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

  “Great,” Angela said brightly. “What’s the project? Maggie mentioned that it’s a small human interest piece. I don’t know if Maggie mentioned it, but I’m great with research.”

  “Oh, you won’t have to do much research,” Constance chuckled. “We need someone to do a series of interviews with a local businessman. His publicists are anxious to get his name and his business out there as much as possible. A series in a newspaper like this could really boost his business. His staff proposed the idea to feature him in a positive light over the course of a week or so.”

  Angela squinted. She wasn’t sure if Constance was giving her the whole picture. “Is this like an advertisement?”

  “I can tell that you’re a little confused, so I’m just going to play it straight. Usually, if a notable figure’s staff approached us with their own agenda, we’d just laugh it off. We’re not here to print someone else’s story. But, given who the subject is, we figured it wouldn’t be a bad way to sell papers. We want someone who can report the facts, but also has an eye to see through the façade.”

  “So you’re looking for someone who can interview this person about their business, but also make it interesting to the average reader?”

  “Exactly,” Constance said. “His people want someone to show the cunning businessman and the caring philanthropist. We want to see the man behind the money.”

  “That sounds great,” Angela said. “If you want, I can show you interviews I’ve conducted for other clients.”

  Constance waved her hands in dismissal. “I’ve seen enough of your stuff. It’s good for someone who’s starting out in the business. But we’re looking for something in particular for this job. I’m not sure how to describe it, but I think I’ll know the right person for the job when I see them. How do you work under a deadline?”

  “Very well,” Angela replied.

  “So, if you interview our guy on a Wednesday afternoon, you can give me a draft by first thing Thursday morning?”

  “Yeah, that’s no problem.”

  “Well, just to let you know, you’re on the shortlist for this job. Regardless of the outcome, whatever you hear in this room needs to stay between us, do you understand?”

  “Sure,” Angela said. “I can keep quiet.”

  “Good. Are you familiar with the Davis family?”

  Angela tilted her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Specifically, Clive Davis?”

  Angela instinctively screwed up her face. “Ugh, that billionaire douchebag?”

  Constance raised her eyebrows. Angela turned a bright shade of pink and froze on the spot. Before she could stop it, the words came out of her mouth. There was no need to share her biggest weakness—she had put it on full display at a job interview.

  Angela knew for sure she had just blown the first big opportunity with just one sentence. Constance wouldn’t hire someone who spoke ill of her clients, no matter how obnoxious they were. She would never be trusted to interview someone after showing her distaste for the subject. It just wasn’t professional and the resulting article would be slathered in bias.

  “You don’t think he’s attractive at least?” Constance asked. “I’ve had a few other young women in here already today and they’ve admitted he’s cute.”

  “He’s not my type,” Angela said, trying to cover up her giant misstep. “I’m sure he’s a lovely person. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  Constance raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked.

  “No,” Angela admitted.

  “What do you really think?”

  “I think he’s an entitled prick who used his parents’ money to start a business where consumers have no choice but to make him richer. I think he’s nothing but a socialite, posing as a philanthropist.”

  “Strong words,” Constance said softly. “I think you’ll be perfect. If you want the job, you can have it.”

  Angela’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

  “I think you’re the right fit. You’re a capable writer and we need someone young like you. Clive’s agents will think they can tell you what to say and Clive will like you. I like you because you won’t fall head over heels for this guy. Don’t show me the rich and glamorous side to him. I want you to show me what the other news outlets don’t.”

  “Okay,” she said, still shocked that she was offered the job after such a horrendous interview. “What kind of tone do you want me to set?”

  “Just give me something different. Go home and look up a few articles about Clive and the rest of the Davis family. I think you’ll find that they’re all basically written by a publicist. I don’t want you to go storming into an interview ready for a fight. If you call him a “douchebag” to his face, his people will shut us down immediately,” Constance said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “I won’t,” Angela said, still mortified.

  “Then we shouldn’t have any problems. I can get an interview time set up for you, and then you’re ready to go. Feel free to email me if you have any issues, but it’s a straightforward job. This isn’t groundbreaking stuff—just give me a series of five short articles about the man behind the money. I’ll give you three days to get started and then you can submit your articles to me a day or two after your interviews.”

  Angela nodded. She took notes in a small notepad because she was so surprised that everything was working out that the words were just bouncing off her head. It all seemed like she was in some weird dream, that suddenly, she’d wake up on her hard mattress to find that she was just as unemployed as ever.

  “Unless you have any questions,” Constance said, flipping through a stack of papers on her desk, “you’re free to get started. I’ll have you go down the hall to HR to get your paperwork started and issue you a laptop. Unfortunately, we don’t have the available office space now to have you work in-house, but if you really deliver with this short series, we may be able to find more for you to do around here.”

  “Really?” she blurted.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Constance added, “here’s what we can offer you for the five short articles. This is our standard rate for first-time freelancers. Of course, it’s not much, but if we keep you on, you’ll get to the next pay grade.”

