The Heir & I: Taming The Billionaire Read online

  The Heir & I

  Taming The Playboy

  By Lara Hunter

  Copyright 2015 by Lara Hunter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter One

  ~

  Lily

  “No, I’m sorry Sir. Oliver isn’t in yet; he has a full schedule of business meetings this morning and some very important commitments. The moment that he arrives, though, I’ll be sure to have him call you. Thanks, bye.”

  With a prim smile I replaced my ivory phone receiver to its place in a crystalline cradle; the beam abandoning me moments later as I considered the subject of my abbreviated conversation: Oliver Clark, my employer of two years. Someone whose overall approach to life seemed very ‘abbreviated’ indeed, most of the time.

  This wasn’t the first time that I’d had to make an excuse on behalf of my tardy boss; it wasn’t even the first time this week. It was indeed the third time during a seven-day interval that Oliver was running late for work and his tardiness had nothing to do with an all-important business meeting.

  Unless, of course, you consider a fling with an emaciated blonde whose name he probably doesn’t even remember to be an all-important conversation, I seethed in silence. Of course, I probably shouldn’t be so cynical. His date might just be a redhead, and she may indeed have enjoyed one meal of some sort in the past month or so. And he might at least remember her initials, or at least spend the entire day referring to her as ‘babe,’ just to be safe. Here’s hoping.

  My friends often praised my incredible good fortune in landing my position; a well-paying job in which I served one of the most handsome and eligible bachelors in our tropical community of Bennington, Florida—not to mention one of the wealthiest. Harry Clark, Oliver’s father, was the CEO of Clark Industries, a billion-dollar company; and at the tender age of 28, Oliver was poised to take over the reins of a firm that made the vast majority of Fortune 500 companies look like thrift stores.

  It was Harry Clark, in fact, that had originally interviewed me for my personal assistant position; and while I’d been endlessly impressed by his polished, professional demeanor, I couldn’t help but question as to why my prospective employer wasn’t the man conducting the interview, as opposed to, well, the gent that probably helped change his diapers as an infant or, at the very least, hired someone to perform that all important duty.

  “Well the answer is simple,” he’d told me, suddenly grimacing as though he’d just been struck by an inexplicable but very powerful headache. “Oliver’s last personal assistant didn’t know how to type and she refused to learn, seeing as how a vigorous round of typing might imperil the state of her newly applied press on nails. The girl before her had very poor phone skills; she kept the office line tied up throughout the day, making repeated phone calls to a close female associate known as Buffy to share soap opera recaps and timely make up tips. And when she did answer a business call, she seemed to have a little trouble mastering the name of our company; the name Clark, it seemed, was just a bit too complex for her to enunciate. And, in lieu of classifying our mission statement under the heading, ‘financial services,’ she instead referred to Clark Industries as ‘the place where people make lots of dough’—in essence likening us to a fully functioning bakery.”

  “Let me guess,” I interrupted, pursing my lips in a show of keen curiosity. “Between them they had roughly no related experience for the jobs they were supposed to perform—though I strongly suspected that they performed very well in other areas, totally unrelated to their job descriptions but nonetheless very important to your son.”

  Harry Clark, a distinguished grey-haired man in his early 50s, pitched back his head and let loose with a sharp guffaw as he considered my all too accurate words.

  “Exactly,” he affirmed, pointing a confirming finger in my direction. “My son was basically allowing his hormones to choose his personal assistants for him and while he seemed to enjoy calling these girls into his office on a regular basis, I couldn’t help but notice that very little actual work seemed to be getting done throughout the course of these little work sessions.This is why I insisted on hiring his next assistant myself and based on your resume and excellent qualifications, Ms. Ashton, I do believe that you are the right person for the job.”

  I smiled.

  “Please call me Lily. And thank you very much for your kind words. I would very much like to accept this position.”

  Harry shook his head.

  “In my business, Lily, I can’t afford to hire someone as a sheer act of kindness,” he reminded me. “You just graduated cum laude with a degree in business and you also worked full time as an office clerk to work your way through school. That, coupled with the fact that you’re not as likely to distract my son from his everyday duties, makes you more than an ideal candidate for this position.”

  “Oh. Um, OK.” My beam dissolved as I wondered just how to respond to these last words. “Thank you, I guess?”

  Harry bit his lip.

