Seductive Mr.Billionaire

Untitled Episode

I stared at her as she left home that day, I’ve been doing this long enough to know not to immediately follow as she walked to the bus stop. Ginger colored hair, with the morning sun bouncing off each curl. She was beautiful, he’d give her that Amir Alec sure had good taste. Her skin shone like a freshly polished porcelain doll, and anytime the light hit it at just the right angle the dark skin turned gold. Beautiful was an understatement he decided, she was stunning, the kind of attractive that took your breath away and no matter how many times you looked, it was more interesting. You wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off of her, I knew that first hand. That had been the case for me all the weeks I’d spent memorizing every facial feature of hers. It was a sin to want whatever Amir had his eyes on. She was his, I knew that.

I watched her get on the bus and immediately turned on my engine to follow. What life decision had been the altering factor in the butterfly effect to lead me here, I wondered. Doing this. As my job…

The man who had paid me to have her followed was a powerful man, I knew that much but that was just about the only thing I knew of my employer. Being a seasoned detective taught me there were some questions that didn’t need to be asked, I got into the private investigator job five years ago after a misdemeanor and tampering with evidence had forced me to resign from the police force, but I knew I had to put my skills to good use. Hence, opening a private detective practice had been the next best thing and I was a darned good one.

I chuckled to myself realizing that my train of thoughts had distracted me from a very important observation. Goddamnnit, I wasn’t the only one following this woman. I guess the stories are true, Amir Alec definitely had some enemies.

•••

I was moving—why was I moving? That was the first thing my groggy brain managed to process as I came to. My head was pounding, my whole body felt like lead, and something was definitely wrong. A minute ago, I was at work… wasn’t I? I squinted, fighting to open my eyes, and found myself in the backseat of a speeding car. To my right, I could make out the driver—a small, frumpy-looking man with a haggard face, black hair sticking out of a green hoodie, and red sweatpants that looked like they hadn’t been washed in a month. He looked like he’d been living in that car for days.

Lucky for me, he hadn’t noticed I was awake yet. I tried to turn my head, to get a better look at my surroundings, but my body wasn’t responding. Panic flared as I realized my hands and feet weren’t bound; they were just useless. I let out an involuntary groan, and the man’s head whipped around to look at me.

“Don’t waste your energy trying to move,” he rasped, eyes flicking to me for a split second before focusing back on the road. “You won’t be able to.”

I tried to speak, my voice scratchy and weak. “Who… who are you? Where are you taking me?” The car surged faster, and my heart hammered in my chest as we flew past cars like they were parked.

“It’s irrelevant. Just sit tight,” he muttered, ignoring the fact that I could barely sit up, let alone “sit tight.”

I forced myself to focus, to think logically. “I think you’ve made a mistake,” I croaked. “I have to be at a show right now. You’ve got the wrong person.”

The man gave no response, his fingers just gripping the steering wheel tighter. My mind raced. I was Amir Alec’s wife, true, and yes, that came with a lot of baggage, but hardly anyone even knew. We’d only been married a few weeks—no time for enemies. Not serious ones, anyway.

“Look, maybe you don’t realize who I am, but I can promise you I’m not worth much,” I pressed. “You’d be better off taking someone else. Hell, there’s a whole room of VIPs at that show I could introduce you to. Ever heard of Leah Eastwood? She’s practically asking to be kidnapped.”

Still nothing. He kept driving, eyes locked on the road, giving me the silent treatment. Impressive, I might’ve admired it—if he wasn’t, you know, my kidnapper.

“Listen, seriously,” I tried again, growing more frustrated by the second. “I don’t have money, and I’m not about to fetch you some golden ransom. I don’t know where you’re getting your info from, but I’m a very busy person, and if I’m not back before the show starts—well, trust me, you’ll wish you had dropped me off five miles ago. Leah will absolutely flip, and you do not want to be the reason for her meltdown.”

