Royally Flushed: Tech Billionaires Read online

  Royally Flushed

  Tech Billionaires book 2

  A Novel

  by:

  Ainsley St Claire

  Copyright 2020 Ainsley St Claire

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a production of the author’s imagination. Locations and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions or locations is completely coincidental.

  Tech Billionaires: Royally Flushed/Ainsley St Claire—1st edition

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 1

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  Chapter 1

  Corrine

  “What do you mean, he broke up with you on the news?” my best friend, Gabby Wagner, screeches.

  Heads turn all along the bar to see what she’s so worked up about, and I can feel my face turning red.

  She’s been dating her boyfriend since college, and they’re very serious. He even moved to San Francisco to be with her.

  I look down and feel tears forming in my eyes. “I got home late last night from work. I was watching a rerun of NCIS and eating popcorn for dinner. A news teaser about him came on, so I stayed up to see it. The segment was at the end of the news, so it was almost eleven-thirty when it played. The interviewer stuck a microphone in his face and said, ‘I heard there’s a new lady in your life. Are you allowed to date a cheerleader?’ His response was that it was nobody’s business but his own if he chose to date a cheerleader.”

  “But I thought you two were serious,” she implores.

  I look at her as if she’s grown horns and a forked tongue. “I’m not sure he understands that concept, and now it doesn’t really matter. Apparently, he’s moved on without telling me.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  I shake my head.

  “Have you tried to call him?” she pushes.

  I shake my head. “He never liked that I gave so much to my job, so I knew one day this was coming. I just thought he’d have the balls to tell me—not announce it on the news to the world.”

  “Bartender? Tom?” Gabby waves to the man. “Another cosmo for my friend.” She turns to me and reaches for my arm. “I’m sorry he was such a shit.”

  “I fucking hate this city. Commitment phobia must come from something in the water, and the rest of the guys don’t have the social skills to date. I’m almost thirty years old, and I have two roommates. I rent a room that only fits a twin-size bed and a small storage unit for my off-season clothes. If I didn’t live in this ridiculously expensive city, I’d make a decent living. I need a raise.”

  My drink arrives, and it goes down quickly. I’m going to be feeling this tomorrow.

  “It’s his loss,” Gabby stresses. “Jeez, you’re beautiful, smart—the whole package.”

  “You’re my best friend. You’re required to say that,” I mumble through the waterworks.

  She giggles. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

  I look up at the bottles surrounding the bar and push my tears away. “What am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to get up and not let this dickhead affect you. You can’t let him take a minute more of your energy. I bet there are at least a dozen hot guys here you could take home to fuck their brains out tonight. Forget all about ‘Bobby Sanders, Quarterback for the San Francisco Goldminers.’” She air-quotes and rolls her eyes.

  I shake my head. “You’re too much. You’re right, but I’m not going home with anyone tonight.” Something flashes in my periphery, and I see him staring at me. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?” Gabby looks around frantically.

  “It’s my boss and one of his Barbies,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Barbie? Where?” She looks around again.

  Not so subtle, that one.

  “Stop! He’s over there with the woman you could use as a flotation device.” I point with my eyes. “Shit, do I need to go over and say something? Knowing my luck, he’ll ask me to get them drinks.”

  “She’s beautiful, in an artificial way,” Gabby notes as she studies her hourglass figure, tiny waist, perfectly coiffed long blond hair, and big blue eyes.

  “She definitely looks good, but the elevator doesn’t go to the top on that one. It seems to get stuck at her chin.”

  Gabby snort-laughs.

  “Try not to draw attention to us,” I plead.

  “He’s looking over,” she says under her breath.

  “Fuck! Try to ignore him.”

  I made reservations for him elsewhere. Why is he here? I feel my grip on work-life barriers slipping. And, I’ve had plenty to drink. I’m probably a little too honest for my boss right now.

  Tom, the bartender, appears with two drinks. “These are from the couple over there.” He hooks his thumb toward my boss.

  My heart drops to the floor. I’m a blubbering mess. I glance across the bar, paste a plastic smile on my face, and raise my glass. “Oh my goodness, it’s my boss, Jackson.” I mouth, “Thank you.”

  He smiles and nods.

  “What a smug asshole,” Gabby says under her breath.

  Through clenched teeth, I say, “He’s doing good in the world. Just be thankful for the drink and that he’s not making me talk to him right now.”

  “Well… He’s coming over with two of his friends.”

  “Fuck. Those aren’t his friends. They’re his bodyguards.”

  Next thing I know, his deep voice rolls through me. “Corrine, nice to see you here.”

