Stingray Billionaire: The Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (9 page)

“Marly,
have a seat,” I tell her. “You know what? Could you close the door first?”

“Of
course,” she says, her face going white.

She
closes the door and takes a seat on the other side of my desk.

“How bad
is it?” I ask as quietly as possible.

“What
were you thinking?” she returns in a whisper. “You know the only clear
motivation these people have is the impression you’re the kind of guy who only
smiles for pictures.”

“How
bad?” I repeat.

“Well,
Tripp and about six others decided to get pizza and soda for everyone, but they
made it pretty clear they were going to take their time with it,” she starts.

“That’s
not so bad,” I say.

“You
don’t get it,” she says. “With one laugh, you went from being the high-powered
CEO of one of the most successful startups in the last decade to Nick, the cool
boss who lets people go out for pizza. The act itself isn’t the problem. The
problem is that we’re on thin ice here, and we need everyone working like their
jobs are on the line if we’re going to make a go of this very unpopular move
before the board decides to put a penny loafer up your ass on your way out of
the company. Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?”

See,
along with being a lawyer, Marly’s also my mole. More than that, when Jacque
and I were just getting the company put together, Marly was also my mentor.
It’s a role she hasn’t yet shed, and if I have anything to say about it, she
never will.

“It
can’t be—” I start.

“It
wasn’t the laugh,” she says. “The laugh was just permission. I’ve been hearing
a lot of people talking about how this whole trip is insane. Nobody knows why
you’d want to move the headquarters from Manhattan to wherever we are. I’m
pretty sure if they did know, you’d be on your way to the ground with your
golden parachute before the end of business. New York can’t wait until next
week,” she says. “You have to get back there now and start plugging holes or
this whole ship’s going down.”

“Not
today,” I tell her.

She
raises an eyebrow.

“I have
some things to work out here before I can go,” I tell her. “Book me something for
tomorrow, and
—
”

“What
about your jet?” she asks. “Malcolm said you were belt-tightening.”

“No,” I
tell her. “It just doesn’t make a lot of sense to burn all that jet fuel when
it’s only taking a couple of people and me. Creating a cleaner environment is
all our responsibility.”

“Yeah,
that would have been a lot more believable before you told me to give you the
number of my ‘plane guy’ so you’d have something ‘to get from A to B,’ don’t
you think?” she asks.

The
problem with Marly is that she never forgets anything. She insists she has a
“normal” memory, but I don’t think I’ve gotten away with anything since I met
her.

I tell
her, “Yeah, but if I jump right on the corporate jet the day we’re down twelve
points—”

“Nineteen,”
she says. “We’ve dropped seven in the last hour.”

I grit
my teeth. “You remember a few years ago when I took that month-long vacation in
Denmark?” I ask. “If I recall right, our stock was way up by the time I got
back. What’s the problem this time?”

“Going
to Denmark didn’t make you a liability,” she says. “This time, people care if
you’re heading the company because you’ve learned how not to kill a business.”

“Calm
down,” I tell her. “I may pay you for your honesty, but that doesn’t mean you
have to grab a shovel.”

“Yeah, I
don’t know what that means,” she says. “I’ll get you on a plane in the morning,
but you’re going to have to start listening to me, or we’re in some serious
trouble, all right?”

“All
right,” I tell her. “Oh, by the way …”

Marly
rolls her eyes. “What?” she asks.

“Well aren’t
you a bowl of grapefruit this morning?” I ask.

“Yeah, I
don’t know what that means, either,” she says. “Is there anything else? I’ve
got to go put out some fires you started.”

Part of
the reason I’ll never fire Marly is if she ever writes a book, my career is
over.

“Get two
tickets,” I tell her. “I’m going to ask Ellie to come with me.”

“Things
are going well then?” she asks.

“You
could say that,” I answer.

Marly
sighs and gets to her feet. She says, “Just don’t burn the company and everyone
in it for her; promise me.”

“I’m not
looking to burn anything,” I answer. “Do you need a minute to put on your
scared face?”

“Oh
please,” Marly says. A moment later, her eyebrows are going up in the middle,
and her bottom lip is quivering. Two more seconds pass and there are tears in
her eyes.

“You’re
too good at that,” I tell her.

“I just
think about what this company’s going to look like in a year and what can I
say? The tears just start flowing,” she whispers. Then, for the first time
since she’s closed the door, Marly speaks at her normal volume, saying, “Yes,
sir. Of course, sir. I’m so sorry for letting you down, sir.”

“Wait,”
I whisper. “What are you going to tell them this meeting was about.”

“Something
I don’t want to talk about because it’s just so,” her breath catches in the
most convincing fake sob I’ve heard from her in a while. I get the point.

“Go,” I
say. “Do.”

She
opens the door, sniffing loudly to draw just enough attention and she’s on her
way to put out another fire.

*
                   
*
       
            
*

By the time I’m headed
back to the room, I’m exhausted. Fortunately, I’m so overflowing with
stress I
hardly feel it. When I open the door,
though, for a moment at least, all that tension fades.

It seems along with a
change of
clothes Ellie
brought a thin,
black, silken robe. She’s sitting with her legs
draped
over the arm of her chair. Dangling lazily from one hand is what looks like an
unlit cigarette until she puts it to her lips and blows out smoke. It’s one of
those e-cigarettes that only glows when you’re taking a drag.

She looks over at me, and
with
a
faint
smile, she says, “Back from the office? The chef came by,
told me you'd
ordered something.”

