The Billionaire Affair, page 1
The Billionaire Affair
By
Sarah J. Brooks
© Copyright 2023 by Sarah J. Brooks - All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Jace
Chapter 3: Olivia
Chapter 4: Jace
Chapter 5: Olivia
Chapter 6: Jace
Chapter 7: Olivia
Chapter 8: Olivia
Chapter 9: Jace
Chapter 10: Olivia
Chapter 11: Olivia
Chapter 12: Jace
Chapter 13: Olivia
Chapter 14: Olivia
Chapter 15: Jace
Chapter 16: Olivia
Chapter 17: Jace
Chapter 18: Olivia
Chapter 19: Olivia
Chapter 20: Olivia
Chapter 21: Jace
Chapter 22: Olivia
Chapter 23: Jace
Chapter 24: Olivia
Chapter 25: Jace
Chapter 26: Olivia
Chapter 27: Jace
Chapter 28: Olivia
Chapter 29: Olivia
Chapter 30: Jace
Chapter 31: Olivia
Chapter 32: Jace
Chapter 33: Olivia
Chapter 34: Olivia
Chapter 35: Olivia
Chapter 35: Jace
Chapter 36: Olivia
Chapter 37: Jace
Chapter 1
“I like it,” Amelia Jones says, her green eyes gleaming the way they do when she’s excited about an idea. “Do some more research and see whether it has juice,” she adds and shoots Scott a rare smile.
Scott writes well-thought-out political pieces and is respected in journalists circles and of course here at The Life Style magazine. He taps his fingers on the conference table. He’s itching to get away and start working on his piece. That’s the kind of excitement I want to have for my job.
Impossible to though, when all I get are filler articles. Those spaces in a magazine that need to be filled between the main features. How-to articles, observations of daily life, amusing anecdotes, and things like that.
Amelia is now discussing different ideas with Joanna. She writes a health column and when they are done, I see my opportunity to pitch in some ideas I’ve been working on.
I clear my voice. “I have some ideas—”
“There’s one more thing,” Amelia says, frowning at me as though I’m the one who has interrupted her.
Joanna shoots me a sympathetic look and mouths, ‘next time.’ She’s my closest friend at the magazine and my greatest encourager.
I slump back into my seat and try not to feel sorry for myself. I’ve scoured through the internet, reading advice on how to get ahead at work. Being aggressive and putting yourself out there comes up again and again. I guess the writers of those articles didn’t factor in having a boss like Amelia who doesn’t believe that you can do more.
“We got a tip concerning The Anderson Clinic,” Amelia says and goes quiet for dramatic effect.
It works. Scott stops tapping his finger on the table and I sit up straighter. Everyone in Chicago knows The Anderson Clinic. It’s the largest fertility clinic in the state and is owned and run by the Anderson family. Amelia tells us that there have been grave errors at the clinic with women getting the wrong sperm but it’s all been covered up.
I’m not interested in the scandal but women choosing to get pregnant through sperm donation would make for an awesome feature. The very kind of human interest story that gets my blood pumping.
“There’s a temporary PA position working for one of the brothers.” Amelia stares at everyone around the table. “You know what this means. Working undercover to get the dirt. But first, you have to get the job. That means impressing Mr. Anderson and only you can do that.”
Uncovering dirt in a clinic is not my dream job but who knows about the contacts I could make there. I could write the stories I want to write and show my editor where my talents lie. My heart thrums hard against my chest as I raise my hand. I’m not the only one who is interested. There are four other hands up, including Joanna’s.
“It’s a PA job so I need someone who’s worked as a PA before,” Amelia says in a crisp voice.
Three hands go down. Mine is the only one that remains. Amelia frowns at me again. My stomach churns. I ignore the tremors in my body.
“Olivia, I’m not sure you’re experienced enough to handle this type of assignment.”
“I am,” I tell her with as much confidence as I can muster. I talk a mile a minute telling her about the two years I worked as a PA for a doctor. The fact that I have experience in a hospital setting is what convinces her that maybe I can do the job.
“Everyone has their first one big story,” Scott says. “Olivia can do this.”
More of my colleagues are speaking up, voicing their support for my abilities.
“Okay, fine,” Amelia says. “Don’t fuck this up. Your job is on the line.”
I try to suppress a grin and fail. This is my biggest assignment since I started working for the magazine a year and a half ago. Joanna gives me a discreet thumbs-up. For the first time, I feel like a real writer. I have an important assignment and I can’t wait to get started.
I’m in a daze for the rest of the editorial meeting. I’m not given to fantasies but I can’t help thinking that this is the beginning of bigger, better things. I come back to earth just as the meeting is coming to an end.