  She slid a piece of paper around to Angela’s side of the desk. Angela’s jaw dropped. None of her other projects paid remotely close to what Constance was offering her. If she could finish the interviews by sometime next week, she would be able to pay her rent before her landlord could threaten to evict her. She would have enough money to buy a horrible work wardrobe so she could fit in with the other business professionals.

  Plus, if she did a good job, she could make even more money on future projects. All Angela needed to do was write a few good articles and she was in. It was so simple.

  With that, she shook Constance’s hand and thanked her for the opportunity. She walked down the hall to HR and introduced herself to a short, squat employee.

  “So, you got the Davis job? That’ll be interesting,” he asked as he found her stack of paperwork.

  “Yes,” she said politely, feeling uncomfortable that he seemed to know more about the job than she did.

  “I just need you to read through these pages and sign at the bottom of each one,” he said, handing her a pen. “It’s nothing serious, we just need to make sure that you won’t go selling this story to anyone else.”

  Angela giggled nervously. “I don’t think I’m going to come up with anything too interesting. It sounds like it’s pretty straight forward.”

  “You never know what you’re going to dig up,” he said as Angela skimmed and signed the forms. “Be careful with that one. He’s notorious for being tough on the press. I’ve heard that he can be intimidating for reporters so they’ll just accept whatever pre-written statement he gives them.”

  “I think I’ll be fine,” she said.

  When she had finished, she wasn’t sure if she actually read anything. She was too stuck on
the HR manager’s words. Suddenly, she felt the pressure of being asked to write something for such a big newspaper. Most of her previous work was featured in local papers or small, niche magazines. This was a whole new level. She couldn’t afford to submit anything that wasn’t great.

  “Here’s your computer,” he said, handing her a laptop bag. She peered inside. The brand-new laptop was nicer than anything she had ever owned. “If you have any problems with it, just talk to our IT people. Good luck,” he said, as he sat back down at his desk.

  Before Angela was even out of the office, she received an email giving her all the information she needed to get in contact with Clive Davis’s people and a deadline schedule.

  Angela walked back to her apartment, excited to be working again, but nervous about what she was getting herself into.

  Chapter 3

  The night before her first interview with Clive, Angela stayed up until the wee hours of the morning researching everything she could find on Clive Davis. She knew that he was a thirty-year-old billionaire with classic good looks. In fact, every article she read on him mentioned his God-like stature and soft hazel eyes. He was the CEO of a handful of corporations and on the Board of Trustees for a few more. The guy wasn’t much older than Angela, yet he had a hand in just about every major business in New York City.

  And if he didn’t, his siblings did. Several articles made mention of his older brother Daniel, the president of a major pharmaceutical company. The two were some of each other’s biggest competitors but somehow managed to get along.

  Then there were the parents. Daniel Davis Sr. had been a prominent real estate developer before his death. Their mother was a former beauty queen and lived somewhere in a luxury penthouse in the city.

  For some reason, the kids wanted to branch out with their businesses. While Daniel and Clive had their own pursuits, the younger brothers, James and Matthew decided to work for Clive. These brothers were regulars at the hottest clubs and most exclusive social groups in all of New York. They were all stunningly good looking and used that to their advantage. Women absolutely fawned over them, if for no other reason than to enjoy their looks and riches.

  Just as Constance predicted, every article that Angela looked at was the same. They all talked about how successful his businesses were and how much money he gave to different charitable organizations. The tabloid magazines always showed pictures of either Clive or his brothers pouring glasses of champagne for skinny blonde women in skimpy dresses. Every now and again they would speculate that Clive had finally found “the one” but it never appeared as though he managed to settle down with anyone.

  Angela fell asleep that night with her computer on her stomach. A photograph of Clive on a yacht smiled at her. Squinting into the sun, his tan face was dotted with tiny freckles, making him look rugged and youthful all at once.

  The next morning, Angela woke up later than she had liked. She was set to meet Clive at a fancy restaurant for their first interview at noon, and she only had a couple of hours to get ready. A shower would be out of the question. Her questions mattered to her much more than her appearance.

  She grabbed the same outfit that she wore to her meeting at the Times from the back of her chair and pulled it on. Then, she smoothed her hair into a ponytail and quickly swiped some powder onto her face. Good enough.

  Then, she sat down to write a few questions and notes into her notepad. If possible, she wanted to dig a little deeper into his family rivalry. She had a feeling that there was something that he wasn’t showing the press.

  Even though he was always described as a good, wholesome guy, Angela got the feeling that there was more to him than what she read in the papers. No billionaire got to where they were in life without stepping on a few toes. At the age of thirty, she knew that he wasn’t the perfect gentleman he was portrayed to be. There was something so fake about the way he looked in the paparazzi pictures. He was always showing off his dazzling white smile whether he was handing out Christmas gifts to orphans or lounging on the beach in Australia. It seemed phony to Angela. If possible, she wanted to find a darker side to him. Even though she was warned not to, she wanted to get under his skin.

