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

  “If they didn’t buy the product, they’d be dead,” Angela said matter-of-factly.

  “If they didn’t buy the product, my business would be dead,” Clive joked.

  “Scratch that,” a female employee interjected.

  Angela turned to look at her. She had never experienced so much control over an interview before.

  She turned back to look at Clive. He looked unperturbed. Instead of addressing his employee’s objection, he dug into the steak that was brought out for him. It smelled so good—Angela couldn’t even remember the last time she could afford a meal with meat in it.

  “Could you ask Mr. Davis about his recent charity work?” the female staffer asked.

  Angela rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she said flatly. “Let’s hear it.”

  Clive looked up from his meal and smiled. “Oh, thanks for asking about that. I’ve been working with the children’s hospitals in the area as of late. Between my personal contributions and the money raised at my fundraisers, I’ve donated about twenty million dollars to these hospitals. That covers medical equipment, staff, and even diffuses the cost of care for the families.”

  “Or,” Angela added. “You could just lower the cost of the drugs, take a pay cut, and make medicine a little more affordable.”

  “This interview is over,” the head of staff said, standing up from his chair.

  “Easy, Max,” Clive said. “I’m enjoying my chat with Angela. If you’re not happy with this, you can head back to the office.”

  Max sheepishly sat back down in his seat. Angela gave him a smug smile.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure,” he replied.

  “Do you get off on intimidating the media?” she asked bravely. “From what I’ve heard, you like to act tough to get what you want into the news. Is this kind of thing fun for you?”

  “This kind of thing?” he asked, grinning.

  “You know, shutting down a restaurant over the lunch hour, treating your interviewer to a fancy meal, surrounding them with your underlings to make them feel inferior. That sort of thing.”

  “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “So, your question is ‘Do I get off on this?’”

  His employees looked extremely uncomfortable and poised to strike. Angela could tell that they didn’t know what to do. No one ever spoke to Clive this way.

  “What are your opinions on the working class,” she pressed. “Do you enjoy stomping your designer shoes on people like me who can barely afford to pay rent?”

  He laughed uproariously which caused Angela to giggle, too. She tried to sip her tea to distract herself from the absurdity of the situation.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” he responded.

  “Sure,” she said, a little afraid of where this was going.

  “What kind of food do you like?”

  “Sorry?” she asked.

  “You clearly don’t like Italian food or steak, or else you would have ordered something. And it seems like you don’t drink anything stronger than tea. So, what kind of food do you like?”

  “Anything, I guess,” she said hesitantly.

  “I just want to know where to take you for the next interview. Sushi, perhaps?”

  Angela’s mouth watered at the thought. She took a large sip of tea to weaken her hunger pangs.

  “Clive,” an assistant said cautiously. “I think it’s best if we end this interview. We can contact the Times and tell them that we’d like to terminate this arrangement.”

  “No,” Clive said, much to Angela’s relief. “I think she’s more than competent as a journalist.”

  “Could you tell me about your investment strategies?” Angela continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. “Some might say that it’s a bit unethical to own so much stock in other family businesses. Isn’t that just keeping all of the money in the family?”

  He finished eating and set down his knife and fork, just studying her for a moment. “I’m just trying to support businesses I believe in. I also invest money in new businesses that promote renewable energy, but I see you’re not interested in that, are you?”

  “Not so much,” she admitted.

  “Well, do you have any other questions for me?”

  “I think I’m good for this first article,” she said, finishing her tea and biscuits. “When do you want to meet for our next interview in the series?” she asked casually.

  Clive grinned. “How about Thursday?”

  “That will work. Your people can contact the Times. They’ll forward the message to me.”

  “Why don’t you just give me your number? It’ll save both of us some time, you know?”

  Angela crinkled her brow.

  “It’s all business, Angela,” he said cheekily. “I don’t suppose you’re the type to call a random guy up when you’re feeling lonely?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then hand me your phone,” he said, extending his arm across the table. She reluctantly handed him her phone. He quickly typed a number in and handed it back.

  “Now don’t go giving that away,” he warned. “I don’t want to have to change my number again.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll make arrangements with you later.”

  “It was lovely to meet you, Angela,” he said, getting up from the table. She followed suit.

  “Likewise,” she smirked.

  As she walked out the door, she heard him whispering to one of his aides. She wondered if he was whispering about her. She hoped he was.

  Chapter 4

  “I’ve looked over your draft,” Constance said to Angela over the phone, “and I’m blown away. You managed to find the exact tone I was looking for. It’s almost tongue-in-cheek what you’ve done here. Honestly, you’ve exceeded my expectations. You’ve captured a person that the world hasn’t seen.”

  “You liked it?” Angela gushed.

  “I know it’s too early to tell, but I really think you have a future here at the New York Times. In fact, we have an empty desk for you if you want it. It’s just that we want our writers to have a place to go. But, if you prefer working from home, that’s fine too.”