  “You know, Lily, when my dear wife was alive she was always encouraging me—OK, demanding me, in no uncertain terms, to think before I speak. I’ve got to start doing that, especially in the presence of fine young ladies who emulate her sense of grace and decorum,” he offered, pinning me with an apologetic smile. “What I meant to say is, you’re a lovely young lady that dresses like a young lady. Most importantly, you’re a bright, well-spoken individual whose academic record is nothing short of excellent. You show a maturity and work ethic that certain people with a better head start in the business, not mentioning any names, of course, seem to lack.”

  “Not at all your son’s type, in other words,” I beamed anew, nodding in understanding. “Gotcha.”

  Harry said nothing; only leaned forward to engage me, his new employee, in a warm handshake and a conspiratorial wink.

  “I have the feeling you’re going to get along just fine here,” he told me. “Lily Ashton, do allow me to welcome you to Clark Industries.”

  Two years into my current assignment, I wasn’t altogether sure that Harry’s optimistic prediction had fully realized itself; not when I had to spend every other morning explaining my boss’ absence to clients and colleagues, and every afternoon making good and sure that the frequently idle Oliver returned his phone calls, answered his e-mails, and attended his business meetings.

  I never hesitated to display my firm and assertive side when dealing with Oliver, who in my opinion had a few too many ‘yes’ people lining his pay roll and filling his personal life. If I had to make him to-do li
sts every single day, and check back with him repeatedly just to ensure that the to-do did indeed get done, then I would—well—do it.

  Of course I realized just how fortunate I was to have any kind of sustainable, well-paying job in this economy. A job that allowed a single woman to afford a respectable home, a pretty nice wardrobe along with regular meals and essential toiletries and hygiene products was a bonus. I knew a good number of people my age who were still working retail, holding down at least two jobs just to survive, or living with Mom and Dad as they continued with their job hunts. I, on the other hand, had paid off my college loan just to trade it in for a new one; a down payment on a new car. And while my new set of wheels never would be coveted by James Bond or featured on the cover of ‘Wondrous Wheels Monthly’ (was there indeed such a ridiculous sounding publication currently in print?), it got me safely to work and back home again; also transporting me with grace and ease to and from the grocery store, the local library and the occasional movie—yep that’s right, I actually could afford to attend a matinee, first run showing of the film of my choice, with popcorn included, and an occasional side of licorice or even fudge drops. Not half bad, at that!

  As much as I sometimes hated to admit it, I realized that my current position just might be the perfect fit for my strong, no nonsense persona. I kind of enjoyed my unique role as the person that keeps Oliver Clark in line—most of the time, anyway. It keeps my instincts sharp and my mind alert, thus always providing for an interesting work day; sometimes infuriating and frequently exhausting, but interesting all the same.

  And being a professional thorn in the side of Oliver Clark does have its upside, I thought, as my office phone let loose with yet another robust ring. It never fails to make the day interesting, not to mention something of a challenge.

  Perhaps, though, this was the very position I’d been working and preparing for all these years; this is the job that would prove my worth in the professional world, building my strength and character, keeping my mind sharp and my energy high, preparing me for even more major professional and personal challenges in the future.

  I cringed as the phone rang yet again, no doubt presenting me with another stellar opportunity to excuse the rampant tardiness and outright absence of Oliver Clark.

  ***

  Oliver

  I always make it a point to start every business day at 9 a.m… well, that was when I usually woke up anyway; only this morning, I realized as I opened my bleary eyes and took a brief gander at my bedside clock, I had missed my daily objective by about 45 minutes.

  I’m sure it must be 9 a.m. somewhere, I reasoned, shutting my eyes tight.

  Shifting in the smooth ivory silk sheets of my elegant four poster bed, I caught a waft of perfume that finally stirred me awake; again opening my eyes wide, I beheld the vision of a tall, slender blonde who, in my present state of blissful respite, seemed angelic in demeanor.

  Of course, she was anything but in my bed last night. I grinned as she reached over to plant a sleepy kiss of good morning on my planed, bronzed cheek. Oh well, if I am going to be late this morning, once again incurring the wrath of my ever conscientious personal assistant, then Brandy made the experience well worth it. Or is it Candy? It was so blasted loud in that bar, I couldn’t rightly hear her.

