The Billionaire Assignment Read online

  Pippa Jackson

  The Billionaire Assignment

  Copyright © 2020 by Pippa Jackson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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  Contents

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Suzie

  James

  Officer Dobson

  Suzie

  Suzie

  My phone buzzed into life.

  Jennifer Driers was calling. Dragon lady. My boss. The woman who was responsible for making sure my life was a living nightmare.

  It was a Saturday. She shouldn’t be calling on a Saturday, but when did Driers ever play by the rules? She was no doubt ringing to give me the ‘opportunity’ to write a two thousand word piece on why the New York subway smelled of piss, or what was up with New York pizza toppings this season. Or any other non-topic that amounted to what I called a career these days.

  I looked up from the couch and my bleary vision focused on an empty bottle of chardonnay, an empty pizza box and a flyer for a mediation retreat called The Peace Oasis.

  Mittens jumped up onto the table and mewed. Today I would feed my cat and recycle my empty wine bottle, and I would count both as a success thank you. Goodbye Pulitzer, hello achievable goals.

  I gingerly answered the phone.

  “Hi,” I croaked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as rough as I felt.

  “Crompton?”

  She always phrased my name as a question. As if anyone else was going to pick up the phone. Who was she expecting? The clipped tones of my gorgeous human rights lawyer boyfriend? Or in fact, any boyfriend? Because Andrew was a computer programmer, and he hadn’t been my boyfriend for five years, so it was a no on both counts. He was part of the reason I’d made a ‘Career First, Men Second’ pledge, although my career angel didn’t appear to have got the memo.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “I have an assignment for you.”

  Of course she did. The opening of a new stretch of cycle lane? A visit to the city’s strangest tree? An interview with a school child who had won a science competition? I awaited my fate.

  “Cruise. Atlantic Ocean. Rich guests. And when I say rich I mean super rich.”

  “Okay,” I said unsurely.

  This was not the typical assignment of the New York Bugle.

  “You’ll be on board.”

  I sat up, my hungover senses quickly sharpening.

  “On board?” I said, “as a… guest?”

  “Yes. Golden Circle. Ever heard of them?”

  “Ummm no I don’t think…”

  “Elite dating. You need over a million in the bank just to get on their books. So that cruise ship will have a collective net worth of a small country. In fact, make that a large country. For three days the zero point zero one percent will be sunning themselves on the ocean looking to get a date, and you’ll be on board, capiche?”

  My hungover mind was racing, trying to keep up with Jennifer’s breakneck speed, wondering where on earth things had gone so right.

  “Ummm, yes, I errr, capiche.”

  “You’ll be undercover. Fake name, fake job, yadayadayada. But you’ll be keeping your eyes and ears open. When you come back, you’ll be writing five thousand words on how the super rich score a date. Coffee break gossip, who’s screwing who. You know the deal.”

  “Okay,” I said, even though I did not ‘know the deal’.

  “I got a ticket through a contact. A bit of a lucky thing, and I figured this would make a great story. The cruise leaves tomorrow afternoon. I’ll send you the details, including the name you’re using. And Crompton?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t screw this up. In fact, don’t screw anyone. That’s important. Journalistic integrity yadayadayada. It could make the article difficult to publish. So keep your legs closed and your eyes open. Got it?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound confident.

  She hung up.

  I put down my phone and flopped back onto the couch giving a deep sigh, allowing myself a smile.

  “Did you hear that Mittens? Mama’s going away for a few days, so you’ll need to stay with Katherine. Goodbye chardonnay, hello Pulitzer! All I’ve got to do is not screw this up. Wish me luck!”

  Mittens cocked his head and gave a meow that I could have sworn was sarcastic, as I hauled my ass up and began to pack.

  James

  Going on a dating cruise was not my idea.

  It was my mother’s.

  Yep, thirty-five years old, and my mother is calling the shots.

  She told me that if she read another scandalous page six story about my sex life, then I’d be officially be out of the will. I told her I was a self-made billionaire, so I didn’t care. She told me to stop being a smartass, and that she’d booked me on the cruise and well, that was that.

  Hell, a few nights of sun, splashing and sex wouldn’t be so bad right? Besides, I work my ass off without enough breaks, so I could use the downtime. She thought she was pushing me towards getting married. Ma’s desperate for me to get married and don’t get her started on grandchildren. But what she didn’t realize is that she’d just placed me among some of the best looking women on the east coast, with no means of escape.

  Maybe my ma should make more decisions for me?

  The boat was glamorous, white surfaces reflecting everywhere, while all around were the Golden Circle’s motivating phrases: ‘Never Settle for Second Best!’ and ‘Success Attracts Success!’

  I couldn’t help but feel that a better saying would have been: ‘Everyone on this boat is horny as hell. Use a condom!’