“Yeah,” I answer,
loosening my tie as I walk further into the room, the door closing behind me.
“I thought it’d be
fun
to get something
not on the room service menu for once.”

“There was something I
wanted to ask you,” she says,
really
committing to the role.

“What’s that?” I return.

“The chef,” she says.
“Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looked rather familiar. Have I
seen his many recipe books at the local shop, perhaps?”

Without a clue where
she’s going with the roleplay, I decide to join in. “Why yes, darling,” I say,
affecting just a hint of a British accent. “He’s the young man from the Food
Network, I believe.”

“How terribly bourgeois,”
Ellie says, then tosses her head back, cackling.

I shake my head and
chuckle. “You know,” I inform her, “in this scenario, we would be the
bourgeois.”

“I was going for the
trophy
girlfriend,” she says. “Given what I
understand from Naomi’s hours watching celebrity television, I came to the
conclusion they’re not particularly sharp as a breed. How’d I do?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he
says. “I’m usually so busy with my yacht that I don’t have time for such
endeavors.”

“Yeah, we’re done with
the accents,” she says. “You think you could give a woman some warning before
doing something like that?”

“What, the accent?” I
ask.

She throws the unlit
cigarette at me, but it misses its mark. “You’re throwing stuff at me,” I say.
“What about the mystery of the unlit cigarette which magically produces smoke,
but only in the lungs?”

“It’s called an
e-cigarette, Nicky boy,” she says. “You’d think someone as well informed as you
would be up on that sort of thing.”

“So, you’re a smoker,” I
say.

“No, Naomi
is,
and I like to steal her e-cigs every once
in a while.
At first,
it had something to
do with trying to get her to quit, but it’s devolved a bit,” Ellie explains.
“Now, what do you say we dig into this dinner before it gets cold?”

“You could have started
without me,” I tell her. “Also, the whole ‘Nicky boy’ thing?”

“Not a fan?” she asks.

“Not especially,” I
answer.

“You’re
a bit high-maintenance, aren’t you?” she asks, smirking. “ As far as starting
dinner without you,
I planned
to
,”
she says. “Luckily for you, though, your timing was perfect. I got your message
just after he left, which gave me enough time to get into my lovely robe.
Everything should still be warm.”

“I was hoping Girard
would keep
you
company for a few minutes
while I was finishing with work,” I tell her while
pulling
the dinner trolley toward the foot of the bed.

Ellie laughs. “Yeah, that
wasn’t happening. He came in here and started telling me about the dinner and
about how you’d called him yesterday while I was in the shower or something and
I think I might have started hyperventilating.”

“Yeah, that’s not very
bourgeois,” I tell her.

“He wasn’t very
impressed,” she says. “I mean, he was nice about it and everything, but I could
just tell he wanted to get out of here.”

I’m a little disappointed
I’m not the only one that can elicit that response out of her. To my credit, I
did
get her to pass out. Girard only
managed some light hyperventilation.

We sit down to dinner,
but that tension’s starting to rise in my chest again.

“Ellie, I’ve been getting
a lot of calls from corporate,” I tell her.

She covers her full
mouth, nodding. Once she swallows, she’s saying, “Yeah, I think I’ve overheard
more than one of them over the past few days.”

“Well, it looks like we
have some jittery investors and I’m going to have to make a trip back to New
York for a little while,” I say.

“Okay,” she says,
nodding. “When do you go?”

I look at my watch. “I’ve
got two tickets for an eight o’clock flight,” he says.

“Two tickets, huh?” she
asks, her face starting to go flush. “It’s probably none of my business, but
who’s the second ticket for?”

“It’s for you, if you
want it,” I answer. “I know you have responsibilities around here, even with
still being off work, but I’d love it if you’d come. It’s going to be a
business trip, so there’s going to be a lot of time where you’re on your own,
but I’m sure we could figure out something for you to do in Manhattan. What do
you say?”

“Tomorrow morning?” she
asks.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“I’ll have to talk to
Naomi and make sure she’s up for taking care of Max and Sammie by herself a few
more days,” she says. “I should probably see if I can get ahold of Troy, too. I
haven’t heard anything from him yet, but I can’t imagine it’ll be too much
longer before it’s time for me to go back to work.”

We finish our dinner and
Ellie makes her phone calls. As for me, the stress is finally being swallowed
by the exhaustion, and I’m lying on the couch, just trying to keep my eyes
open.

“Looks like I’m
ready
to go,” she says. “You want a drink?”

“Sure,” I answer, sitting
up again. “There are some single-serve shots in the minibar, or we can have
something brought up.”

“Minibar,” she says.
Leaning forward to open the minibar, she doesn’t bend her knees, causing the
bottom of her robe to come up just enough to give me a partial glimpse of her
pussy while she’s picking out drinks for the night.

She takes her time
deciding. I don’t complain.

“Oh, did I tell you?” I
ask. “We finally got the last of the walls up down in the conference room.”

“Yeah?” she asks,
standing up straight again and walking toward me. “Ever fooled around in your
office?”

“The
one
downstairs?” I ask. “No.”

Ellie unceremoniously
drops three of the bottles she grabbed from the minibar on my lap, saying, “But
all the other ones, yes?” She opens one of the bottles she didn’t drop and
drinks
it down.

“No,” I tell her. “I’ve
never fooled around in any of my offices.”

“Where are you from,
originally,
anyway
?” she asks. “When I’ve
heard the story of Stingray’s ascension in the press, it always starts with you
meeting your college roommate.”