Amelia asks me to remain behind as the others file out. She stares at me hard. “This could be the scoop of the year. I’ll be honest with you, Olivia. I’m nervous about giving it to you but you do deserve it. You’re the first to get to work every morning and the last to leave. Put in the same effort at the clinic.”
“If I get it,” I remind her.
“You will,” she says but doesn’t explain further. “Leah will go over everything with you.” She pushes her chair back and stands up. “You’ll get double pay. From the clinic and from the magazine.”
I take a moment to take that in. Excitement courses through me. I love saving and I intend to save the second paycheck I get from the clinic. But this is not about money. This is about my career and the break that is finally within reach.
Amelia stands, picks up her folder, and tucks her hair, cut into a severe bob, behind her ear. I stand too. She looks me up and down, making me want to straighten my clothes even though I look perfectly fine with black pants and a pink blouse. Anything goes at the magazine. What matters is not how you look but what is between your ears.
“You need a new wardrobe,” she says. “The magazine will cover it.”
“Thanks,” I tell her.
I linger and let her leave the conference room first. Then I let out a whoop of celebration. I’m so happy, I feel as though I can fly. I can’t wait to get started but first, I fish out my phone to text my best friend Chris. I need to share the good news and I need someone to take me shopping. He’s a photographer and never passes up an opportunity to take pictures.
***
“I’m acquainted with one of the brothers,” Chris says later, leaning against a clothes rack in the department store. He wanted me to splurge and shop in a designer store but I had to make him see sense. Sure, the magazine was paying for it but I’m pretty sure they didn’t mean designer clothes for my new wardrobe. Chris is from a wealthy family and I’m not surprised that he’s acquainted with the Anderson family.
“I photographed the first brother’s wedding,” he says. “Alec is his name. Solid guy and a surgeon.” He pats at his spiky hair although there’s nothing wrong with it. The thing that Chris loves after his camera is his hair.
“And the other one, Jace?” I leaf through the clothes. A plain black pencil dress catches my eye and I sling it on my left arm to try on later. It will be perfect for those days when I don’t feel like going to a lot of trouble to dress up. I anticipate plenty of those days.
“I’ve seen him from a distance,” Chris says. “Serious dude, the kind that doesn’t take crap. Makes sense. He has run that clinic and done superbly well since his parents retired.”
I stop listening at “…the kind that doesn’t take any crap.” My insides shudder. This is becoming real and scary. The threat of being fired on my first day if very real. He’ll probably see through me as soon as we shake hands.
Chris stops talking when he realizes that I’m not listening. “What?”
I recount for him the conversation I had with my Amelia. She had meant it when she said that if I fucked up, my job would be on the line. I love my career but Amelia takes it to another level. She lives for that magazine. She wasn’t joking. I’m not exactly irreplaceable. Maybe in a few years, but right now I haven’t made a name for myself in the world of journalism. The way to do that is to carve out a niche for myself. I inhale deeply and remind myself that’s the reason why I’m going to The Anderson Clinic as an undercover reporter.
“If Jace Anderson is the boss from hell, what chance do I have?”
“Relax,” Chris says. “I didn’t say that he was the boss from hell. I only said that he was serious. But Liv, so are you. You’re the most focused person I know.”
It’s not exactly an achievement to be the most focused person that Chris knows. Out of all his friends, he’s probably the only one who takes his work seriously. Chris is a freelance photographer and quite a celebrity on social media. He’s got several million followers and he has a deal with a luxury bag brand.
His friends, people he has known all his life are from his circle, spoiled with wealthy parents and trust funds. When my friends meet Chris, the first question thing they want to know is where we met considering I was in and out of foster care all my life.
“Don’t worry about Amelia,” Chris continues. “Besides, you can always go freelance.”
I shudder and shoot him a look of horror. I admire freelancers. They can pick and choose their assignments and, not for the first time, I wish I was brave enough to do freelance work. My job is my security. It makes me feel safe the way a warm blanket feels wrapped around you on a cold, winter evening. I like knowing that every two weeks, on a predictable date, my paycheck will show up in my account. Money aside, I love having somewhere to go to every morning and having a structured day.
“I know, I was kidding.” He pulls me to his side for a hug. “You’ll be fine.”
I grab several pairs of pants and pencil skirts in a variety of colors. A store assistant offers to help but I assure her that I’m okay. The fun starts in the changing room. I try on the first outfit and come out to pose for Chris. He discreetly takes pictures before I try on the next outfit.
“You look hot in that one,” he says. “You should wear it for the interview.”
I turn to stare at myself in the mirror. I look different than my usual casual ensemble. The peach-colored blouse has a deep v-neck that shows a hint of cleavage and the pencil skirt shows off my figure. It’s definitely not the look I usually go for but I need all the help I can get.