  But maybe that’s why I manage a multinational media company and don’t write slogans. I had put my stuff in my cabin (which came complete with a miniature champagne bottle and rose petals over the bed) and was looking around after our welcome talk. The boat was immaculate, and white-gloved staff members floated around with silver trays of drinks, the glasses sparkling in the sun.

  I meandered up to the top deck to see a particularly fine looking woman. Or at least a particularly fine ass of a woman, who was squatting down to look at something, her two beautifully pert buttocks beaming back at me. It was as if her ass was calling out to me, inviting me over for a chat. I could already feel my dick going hard, and I’d only been on board for fifteen minutes. This was going to be a damned good cruise.

  She seem
ed to be looking intently at something under the railings. In fact, she was the first woman on board who wasn’t taking a selfie and seemed more interested in the boat itself. I was intrigued.

  I walked over to her, and that was when it happened. And by ‘it’, I mean her dress ripped. And not a small, delicate little rip on the hem, the kind that happens to princesses in fairy tales. I mean that sucker split right down her ass crack, and it took all my effort not to burst out laughing, especially when she put a hand behind to try to cover the newly made opening.

  “Shit!” she exclaimed, looking down, still not aware of my presence.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  My voice made her jump.

  “Fuck!” she squealed, spinning around and sprawling out on the decking, landing on her back like the world’s cutest drunk after a night out.

  Well, on first impressions I could certainly say this woman was different.

  I held out a hand to help her up. And that was when I saw how beautiful she was. Chestnut brown hair spilling down to her shoulders, a cute button nose, and she looked at me with a red, flustered face that couldn’t be described as anything other than adorable.

  She picked up her shoes and opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead just looked at me in silence.

  “I’m James. James Hemmingstone.”

  “Lovely to meet you James. I’m Suzie Crompton. Cromptins. Crommins! Suzie Crommins. I work in tech. I’m a rock climber!”

  I laughed. She was like a child rattling off her lines at a school play.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Oh quite sure, or as we say in tech, affirmative!”

  She saluted, holding one or her shoes.

  “Well, I’m sorry about your dress.”

  “This old thing. Oh, it’s nothing. I mean just a small crack, I mean split. Just a small tear.”

  She had been getting steadily redder throughout our conversation and was now pretty much tomato colored.

  “I think there’s a cocktail mixer tonight. Maybe I’ll see you there?”

  “That would be…” she seemed to be searching for a word again, “affirmative.”

  I raised my eyebrows, and she blushed furiously. This girl was getting more adorable by the second.

  “I’m afraid I must be going,” she announced, louder than she needed to. “But lovely to meet you!”

  “Affirmative,” I said, giving her a salute.

  She gave me a curt nod before sashaying off down the deck.

  I watched her go, enjoying the view.

  A woman who could make my dick hard and make me laugh? Suzie Crommins, tech entrepreneur, rock climber, and owner of a great ass and broken shoe. I could confidently say that she wasn’t like any of the other women on this cruise. In fact, she wasn’t like other women in general. There was something about her that was as intriguing as it was attractive.

  I didn’t know what it was exactly, but I was damned sure I was going to find out.

  Suzie

  I stood on the deck doing my best to look glamorous.

  Work had paid for my ticket (it hadn’t been cheap) but I had given myself the responsibility of buying a suitable dress (which also hadn’t been cheap). I looked around at the sleek cruise ship that would be my home for the next three days. Home of the super rich, and little old me.

  Well, a not entirely genuine version, of little old me. Goodbye Suzie Crompton, perpetually tired journalist who wishes her cat would return her affection and coupon collector. Hello Suzie Crommins, entrepreneur, rock climber and owner of a secretive tech business. So secretive in fact that most people will have never heard of it. That was my cover story. Because Driers had stressed that if anyone found out I was lying my ass off to be here, then my chances of getting an exclusive would sink faster than the Titanic.

  Thanks to one maxed-out credit card, I was wearing a newly purchased sleek black Versace dress, with a glittering gold Chanel buckle at the front. I’m not prone to arrogant statements, but I looked at myself in the reflection of a window and dayum.

  A voice crackled through the speakers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please like to gather on the main deck for your welcome speech. We are about to set sail!”

  No going back now, I figured, as I took one last look at the New York skyline. I trotted upstairs before slowing down. Rich ass women don’t ‘trot’ I figured. I emerged from the stairs as gracefully as I could, doing my best to channel my inner rich bitch.

  “It’s so good to see everyone!” said a woman with cropped blonde hair, wearing a pristine white pant suit.

  Her hair looked like it had been manicured at the kind of salon where you enter through a secret door and there’s a harp playing while you wait. And as for her suit, not a crease in sight.