  Jackson Graham is a girl’s version of a wet dream. He’s a Chris Hemsworth lookalike with Daniel Craig’s piercing blue eyes. He’s also the founder of an alternative energy company that has made him a billionaire. I’m his assistant, which I’m proud of, but in that role, I must get a dozen calls a day from women he’s never met asking him out. That I’m less thrilled about.

  “Nice to see you,
too,” I tell him. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. I thought I made a reservation for you at Bix?”

  I only make a point of asking because, with his entourage, they reserve three tables in a prime location. If he stands them up, I’ll have a problem the next time he wants to go there.

  “You did, but Valerie tells me she’s getting bored with Bix. I called and canceled.”

  He can make his own calls? That’s new. “Oh, I think I called her Jennifer today. Sorry about that.”

  He looks back at her with his brows furrowed. “She didn’t mention you calling her the wrong name. Enjoy your drinks. I hope your night gets better.” He smiles and walks back to his table.

  Every woman’s eyes in the packed bar are glued to him.

  Gabby leans in with a bit of a drunken slur. “Your boss is positively hot.”

  I shake my head. “That might be true, but he likes the surgically enhanced, and he seems to have no interest in women with brains.”

  Her phone pings with a text, and she gets this funny look on her face. Love. I know exactly who she’s talking to, her boyfriend, Damien.

  I haven’t had my phone on all day. While Gabby sexts with her boyfriend, I reluctantly turn mine on. I’ve got to do it at some point, and it might as well be while I’m partially drunk. It lights up and buzzes with multiple texts. My stomach ties in knots as I stare at the messages rolling over on the locked screen.

  What happened with Bobby?

  When I find out, Elly, my supposed best friend from high school, I might let you know.

  I knew it would never last.

  Thanks, Stepmom. In her mind, to get a man, you need to give up everything. I’d take her advice if she hadn’t been married five times.

  I thought you had some great summer plans with Bobby?

  Angela, you’re such a nice roommate. We had plans with other players and their wives to go to a lake in Wisconsin. I’m probably off that invite list. So much for any summer vacation. I can’t afford to do anything.

  How does any man compare after dating an NFL quarterback?

  John, you broke up with me and only wanted me back when you found out I was dating him. Bobby wasn’t perfect. But I liked that he made twenty million a year and was four years younger than me.

  I put my phone on mute and toss it in my purse. I can respond later. It suddenly occurs to me that none of the other players’ wives or girlfriends sent me texts. We were all planning for the game on Sunday. I guess in the back of my mind, I thought a few of them would stand by me, but apparently not. That might hurt more than the breakup.

  Gabby is ready to go find Damien, so we say our goodbyes. As I walk out of the bar, I look over at Jackson and his date and wave. She scowls at me. Whatever.

  I take a rideshare across town to my meager apartment in Presidio Heights. It’s a fancy way of saying I live behind the old Army base, the Presidio, and in the Avenues. The beautiful people look down on those of us who live in the Avenues, but it’s considered affordable. I don’t consider it affordable. I share a three-bedroom apartment—my bedroom used to be a closet—with two others and pay an entire half of my monthly salary toward my portion of the rent. But I do it on my own.

  I let myself in and crawl into bed—still wearing my dress and without washing my face or brushing my teeth. That’s very unlike me, and I cry myself to sleep. He broke up with me on the news.

  ***

  My alarm sounds, and my eyes are crusted shut from my tears. My mouth feels like a cat strolled by while I was asleep and took a crap. I roll over and look up at the stained ceiling. Bobby Sanders is not going to get to me. Taking a big breath, I sit up. Oh, I can’t move that quickly.

  I go slowly into the bathroom and wash my face, determined to make today a better day. I can’t let this keep me down. I’m better than this.

  As I do each day, I stop at Starbucks and pick up Jackson’s and my coffee order. He likes a double espresso with steamed milk, and I treat myself to a mocha cappuccino. No one’s going to see me naked for a while anyway. Who cares about the extra calories?

  Jackson typically beats me to the office, as he works nonstop, and today is no exception. Placing the cup on his desk, I remain standing and prepare for our brief morning meeting. “Here’s your double espresso.”

  He nods without looking at me.

  “Thanks again for the drinks last night.”

  “Glad you enjoyed them,” he says, still not looking up from the spreadsheet he’s studying.

  He doesn’t elaborate, so I begin to walk through his calendar for the day. “You’re all set for your Tuesday meeting with your team. You have lunch with Mason Sullivan at noon at Quince regarding your business plan. If you don’t have any changes, I’ll get that bound and ready. Your afternoon is full, and I’ve marked you busy from two thirty to four to return phone calls.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Woods.”