  “No, I’d love to come in,” Angela said quickly. As much as her apartment felt like home to her, a nice, quiet office would be a nice change of scene. Besides, if she wanted to work for them full-time, it would be good to get to know the other journalists. She despised networking, but it was the best way to further her career—besides the Clive Davis piece, of course.

  “Great. Come in tomorrow morning and HR will get you set up with your desk. Have you established your second interview time yet?”

  “Not yet. Tentatively Thursday, but he still hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  “Hound him. I’m thinking about sending this to print as early as next week.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m hoping so,” Constance said. “Come in and get your desk sorted and then work on getting a meeting with Clive. How were his harem of employees?”

  “An absolute nightmare. How did you know about that?”

  Constance laughed. “Insider knowledge, I guess. I’m sorry I didn’t really warn you, but I didn’t want you to turn down the job.”

  “It’s no problem,” Angela said. “It’s nothing that I can’t handle myself. Besides, I think Clive was getting tired of their constant interruptions. I think I can maybe get him to ditch them for the next interview.”

  “That would be something,” Constance mused. “Keep me updated. I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the week at a conference. If you need anything, send me an email or talk to Maggie.”

  “I will.”

  “Keep up the good work.”

  “Thank you so much,” Angela said. It felt so good to be appreciated. She couldn’t believe that an editor would take the time to call her, just to pay her a compliment. Plus, she could work inside of the office. Clive Davis was a pain in the ass, but the perks of d
ealing with him were worth it.

  Feeling extra motivated to do a good job, she sent a text to Clive.

  Hi, Clive, this is Angela from the New York Times. I was wondering if you had given any thought to where and when you’d like to have the second interview. I am free all week. Let me know your schedule as soon as possible. Thanks.

  Angela dug through her cupboard for something to eat as she waited. She found a stale bag of store brand cookies and grabbed a handful. She chuckled to herself, imagining what Clive would say if he saw how she lived.

  After meeting with him, she couldn’t stop daydreaming about what his life was like. She couldn’t imagine how much freedom a billion dollars could buy her. She wouldn’t have to worry about bills or debt again, she could buy whatever she wanted without looking at the price tag, and she could help people like herself who were barely scraping by.

  Angela’s phone buzzed and she jumped up to grab it. Her heart was racing, even though she knew it was just about work.

  Maybe I should meet you on your home turf this match, Clive responded. Where are you working from these days? A coffee shop in Brooklyn?

  As of tomorrow, I’ll be in the office. Should I try to get a conference room for you and your squad? She smiled to herself as she typed.

  No, I’d rather not. If it’s the secrets to my success you’re after, I don’t think a busy office is a good place to chat. Let me think of the right location, and I’ll get back to you.

  Angela groaned and flopped back on her bed. She didn’t care where or when they met, just so long as it happened immediately. She didn’t want to wait around any longer. She needed to get the second installment done.

  The next morning, Angela got up bright and early to claim her spot in the office before anyone changed their mind about it. She smiled brightly as the bitchy receptionist she met on the day of her interview handed Angela her security badge.

  When she arrived, she was seated in the back corner between a balding middle-aged man and a stylish woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. Both were busy at work when she sat down and made little effort to introduce themselves except for a simple hello. Angela didn’t really mind, though, she wasn’t there to make friends.

  By the time lunch rolled around, she had already finished composing her questions for the next interview. She even outlined what she wanted to accomplish in her next interview. Alas, there was no more work for her to do until she spoke to Clive.

  There was no making that man do anything he didn’t want to do. Angela was a nobody and she would have to wait on Clive, not the other way around. Having no work to do and no boss to be held accountable to, she took a long lunch and treated herself to a sandwich at a deli. She wondered if their next interview would take place at a restaurant of some sort, and if it would be acceptable to allow him to order her a drink or a bite to eat. She craved a glass of wine that didn’t come from a clearance bin.

  When she returned, there was a long box sitting on her nearly empty desk. Angela looked around to see if she could find the source of the package. She certainly didn’t have the money to order anything. It was clearly a mistake.

  She carefully peeked into the box to see if the contents held any clue to whom it belonged to. Much to her surprise, the card had her name on it. She tore off the lid and read the note.

  Wear this to our next interview. I’ll send you the details later today.

  Angela peeled back the metallic tissue paper to reveal a dress. She pulled it out of the box, the long skirt falling to the floor. Clive had purchased a beautiful black gown. The sweetheart neckline cut deep and the fabric was cut to hug every curve. It was stunning, but it was not for Angela. She folded it, placed it in the box, and set the box on top of the nearest trash bin.

  She didn’t even respond to Clive’s message because she was so disgusted by his pathetic attempt to buy her. He must have sensed that she didn’t write a completely favorable review of him and wanted to bribe her. She wouldn’t be bought and tossing the dress that an assistant lazily picked out for her felt like an act of defiance.

