New York Billionaires Series

“Yes.”

She shakes her head, braids flying. “All for an inheritance? That’s the part I don’t understand. You’ve told me time and time again how rich this bosshole of yours is. Why would he go through all this trouble?”

“That’s what I don’t understand either. If it wasn’t St. Clair, I’d think all of this was a practical joke.”

“He’s not just pulling your leg, then.”

“He looked dead serious.” I compose my face into a poor imitation of his, staring at my best friend with eyes I’m trying to make smolder. “Nadine,” I say. “You already trade your time for money, working as my assistant. Trading your name for a year should be an easy decision.”

She blinks twice before breaking into laughter. “The man is a sociopath. Or a psychopath. I can never remember the difference.”

“He defies all labeling,” I say. “Perhaps he can get his own disorder.”

“No, that would probably please him too much. Having something named after him.” Nadine shakes her head and leans back on my couch, stretching out her leg so it rests against mine. “Did he at least offer you anything in return?”

“All kinds of things. An apartment. Money. A year of travel. And, listen to this, a new wardrobe.”

Nadine chuckles. “Right, because if money or an apartment wouldn’t sway you, some new designer dresses sure would.”

“Of course. I am but a simple woman, after all.”

“Men,” she sighs. “Maybe you can milk this for a few days. Let him buy you an expensive purse before you turn him down. This is your chance to squeeze the bastard for all he’s worth.”

“That’s you,” I say. “You can do that sort of thing. You know I can’t.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can, Cece. Stand up for yourself. This man has been nothing but demanding for over a year. He’s had you work overtime, on weekends, on holidays. He’s specified and respecified his lunch order fourteen thousand times. He’s made you cry! But when he had you planning the funeral for his grandfather? You didn’t see him shed a single tear.”

“I don’t think he’s capable of emotion.”

“Wouldn’t it feel great to skim some money off the top? Leave him behind with lighter pockets?”

I knock her knee with mine. “You’re the devil on my shoulder, huh?”

She grins back. “Always. But level with me. Are you considering it?”

“Of course not. No way.”

She reaches for a bottle of bright blue nail polish. “Did he say how much he was offering? I might be interested.”

I groan. “Be serious.”Nôvel/Dr(a)ma.Org - Content owner.

She laughs, unscrewing the top, and starts to lazily paint her pinky. “I’m a struggling artist. He could finance all of it. Imagine the kind of studios I’d be able to show at! I’d trade my last name for that.”

“You, the least traditional person I’ve ever met.”

Nadine winks at me. “I have to keep you on your toes.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” I reach for a pale pink nail polish. “I didn’t think you’d go for the blue.”

She stretches out her hand and admires her nails. “I’m working on Charity right now, for my seven virtues series. It’s turning into an abstract seascape. This is almost the exact color I’m using.”

“How’s it going?” I ask. She’s been sending her portfolio to art galleries across the city. After a decade of slowly, painfully building a name for herself, Nadine’s finally at the point where she could exhibit.

But so are a lot of other artists.

She sighs. “It’s going terribly. Most galleries don’t respond. Some are interested, but not in this particular series. It’s like trying to win the lottery.”

I unscrew the top to my nail polish. “At least you have your classes at the art center, right?”

“Yes, but teaching kids to collage is only just enough to pay the bills, and definitely not enough to host an exhibition.” She shakes her head, admiring the nails of her left hand. “But one thing at a time. Hey, speaking of difficult topics. When are you finally quitting your job to start your own company?”

I groan, leaning my head against the couch. “Hit me where I’m weakest!”

Nadine laughs. “You need to be pushed here, though. How long have you worked on your business plan? Perfecting names, logos? You even have paperwork filed you haven’t sent in yet!”

“It’s too big of a risk. I need to have a job at the same time, or I could lose everything, all the money I’ve saved. You know most new business ventures fail.”

“But some don’t, Cece. If anyone’s going to make it work, it would be you.”

“You have too much faith in me.”

“No, you have too little. Now’s the time. Besides, you’d also be working for yourself, not Victor St. Clair. How ironic is it that he has the word saint in his name?”

I snort. “Very.”

She nudges me with her knee. “So, you’re not going to marry him. But take the opportunity to leave your job, at least. In six months’ time, I want to see you as the CEO of your very own virtual assistant firm.”

“I have learned a lot, working for Exciteur,” I admit. “I’ve even learned a lot from Victor St. Clair.”

“Great! Take that and run. You don’t owe the man anything.”

I smile, looking down at my nails. “Will you help me design my graphics?”

“Of course I will! You know it’ll be a success. Your vision is too good not to be.”

“Thank you,” I say. Truth is, I have full faith in the idea itself. A company where people can purchase tasks is brilliant. Need your plane tickets booked? Send the info to us and we’ll do it for you. Need to research the best dog grooming business in Seattle? We’ll send you an itemized list in an hour. Need to negotiate with your cable company? We’ll handle the phone call.

Clients could have a subscription or pay one-off fees. It’s convenient for them, and it’s convenient for me and my imagined hires, who could be located all around the country.

People like me who love organization and research.

Clients who have too little time and too many tasks.

The idea itself is sound. It’s the execution I’m afraid of messing up, because if I’ve learned one thing from my time as an assistant, it’s that business rarely runs smoothly.

Nadine and I spend the rest of the afternoon lazing about before we get ready for the evening. With her, there’s no telling where a night out will end, so I’ve given up planning. I put on a short black skirt, tuck a silk blouse into it and run a brush through my brown curls.

“Winged eyeliner!” Nadine calls. She’s doing her makeup in my living room, sprawled on the couch.