her own. She had no idea who she would be speaking with on the other side. Would they all be a
s snooty as the young secretary? She punched the shiny silver button with the number fourteen on it and took a deep breath.

  The doors opened on the fourteenth floor to reveal a standard room filled with cubicles. She felt silly for expecting anything grander than the average setup that one would find at any desk job. There was no exciting hustle and bustle—just a lot of middle aged people sitting in front of computers.

  She took a step out into the wide room and surveyed the scene, wishing that the receptionist had given her more direction when it came to finding the editor. No one even looked up from their work to assist her, and Angela could feel her face and chest turning red.

  She spotted a corner office with Constance Jordan’s name on the door a few steps to the right and let out a small sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have to look like an idiot wandering the room. She approached the door and knocked three times.

  A middle-aged woman with short, curly hair opened the door. She was petite and thin but looked tough. She wore a navy pencil skirt with a collared blouse and matching jacket, making Angela feel extremely underdressed. She hadn’t even spoken a word and already Angela felt intimidated.

  “You must be Angela Reynolds,” Constance said, grasping her hand and giving her a firm shake. “I’m Constance Jordan. I’m editor of the life section. Come in.”

  She gestured to a chair and Angela sat down, wringing her hands together. Her palms felt slick and she hoped that Constance didn’t notice.

  “Maggie Park told me that you were a former student of hers.”

  Angela nodded. “Yeah, she was one of my favorite instructors. I took her course during my junior year.”

  “We’ve been looking for some fresh talent. I’ve been asking all my regular writers to recommend young journalists to me. Maggie gave me a few names of former students who were living in the area. She told me about you and I looked up some of your writing and I think you might be a good fit for this project.”