I tried to recall how this even started. I’d only gone outside because some intern texted me about a flower arrangement mix-up. The second I stepped out, the whole place looked deserted, like some bad horror flick setup, and next thing I knew… well, here I was. And sure, maybe there was a rational part of me that was terrified right now, but a bigger part was picturing Leah’s face when she found out her right-hand woman was abducted on the day of her big fashion show.

“Please, you have to take me back,” I pleaded, trying to ignore the edge of desperation in my voice. “Leah would literally kill me if I got kidn*pped today. You don’t understand, Mr. Kidnapper, this is huge for her.”

Still no response. I glanced around, hoping to spot some sign of where we were. “You know who Leah Eastwood is, right? This show’s supposed to ‘revolutionize’ fashion or whatever, like she’s been telling us nonstop for months. And I basically run the thing—she’s gonna lose her mind without me.”

“Be quiet,” he growled, and I nearly jumped. It was the first time he’d spoken since that croak about not moving.

“Fine, fine,” I shot back, barely able to suppress my irritation. “You probably know more than I do, so I won’t ask the obvious. But tell me, how’d you find out about the marriage? Who tipped you off?”

Silence.

“Come on, you can tell me. Not like I’m gonna go blabbing,” I tried to joke, though I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone. “I mean, it’s a bold move, going after Amir Alec’s wife. News travels fast, you know. And Amir? His reach is longer than you’d think.”

Nothing.

Right. So, here we are. I’m in the backseat of a car that’s speeding down god-knows-where, with Mr. Hoodie-and-Sweatpants at the wheel, giving me the silent treatment like he’s a kidnapper and my ex. Great. And let me tell you, this guy smells like he hasn’t seen a shower in a few weeks, which does wonders for the nausea creeping up as we swerve down the road.

So, I figure it’s time for some damage control. I clear my throat and launch into my best let’s-not-get-killed speech.

“Listen, I’m just gonna throw this out there,” I say, in my calmest hostage tone. “What if, hypothetically, you drop me off somewhere quiet, we forget this ever happened, and—bonus—I don’t tell a soul. Win-win, right?”

Not even a twitch. Okay, cool. So, we’re going to pretend that didn’t happen.

“Please,” I try again, dialing up the desperation just a tad. “Look, I’m not even worried about me here. But Amir Alec? Yeah, he’s messed up. You don’t want to find out just how messed up, trust me.”

Finally, the guy’s head snaps around. “Amir Alec?” His voice has this nice tremble to it now, which is almost reassuring.

“Oh yeah,” I reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Figured you knew that, hence the whole, you know, k********g thing.”

His eyes widen, darting back to the road. “You know Amir Alec? The blood collector?”

“Well, it’d be hard to marry the guy without knowing him, now wouldn’t it?”

He glares at me, hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are going white. “You’re lying.”

“Why the hell would I lie about that?” I huff. “I thought that’s why you were hauling me around at 90 miles an hour on zero sleep.”

I watch his face, trying to make sense of it, but he just stares back, uncertain. This makes zero sense. If he’s not here because of my wonderfully bloodthirsty husband, what other reason could there be?

“Fine, whatever. Don’t believe me,” I say, rolling my eyes so hard I might’ve pulled a muscle. Then, on impulse, I tilt my neck. “Look. See for yourself.”

I’m not exactly sure what I’m trying to prove, but hey, at this point I’ll try anything.

He leans over, squinting to catch the tattooed initials on my neck. When he realizes, his face goes from vaguely homicidal to just plain freaked out. His hand shoots up—completely off the wheel, by the way—and for a split second, we’re both holding our breath.

And that’s when everything goes to hell. The car jerks forward, and my head snaps back just in time to see it—a whole convoy of black Mercedes blocking the road up ahead. Of course. Because what’s a k********g without Amir’s private army?

The driver slams on the brakes, but since I’m paralyzed and not exactly in the position to grab a seatbelt, I go flying forward like a rag doll. My head smacks against the back window with a c***k, and all I see is stars.

I fade out, right as Hoodie McSweatpants realizes he’s officially had the worst day of his life.

And here I am, passing out for round two. Because why not?