  My vague contemplation was suddenly disrupted by the sudden, very jarring realization that I had a meeting scheduled in 15 minutes; a meeting that just happened to involve a very important client at Clark Industries, as well as my father and several of our most esteemed co-workers.

  “Blast it!” I said out loud, jumping from my bed as I rushed for my clothes closet. She’s going to kill me—and not slowly, mind you. She’ll filet me, flame broil me, and post my head above the office copying machine.

  If I feared the wrath of my venerable father, esteemed executive Harry Clark, then I stood in absolute terror of the 5’5” demon that sharpened my pencils and poured my coffee each morning; and on this particular day, I suspected that she just might spike it.

  I realized that I could never live without my assistant Lily Ashton; yet if I arrived late for just one more business meeting, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t live through the day.

  Now don’t get me wrong, Lily is a wonderful woman—kind, loving, and respectful of others. I can’t altogether blame her for coming down hard on me, after all, her job depends on me. If I can’t make good at the company, then both of our jobs are proverbial toast.

  Not that this possibility was likely, of course, considering that I was the only son of the company founder. Harry Clark had built his financial empire up from the ground level, investing blood, sweat and tears; and I was carrying on his legacy by imbuing my daily schedule with a steady stream of partying, promiscuity and rampant tardiness.

  And today, dear friends, I continue the tradition, I smirked, approaching my wardrobe closet with slow, trudging steps.

  Grabbing a sleek grey business suit from its place in my closet, I threw it over the planes of my tall, sculpted body as I ran a comb through the shoulder length strands of my thick, cinnamon brown hair.

  Racing into the bathroom, I splashed some fresh water across my cheeks and chin; widening my eyes in the mirror before me to inspect the results.

  Not bad for someone who’s working on, oh, about three hours worth of sleep. I winked at myself, turning with a flourish in the direction of the front door. Since I won’t be driving in rush hour traffic, I’ll probably make it to the office just in time—yeah, that’s right, I planned it this way. Lily is going to be so proud…

  No she won’t be, I reminded myself. She was going to kill me. And it was bound to be a slow, painful death.

  Rushing from the bathroom with frenzied steps, I waved a quick goodbye to my drowsy date; just now starting to rouse in my sheets as I headed for the front door.

  “Where are you going?” she murmured, blinking at me through a messy sheen of smeared mascara and a misplaced layer of bleach blonde hair.

  “It’s off to work I go, Brandy,” I flashed her a full-toothed smile as I made a mad dash for the door. “I’ll call you later.”

  I just barely heard the words, “It’s MANDY!” as I closed the front door behind me.

  Ooops.

  Jumping in the driver’s seat of the sleek ebony Jaguar that awaited me in the driveway, I turned the key in the ignition and ripped backward into the street that fronted my exclusive three-story townhouse; beginning the seemingly interminable five mile trek that would take me to my downtown office.

  As per usual, I managed to hit every red light and meet every pedestrian crossing en route to my destination; also managing to make half the trip behind a particularly slow moving postal truck that seemed to have an inordinate number of stops.

  Knowingly breaking the speed limit several times en route to my destination, I finally arrived at the 10-story, crystal planed building that housed Clark Industries; jumping from my car and hightailing it to the front double doors in a single smooth stride.

  My feet hit the ground in my office lobby moments later; yet just before I reached the brass handled door that accessed my personal office, I took a deep, sustaining breath and slowed my steps; pasting an easy smile on my face as I ambled casually through my office doors.

  4…3, I mused silently, parting my lips to amp up my charming smile to what I hoped would be an irresistible voltage. 2, and….1.

  “Oliver! Get in here!”

  On cue my office walls reverberated with the sound of a sharp, shrill voice; one that belonged to Lily, my personal assistant of two years.

  And just how much longer she’ll remain in my employ, I’m downright afraid to ask. I turned my head to regard the curvaceous brunette who now stood stock still before her desk, hands planted firmly on hips as she returned my friendly smile with a look of pure evil.

  Although not a conventional or obvious beauty, Lily possessed an understated loveliness that expressed itself in smooth ivory skin and crystal blue eyes; bo
th of which seemed effused this morning with a burst of angry color.

  “Good morning, Lily,” I greeted her, adding as my appreciative gaze raked the length of the knee length, jewel blue day dress that accentuated her generous curves, “You’re looking lovely today.” I accented my words with a charming, full-toothed smile that generally worked on the women that I happened to meet on any given day.