Top Love: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Young Adult Stepbrother and Billionaire Romance Stories)

Top Love

An Alpha Billionaire Romance

Ellen Lane


Copyright 2015 by Ellen Lane - All rights reserved.

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

From The Author

BONUS BOOK: HER BILLIONAIRE DREAM – Ellen Lane

BONUS BOOK: MY MASTER – Ellen Lane

BONUS BOOK: BUNDLED HEART
– Taylor Young

Top Love

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It was magnificent.

As he stared at the immense building, with its vaulted ceilings and domed roofs, the spirals cresting its eaves and the clean lines of the mirrored entryway, Elias found profound pleasure in what he had accomplished.

Of course, at that very moment, he should have been at the opening ceremony. He was supposed to be giving some speech about the ushering in of a new era – and how this extension to the
Louvre
was proof of a further developing city and the peak of an artistic epoch.

But in all truthfulness, Elias would rather not. He wasn’t good at giving speeches. He preferred staying behind the scenes, which became harder and harder the more he designed. It wasn’t, Elias constantly reminded himself, as if he had asked to be thrust into the spotlight. All he had ever really wanted was to see his buildings come to life.

After the first time one of his designs had been chosen, he was hooked. There was nothing like watching a picture you had in your mind become corporeal – as it was built from the very foundations into twisting masses of iron, glass and steel that towered far above your head.

He’d been seventeen – and lucky enough to be apprenticed to Renard Trevois – one of the foremost architects of the time. The man had taken one look at the building that Elias had worked on for the past ten years of his life and had ripped the plans apart, declaring them rubbish. Instead of emulating Renard’s style, as the man taught him, Elias went in a vastly different direction.

One that his mentor didn’t approve of.

And so, he’d struck out on his own. After redrawing his plans and effectively trashing his mentor’s workshop in a fit of virile young rage, he’d taken his ideas straight to the European Board of Architecture itself – where a part of him fully expected to be laughed out of the room. There were years-established architects all over the world who never met with the men of the council and Elias had just marched in, full of vim and vigor.

And, to his shock, they hadn’t immediately rejected him. Of course, he had interrupted another meeting and so that had caused a stir, but once things had calmed down, the head of the organization himself, Jaques Crousard, had asked to see examples of his work.

And the rest was history.

It was Crousard who had ensured that Elias first design became the New School of Art in Paris, and after that, his next work was quickly snapped up by a hotel owner in Tokyo. After what seemed like a lifetime of being under Trevois’ thumb, Elias finally earned his freedom when he defied the man – exceeding everyone’s expectations.

His father told him that he had an elephant’s bullocks and his mother thought him a tad crazy, but they were both as proud as respectable British parents could be of their son who, at age thirty three,was literally and figuratively on top of the world.

The hotel in Tokyo had opened up a plethora of new opportunities for him, and Elias wanted to take them all. Unfortunately, he’d had to pick and choose, or risk stretching himself too thin.

And thus his greatest adventure had begun.

What Elias hadn’t counted on was that his penchant for design would catapult him into the limelight. He had come from a reasonably well-off family, so fame and fortune had never been his endgame. However, when you were responsible for some of the most recognizable buildings in the world, such a thing was inevitable.

Even years later, he still wasn’t used to the fame.  

All he really wanted was to be alone at his drawing table in his office, but society necessitated a little something more. Of course, more than anything, he adored being able to personally work on the buildings he designed – to be right in the thick of things along with builders and contractors.

One of the most unique things about him, as an architect, people stated, was his willingness to get hands dirty – to put on a hard hat and get up to his elbows in the mud. Elias had never liked to lie idle, and didn’t think that his profession should be an excuse to do so. However, the glitz and glamor that had come to accompany his name only made him want to withdraw all the more. Parties could be nice, banquets tolerable…but every eligible woman between the ages of sixteen and sixty chasing after him in an attempt to “tie him down”? Advertisers wanting to put his face on everything from deodorant to Rolex Watch billboards? He was constantly avoiding his phone.

While he felt as if he was constantly running to escape the unwanted attention, Michael, his doctor and one of his best friends, found it all very amusing. The reason that everyone wanted to plaster his face all over the world, Michael attested, was because it was a pretty attractive one, and he should take that as a compliment.

Now, standing in the center of the
Louvre
entryway, his was faced with his own image reflected back at him over three hundred times and, as always, he was unimpressed. Elias was taller than the average man, that was for sure. At close to six and a half feet, he had to stoop to get into a number of doorways – something he made sure never happened in the buildings he designed. Raven-haired haired and blue eyed, he supposed he was the picture of the typical Englishman. He currently had a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin that he hadn’t bothered to shave, and his hair was badly in need of a trim.

He had always had a sharp dress sense- even, his mother attested, as a child. Unless he was going to work on a building site, he wore immaculately pressed slacks – altered for his height of course – a crisp button up and tie with a dark blazer. He was, Michael often teased him, every British debutante’s dream.

Unfortunately, however, Elias couldn’t afford to be bothered with women. Certainly, there were times when he had a physical need – and when such a need occurred, there were any number of women ready and willing to assuage him. But they understood perfectly that he wasn’t looking for commitment – not for marriage, children or any of the trappings of a domestic lifestyle. As things were, he couldn’t count on which city he’d be in from one week to the next – and he certainly didn’t need anyone other than his parents badgering him about such things.