  After she finished up with all the questions she could think of, she raced out the door and got on a train that would take her to the restaurant. Her stomach tingled with excitement on her way to the interview. Not only was she about to start her first story with a big client, but she was going to be in the presence of a local celebrity. As much as she didn’t care for the rich and famous, it was still new and exciting to talk with someone who had seen and done it all. At the very least, it would be interesting to explore a world that seemed so foreign to Angela.

  She arrived fifteen minutes early in case she needed to reserve a table, but much to her surprise, it was completely empty. She checked her phone again to make sure she had the right time and place for the interview.

  “Miss Reynolds?” the hostess asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Davis is already here. Follow me.”

  Confused as to why a popular restaurant was so empty at lunchtime, she followed the hostess through a maze of vacant chairs and tables until they reached the private dining room. There, surrounded by a whole host of employees, sat Clive, looking amused to see Angela perplexed.

  He was dressed in a light grey suit with a blue and white checkered shirt and a matching blue tie. He was tall and trim and looked like he stepped from a photo shoot for an Armani advertisement. His short brown hair was carefully styled. Brushed to the side, his hair looked soft, but every hair was in place.

  “Excellent,” he said as the hostess showed her to her seat. “I was wondering who the Times would send. How many years have you worked for them?” he asked.

  “This—this is actually my first story. I’m not technically an employee,” she stuttered, thrown off guard by his question.

  He let out a hearty laugh while his various agents and public relations people smirked at one another. There were five of them sitting in, just for one interview.

  “Do you know what,” he said, looking around to his employees, “I think you guys should sit at another table. I don’t want to ruin this poor girl’s career.”

  They obeyed his orders and scattered around to the other small tables.

  “Do you always bring your full entourage for simple interviews, Mr. Davis?” Angela asked.

  “Call me Clive,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Angela,” she responded, tucking her hand into his large, warm hand.

  “And yes, I like to keep them around to make these things easier on me. I really hate doing this kind of thing, but it’s good for business. I’m willing to do just about anything to get a leg up on my competitors.”

  “Anything?” she asked, jotting a quick note into her notebook.

  A man in a dark blue suit gave him a warning look. Clive gave him a slight wave.

  “I like you,” Clive said to Angela. “Can we get something to drink?” he asked a waiter.

  “Oh, no thank you,” Angela said to the waiter facing her.

  “How about something to eat?” Clive suggested. “You can order anything you want. It’s on me.”

  Angela hoped that the sound of her rumbling stomach wouldn’t give her away. She desperately wanted to order everything off the menu, but she didn’t want to owe him anything.

  “No?” he asked, his eyebrow raised.

  She quickly scanned the menu for something so inexpensive that he couldn’t possibly use it at leverage over her.

  “Can I just get a cup of tea?”

  “Certainly,” the waiter said. “And for you, sir?”

  Without looking at the menu, he answered, “I’ll have the sirloin and a glass of the pinot noir.”

  “Very well, we’ll have that right out.”

  “So,” he said, placing his cloth napkin on his lap, “what did you want to talk about?”

  “I was wondering what you thought abou
t the government being in talks to add new regulations to the drug industry. While a lot of people would like the prices to be more affordable, there has been some pushback from lobbyists in your industry. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

  The employees nodded after she asked the question as if they were allowing Clive to answer.

  “It’s a tricky situation,” he said, taking a sip of the wine that had just been rushed over to the table. Instead of a regular cup of tea, the waiter brought Angela a small tray with a selection of different teas, a small teapot of piping hot water, and a couple chocolate covered biscuits. Though she promised herself that she wouldn’t take too much from him, she decided that it wouldn’t hurt if they were in front of her, and indulged in her small snack.

  “What most people don’t understand, is that our drugs are priced the way they are for a reason. We don’t do it to become filthy rich from someone’s illnesses.”

  “Are you saying that you’re not filthy rich?” she asked.

  The man in the blue suit cleared his throat. “Can you please ask a different question?” he said. “One that doesn’t attempt to tarnish Mr. Davis’s character.”

  “Sorry,” she corrected herself, feeling annoyed by the presence of Clive’s posse. “Can you explain why you price certain life-saving medications at completely unaffordable prices?”

  “In most cases, a person’s health insurance will cover most of the cost of any medication. So, the consumer isn’t even paying that much, if any, from their own pocket.”

  “Sure, but what about the people who don’t have insurance or their insurance doesn’t cover it? For instance, someone with a rare disease has already paid thousands upon thousands to get a diagnosis for their rare condition and then must pay more for medication. If their insurance can’t cover it, you’re basically taking all their family’s income, just to produce a few pills for them.”

  “I never like to see that happen,” he said. “But if you don’t put a lot of money into a certain pharmaceutical, then the drug will never be improved. If there isn’t money for research, there is no drug. If you ask the people who rely on those expensive medications, they’d rather pay the money for a good product than no product at all.”