  He still hasn’t looked up, so I turn to leave. He’s in a bad mood today—like most days. As I open the door, I hear, “Oh, I almost forgot.” I turn, and he’s pointing to a box by the door. “That was delivered to you this morning.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I pick up the lightweight box and carry it out to my desk. Before I tackle it, I take a big swig of my mocha. “Ahh.”

  “I saw the piece about your boyfriend,” my officemate, Heather, says. “I guess he moved on.”

  “They always do,” I say.

  Heather is the executive assistant to Jackson’s chief financial officer—the fourth one he’s had since I’ve been here. We get along okay and will occasionally grab lunch together. I made the mistake of telling her about Bobby, and she shared it with the entire building. Lesson learned. If you don’t want anyone to know your business, don’t mention it.

  Pulling the scissors from the top drawer of my desk, I cut the seal on the box, and immediately the wretched smell hits me. Before I can even discern what’s inside, I slam the box shut. The overwhelming stench fills the office.

  “What the hell is that?” Heather asks. Her face is scrunched up, and we’re both breathing through our mouths.

  “I have no idea.”

  I carefully pick up the box, walk it to the elevator, and ride down to the lobby. The smell is still escaping, and it’s just awful. I want to vomit.

  As the doors open, I see our security guard. “Tommy, can you call maintenance? We got a package that I think is full of dog poop. Can you have them fumigate the executive level and the elevator?”

  “Dog poop?” He cocks his head to the side.

  “Yes, someone sent me a package. I’m going to open it outside.”

  “Don’t! That could be a bomb! Put it down and back away.”

  I’m already mostly outside, so I set it on the sidewalk and look at him, confused. Why would anyone send me a poop bomb?

  When I walk back into the lobby, Tommy is on the phone to 9-1-1. He gives them our address, and I watch him pull the fire alarm. It’s barely eight, and people are still arriving. It’s quickly chaos.

  He stands with me as we look at the box. “The police are on their way.”

  He moves right into leadership mode and keeps repeating, “This is not a drill. Please leave the building.”

  I look at him in panic. “This may have been a threat to Mr. Graham.”

  As the crowd grows outside, I watch Mr. Graham exit the elevator with his bodyguard at his side.

  People are piling out of the building. Some seem thrilled to have a free morning, while others are clearly perturbed.

  Mr. Graham walks up to me. “What the hell?” he says. “First, our office smells like shit, and now this?”

  “The box you gave me was filled with something disgusting. Tommy thinks it might be a bomb.”

  “Sir,” Tommy interjects. “The box was filled with manure, and it can be used in bombs.”

  A uniformed officer pushes us away from the doors. “Please step back.”

  Mr. Graham looks at me. “Why would anyone want
to send you a bomb?”

  I shake my head as the police come racing up in a van that says Bomb Squad.

  People give them a wide berth, and an officer approaches the three of us.

  “Tell us what you know,” Mr. Graham’s bodyguard prods for the police.

  I walk them through what happened. More of Mr. Graham’s security team arrives, and they usher him away. Great. At least he’ll be safe. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine in the superhero costume hiding under my clothes.

  The bomb team pushes us farther away from the door. “Don’t leave,” one of them tells me.

  I nod and shiver against the cold. I left my coat upstairs.

  The news vans have arrived and are setting up. This is not the kind of publicity Mr. Graham is looking for. If I have a job after this is over, it’ll be a miracle.

  I watch the bomb team examine the box from afar. They seem to agree on something, but I’m not sure what it is until I see a robot wheeling out to the sidewalk.

  The crowd begins to grow. The police have cleared out the entire city block.

  An officer returns to drill me with questions. “Has Mr. Graham received any threatening letters or other mail?”

  The head of Mr. Graham’s security, Jim Adelson, materializes next to me. He drapes a coat over my shoulders.

  “Thanks, Jim.”

  “We’ve received a few small threats in recent months, but we’ve passed them along to Detective Lenning,” Jim informs the officer.

  “Tell me more about how you got the package,” the officer prods.

  “It was delivered to Mr. Graham’s office, addressed to me, and he pointed it out when I arrived.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police immediately?” the officer presses.

  “It never occurred to me that it could be anything other than a stinky box.”

  “A stinky box?”

  “The stench was strong, so I just shut the box and held it as tightly as I could while I took it down in the elevator.”

  “How do you know the threats you’ve received are insignificant?” the officer asks.