“Aren’t you supposed to be giving some sort of speech?” He turned to see Dr. Michael Tate leaning against one of the elegantly mirrored walls, sipping at a draft beer. Apparently, his anonymity had allowed him to do what Elias couldn’t: take advantage of the open bar that  marked the occasion. Of course, the moment the man of the hour tried to get a drink, he’d be swamped. But not Mike. Mike was blessed enough to be able to fade into the background.

With a sigh, Elias shoved his hands into his pockets almost churlishly. “You didn’t even get me a pint?”

Mike merely smirked, shaking his head. “What the bloody hell are you doing hiding out here anyway? Isn’t this supposed to be your crowning achievement?” Crossing the entryway, the dark-haired man met his friend in the middle, swinging an arm around his neck companionably. “I mean,
Christ
, you designed an expansion to the
Louvre
. How many people can say they’ve done that?”

“Right.” Elias rolled his eyes, ducking out of his friend’s hold before plucking his beer glass from him. He indulged in the cool, frothy drink, downing perhaps half of it before returning it, much to Michael’s chagrin. “I designed it, and now I don’t even get to enjoy it.”

“
Bullocks
,” Michael returned skeptically, his green eyes narrowing. “You can go wherever you bloody well please. You’re Elias Johnson.”

“
Exactly
,” the raven-haired man pointed out with a long suffering sigh. “I can’t do
anything
precisely because I’m Elias Johnson.”

His companion merely shrugged, finishing the rest of his beer. “So I suppose that means you
won’t
be making any speeches today?”

Turning from him, Elias strode leisurely out of the entryway and into the main atrium, in which an immense crystal chandelier was hung. From here, he could hear the low murmur of the opening ceremony taking place several rooms beyond and frowned at the sight of the crowds. “What I
want
to do…” He punctuated lowly, “Is to get back on the first plane to London and come back in a year, in the middle of the night. Maybe
then
I’ll get to appreciate the damn thing.”

He raised his head to stare upward at the wide panes of glass that replaced a portion of the roofing, allowing for an unfettered view of the Paris night sky. He remembered standing atop the highest beam, before the walls had begun to be covered, and seeing the entirety of the city laid out below him like a sparkling gem.

The world was absolutely beautiful…it was just that
people
had to keep mucking it up.

“Well, what’s stopping you?” Michael came up behind him, still toting his empty beer glass. “I’m sure they’ll get along fine without you, now that the building’s complete. Obviously, they’ll miss your rousing testimony to your own success, but somehow, I think they’ll survive.”

A snort of laughter escaped Elias. “Thanks for reminding me why I keep you around.”

“My pleasure.” Michael quipped back with a small smirk. “Though you
are
overdue for a prostate exam. Perhaps we should take care of that before you leave…”

Elias shot the cheeky physician a warning look. Overdue or not, he wasn’t letting his friend probe him unless he beat him into submission. He still had bad memories of the
first
time he’d let these man examine him. For his own health his arse…Michael had been hell bent on killing him. “Come one step closer and I’ll shove something up
your
arse.”

The dark-haired man chuckled good-naturedly. “So very charming. No wonder you’re beloved the world over.”

“I was never cut out to be a media darling,” Elias returned evenly, his eyes fixed on the newest speaker who had just stepped onto the stage at the other end of the museum. The man was, no doubt, meant to replace him, the poor sap. But the raven-haired man wasn’t about to interrupt him just now. “It has never been my thing.”

“Yet you continue to indulge people.” Michael followed his companion’s gaze, arching a brow as scattered applause for the new speaker reached them.

“So I can continue designing, yes.” Elias asserted, turning to face his companion once more. “If I have to grease a few palms to keep on doing what I love, then, so be it. You, of all people, should know that, Mike.”

His friend merely sighed, eying his empty beer glass regretfully before he spoke again. “So, is that what this ‘contest’ is all about, then?”

At the mention of the thing, Elias swallowed a groan. Bloody hell…with all the activity that evening, he’d almost forgotten about the damned contest.

It hadn’t even been his idea really – rather, Mary, his publicist’s. She insisted to him that he needed to be more relatable as an artist – more approachable. When he’d challenged her, suggesting that one of the most interesting things about artists was their aloofness, she hadn’t been impressed. He just needed one stunt, Mary assured him, to endear him to the common folk for a little longer. Once every little while to make sure that people remembered his name.

Personally, Elias was pretty sure he was guaranteed a place in the annals of history by the physical marks he’d left on the world, but he was paying Mary, so why not take her advice once in a while?

And so, the contest had been born – some amateur event that allowed designers from all over the world to submit their projects to him in a bid to design his “new residence”. Of course, Elias had no intention of actually living there. He had enough money to build fifty houses that he would never live in if that was what was necessary. The point was the
principle
of the thing. It sounded exciting that he was going to let a complete stranger design for him – and people were eating it up.

In the week since the contest had been opened, they’d had over three million submissions – more than he could ever possibly go through. To assist him, he’d employed the help of over one hundred other architects, who went through plans around the clock, whittling the mountain down to a more manageable pile of ten or twenty that he’d ultimately choose from.

Though the entire thing was pretty much just a glorified publicity stunt, Elias did have his standards. He favored clean, crisp lines and modern designs with just the slightest touch of baroque flair. Hypothetically, he wanted a space both open and intimate – nothing that screamed opulence, nor feigned poverty. As his mother constantly reminded him, he was looking for perfection.

And perfection didn’t exist.

But, ultimately, Elias would be forced to choose a winner. And, once he did, he’d have to work with the person he’d chosen until their project was complete – which meant more time away from his own work. To say the least, the raven-haired was far from excited about the prospect. What was more, there was only a week or so left until he would have to pick a winner.