“I really do look nice,” I say.
Chris comes to stand next to me. A sales woman walks by and does a double take, looking at him again. Chris is gorgeous. He’s well over six feet, with sandy-colored hair and beautiful green eyes. We’ve always been friends, right from the beginning when we first me. But there’s never been any chemistry between us and I like it like that. He said the same thing to me during a drunken weekend after we graduated from college. I was the sister he never had and he liked knowing that he didn’t have to hit on me. I was safe.
He was single and for as long as I’ve known him, he’s never been in a relationship for longer than three months. He says that he gets bored easily but my theory is that he backs off when things get serious. I’m no therapist but his parents have a weird open marriage, something I’ve never heard with couples from their generation.
“Nice? Jace Anderson won’t know what hit him,” Chris says building my confidence.
I really hope I get that position. I have a feeling that it’s the stepping stone I need to show Amelia what I can really do. I try to limit how much I buy as I haven’t gotten the job yet, but I still end up with almost a full wardrobe.
I pay for my purchases and we lug them to Chris’s car in the basement parking.
“Want to go for an early dinner?” Chris asks.
“Sure, why not?”
Chris drives us to the private club where he and his family have been members for decades. I got free private tennis lessons, courtesy of being friends with Chris. We head to the dining room and pick a table that overlooks the garden.
“It always feels like coming home,” Chris comments.
He spent more time at the club than at home when he was growing up. I admired him for that and only years later did I realize how lonely he was. He probably just wanted to be home with his parents, just like I did.
Chapter 2: Jace
A perfect day. So far. Those kinds of days are rare. I’ve had a meeting with my managers and there were no surprises there. The contractors doing some renovations in the patient bathrooms on the second floor are on schedule. All the systems that make our clinic run smoothly are working as they should.
I glance at my wrist watch as I enter the clinic café. I’m right on time to meet my brothers for lunch. My stomach growls as the scent of food teases my nostrils.
“Do you have any of that delicious lasagna left, Rosie?”
“One last piece.” Rosie smiles and gestures to the far end of the café where Dylan and Alec are seated. “They took two each.” She laughs and turns away to arrange my lunch on a tray. She serves me a cup of coffee without asking, knowing that I need a boost of coffee for the afternoon. Employees like Rosie are the back bone of the clinic. She started working at the café when my parents started the clinic. She’s loyal and she has an incredible work ethic. I doubt if Rosie has ever missed work except for when one of her boys was sick. “Enjoy,” she says, handing me the lunch tray.
I carry it across the room to where my brothers are seated. “Hey.” I sit down and immediately start eating. I’m starving.
“You need a woman in your life to teach you eating etiquette.” Dylan grins. He can say that now because he has Harper. A few years ago, when Alec first got married, he and I were in the same boat.
I fork a generous helping of lasagna into my mouth. Hospital cafeterias have a bad reputation for serving bad food. Ours is different, thanks to Rosie and the cooks under her watch. “Want to lend me Harper? Bet she won’t want to come back to you after she gets a taste of me.”
Dylan scowls as I knew he would. He absolutely adores that wife of his but then, so do we all. Both my brothers lucked out in the wife department. Ivy, Alec’s wife, is awesome. She’s an author and great company. It doesn’t seem fair that my womanizing brothers have found love while I haven’t.
I’ve more or less given up. My relationships usually start off well, but then the complaints about how much time I spend at the clinic start coming in. It’s not a false accusation either. Sometimes, I come back after dinner to walk around and make sure that everything is okay. It’s so ingrained in my system that if I don’t do it, it feels as if something is missing. I enjoy having a chat with the staff on duty and helping out where I can. I wheel the patients to where they are needed or whichever other task needs to be done. Mingling with the staff and patients grounds me. It’s a reminder that we are all about service to people. When you’re up there in the CEO’s office, it’s easy to forget that your bosses are the patients.
“You would bring her back after a day,” Dylan says. “She’s moody as fuck but that’s to be expected.” Harper is pregnant and knowing my sister-in-law, she’s not handling the inconveniences that come with pregnancy very well. She’s a career woman with a passion for philanthropy. I can’t imagine her taking forced days off from her beloved work.
“Is Joshua excited that he’s going to be a big brother?” Alec asks.
“He doesn’t get the whole big brother thing,” Dylan says and we all chuckle.
I eat and listen as they talk about growing children and families. A longing grips my chest like a vise and not for the first time. These days I feel it more and more when my brothers talk about their families. I want the same thing too but at thirty-four years old, I’m losing hope fast. Maybe the universe knows what it’s doing. I’m not cut out for family life. The clinic comes first and I don’t see that situation changing anytime soon.