  I cast my eye over the assembled crowd with what I hoped was an air of rich disdain. The kind of look that Driers gives when my latest story arrives on her desk.

  Observation number one? Rich dudes are hot. Who’d-a-thunk? But seriously, it was like I was staring at a collection of Calvin Klein models. Chiselled jaws, immaculately cut stubble, and crisp shirts abounded. It was like a sweet shop if the sweets were men wrapped in expensive clothes, waiting to be devoured.

  Observation number two? Rich ass women don’t look happy. I’m not sure if that’s a rule or something. But I was looking at a sea of contemptuous frowns, under a frame of immaculately set hair and bronzed skin that seemed to glow in the sunlight.

  I’ve done my fair share of rubbing shoulders with fashionistas and even covered Paris fashion week back in my younger days. So I’m no stranger to being in the company of intimidatingly beautiful women. But this was something else. I felt like a mortal who’d just got to the top of mount Olympus and was worried about saying something stupid in case they got kicked back down to dwell with the humans.

  I looked to my right to see a woman who looked like Melania Trump staring at me through narrowed eyes. It could have been narrowed eyes, or maybe it was just Botox? I gave her a friendly wave, which wasn’t returned.

  This was going to be a long assignment.

  “My name is Alice Sequin!” said the lady on the podium, “and I can promise you this will be the time of your lives! You are all here because you are money rich but time poor. Being a self-made millionaire myself…”

  She paused, waiting for an applause that never came.

  She cleared her throat.

  “I understand how valuable time is. Which is why I established The Golden Circle. A place where the elite can be fast tracked into each other’s company. A place where you can mix with people whose ambitions match your own!”

  I wondered if I should share that my ‘ambition’ was to finally get my radiator fixed, achieve my goal of fifty squats without audibly groaning, and get Mittens de-wormed.

  “In your rooms you will have all received a copy of your book containing the profiles of all one hundred passengers on board. Consider it your dating manual.”

  I’d seen the book and had been pleasantly surprised by the job Driers had done with my profile.

  Suzie Crommins is a tech entrepreneur that you won’t have heard of, as she likes to keep a low profile. Her interests include: keeping up to date with changes in the Asian market, rock climbing, and ancient Egyptian cat mythology.

  All fabricated garbage. Although I do own a cat, so I guess that’s not a million miles away.

  “It’s time to say goodbye to that famous NYC skyline, because this ship is ready to set sail!” exclaimed Alice, as she turned to the statue of liberty and gave a mock salute. “And I’ll see all of you this evening for cocktail evening! Bring your A-game ladies and gentlemen!”

  I looked around at the gorgeous crowd who were all trying to subtly check each other out, like buyers trying to remain subtle at an exclusive auction. I decided to take a wander.

  The cruise ship was like something out of a Bond film, where the girl gets held captive by a dast
ardly villain. I wondered if I’d meet my very own James Bond here. Although I think I gave up waiting to be saved some time ago.

  This ship screamed wealth. The surfaces were all gleaming, including the gold railings along the sides. I noticed that underneath the railings was elegant gold lettering in cursive font.

  ‘Those who think they can, and those who think they can’t are both usually right.’ Henry Ford.

  ‘Never settle for second best,’ Alice Sequin, founder of The Golden Circle.

  There was more writing. I wondered what the other quote was: ‘reach for the stars and you might touch the moon?’ or ‘live, love laugh?’

  I squatted down, grimacing at the pain in my legs, as I reminded myself that I should really start using my gym membership more. Ninety dollars a month that I could have spent on chardonnay.

  I crouched down lower.

  And that’s when I heard it.

  And by ‘it’ I mean the sound of my hideously expensive Versace dress ripping.

  “Shit!” I screamed, moving my hand around to cover my ass.

  No, please God no!

  “Are you okay?” said a voice to my right.

  “Fuck!” I squealed, pivoting on my heel and hearing it snap underneath me, sending me sprawling onto my back like an upturned beetle.

  I looked up to see a man who could only be described as mouth-wateringly gorgeous. You know the types of men who already look good and then put on a crisp white shirt and go from good to perfection? He had a square jaw that was offensively hot, covered in a light dusting of stubble. His face looked like he’d been carved by an artist that only specialized in sex Gods. He fixed me with an easy going stare and a smile, making me weak at the knees, so I guess it was lucky I was already sprawled on my ass.

  Fifteen minutes into the cruise and things were not going to plan.

  “I think your shoe’s broken,” he said.

  “It is. Ugh, fuck!”

  Smooth Suzie. Very smooth.

  He took my hand in his and pulled me to my feet. I stood up, taking off my shoes and holding them in my hands. I closed my eyes and took a calming breath, only to inhale the subtle scent of his aftershave, which made thinking about ten times harder. I could feel myself getting wet just from smelling him.