  Angela got back to work, writing up a new series of tough, personal questions for him. If they ever did find a time to meet, she was going to really tear into him, and she would do it in her own clothes.

  When Angela’s desk mate returned from lunch, she saw the dress in the trash and let out a small stifled scream.

  “What’s wrong?” Angela asked, whipping around in her chair.

  “This dress was in the trash,” she gasped. “It’s Alexander McQueen.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Angela asked casually. She wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

  “It’s super rare,” she said. “I saw a picture of the Duchess of Cambridge wearing it a few weeks ago. It probably cost close to ten thousand dollars.”

  “I doubt it,” Angela scoffed. “It’s probably a fake.”

  The girl ran her hands along the seams. “Is this yours?”

  “I guess,” she answered. “I must have knocked it off my desk,” she said sheepishly.

  The girl looked at her in disbelief as Angela picked it up and carefully tucked it under her desk. For the rest of the afternoon, she felt like the girl was staring at her.

  Finally, at five, Angela raced home to try on the dress. She didn’t want to give Clive the satisfaction of seeing her in it, but she was so curious about how a fancy dress would look on her.

  In front of her mirror, she tried on the dress and did a twirl. The fabric felt so smooth against her skin and it was tight in all the right places. She felt elegant but incredibly sexy in the dress. The strange part was, it fit perfectly. She had a hard time buying jeans without trying on several sizes—for a guy to get her size right on the first try seemed crazy.

  Angela couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror. She knew it was wrong to be so enamored by a piece of clothing that she shouldn’t have received in the first place, but it really looked like it was made for her. She stripped it off and hung it in the back corner of her room. She tried not to, but she kept stealing glances at it.

  Just then, she received another text from Clive.

  I hope you liked the dress. Our next interview will be at my charity gala, tomorrow night at eight. It’s being held at the Royal Ballroom. I’ll be the dashing young man in the tux. – Clive

  She scowled at the dress, refusing to respond to his message. He was trying to trick her into doing what he wanted. What he didn’t know was that Angela wasn’t like the other girls he usually hung around with. She had no interest in his lifestyle and wouldn’t get sucked into it anytime soon. He had chosen the wrong reporter to mess with.

  Chapter 5

  As she was getting ready for her second interview with Clive Davis, Angela was stuck trying to make a difficult decision. If she wore the beautiful gown, she would be able to seamlessly blend in with the crowd. But, then she’d be playing right into Clive’s hand. She was not about to let him have the upper hand in their arrangement. She knew too well that you couldn’t just buy someone an extremely expensive gift like that and not expect anything in return.

  Instead of spending the evening doing her hair and makeup as she assumed the other attendees would do, she did some more research into who Clive Davis was. The first several pages of the web search showed nothing but publicity photos and articles about how much money he pledged to different charities.

  Especially after meeting the man, it seemed phony. He was making billions while people underneath him made pennies in comparison. The starting salary at one of his pharmaceutical labs was minimum wage, with hardly any benefits. Angela even contacted a few former employees of his to ask what they thought of him. Most never even met the guy; he was so detached from anything below the boardroom.

  It made her wonder if these charity functions were just a front for something else. Maybe he just liked the parties and attention, and charities were a way to flaunt his wealth among his wealthy friends. Maybe there was something in his business th
at he wanted to cover up with articles upon articles of his good deeds. Whatever it was, Angela wanted to find out—partially for her story, and just out of plain curiosity.

  Growing up in a working-class family gave her a completely different perspective about people like Clive. They were always sitting comfortably at the top, going on long, expensive vacations and resting in their cushy offices. Meanwhile, people like Angela’s parents were the ones working multiple jobs to be able to afford basic goods. They did the manual labor and the long hours while the people in charge took it easy. Yet, if the company did well, all credit and money went to the guy on top. Those at the bottom waited for the money to trickle down, only it never came.

  Already feeling annoyed that she had to attend his event to get a few words in, she put on a pair of jeans and the black blazer she bought at a secondhand shop that morning. It fit great and it looked a little more professional than the leather jacket. Plus, it hid the spaghetti stain on her grey t-shirt underneath.

  Sliding on her sneakers, she grabbed her bag and ran out the door. She hoped she’d be able to observe him in action before it was time to talk to him. She wondered if he acted differently around people, depending on their net worth.

  When she got to the ballroom, she strode toward the entrance, eager to survey the scene. A large bouncer in a suit held out his hand to stop her.

  “I’m a reporter from the New York Times. Clive Davis invited me here tonight for an interview.”

  “This isn’t the proper attire,” he said, looking at her outfit.

  “I don’t think you understood me,” she tried again. “I’m not here for the fundraiser. I’m working on a story for Mr. Davis.”

  He rolled his eyes and looked at his list. “What’s your name?”

  “Angela Reynolds.”