The Last Eligible Billionaire

Leaving Maine and returning to New York is inconvenient at best and a disaster-in-the-making at worst. We’ve barely touched down in Albany before I’m itchy for coastal air and lunch in a colorful lobster shack with townspeople who proved themselves nearly as adept at helping me maintain my privacy as my very well-trained security staff.

“Where’s the Empire State Building?” Begonia has her nose pressed to the window of my private jet, peering out onto the small private airfield. “Are we facing the wrong way?”

It takes my head of security murmuring to her that we’re not in the city, but rather upstate, for me to realize I was unclear. “Razzle Dazzle’s corporate offices moved out of Manhattan several years back in an effort to give our employees more space for their families to live and play,” I tell her.

She frowns. Marshmallow, who’s in a bright purple vest and has been almost well-behaved the whole flight, also frowns. “Because they didn’t want to live in the city, or because it’s all about appearances?”

“Yes.” I rise and gather my coat. “And it also significantly reduced the burden of real estate upkeep costs. I have to get straight to the offices. Nikolay will escort you to Sagewood House.”

“Can we detour somewhere fun in Albany, or do I have to go straight there to drop off my luggage?”

“Correction. Nikolay will see to it that your bags are delivered to Sagewood House, where I will meet you this evening, and he’ll accompany you anywhere you’d like to go between now and then.”

Her smile shines brighter than her hair. “Can I see your offices?”

“You’d be bored to tears amidst the gray walls and suits, my dear bluebell. Go explore the art exhibits and museums by the river.” I nod to Nikolay. “Make sure the staff is aware that Marshmallow needs extra supervision.”

The man’s lips twitch. “Naturally, sir.”

I make a show of kissing her goodbye, which I enjoy more than I’ll admit even to myself, before tucking her into the first of two limousines waiting at the edge of the taxiway. She’s breathless, with pink staining her cheeks and her pupils fully dilated when I close the door myself.

If my dick wasn’t hard as a goddamn rock, I’d be preening like a fucking peacock right now.

I turn and open the door once again, lean in for a final kiss, and whisper, “My uncle is also in residence at Sagewood House, so we’ll be sharing a bedroom again. Until tonight, my dear bluebell.”

She squeaks.

I shut the limo door again, and I stride to the vehicle waiting behind it. When I slide into the rear seat, Razzle Dazzle’s vice president of operations’ executive assistant, Therese, crosses her legs beneath her pencil skirt and gives me a smile that sets my teeth on edge.

“Good morning, Mr. Rutherford. How do you like your coffee? I’ll text ahead and have it waiting. Your nine-thirty has been rescheduled to six, your mother made a reservation at The Brunch Café for you at one, we’ve combed through the applicants for your own executive assistant as requested and scheduled interviews for you starting at two, and Mr. Okimoto requires a word as soon as we arrive.”

“Cancel the six o’clock, cancel lunch with my mother, forward me the candidates’ resumes, and call my uncle Antonio and inform him he’s moving into Sagewood House for the next two weeks. Also, tell anyone you’re talking to Antonio, and I’ll have you fired.”

She bites the end of her stylus and studies me for a long moment before dropping it back to her tablet and casually brushing her long hair back, pushing her breasts up as she does so. She’s technically not my executive assistant, but that won’t stop me from issuing orders. “Of course, Mr. Rutherford. And your coffee?”

“I don’t know. Call my girlfriend and ask her.”

“Her phone number, Mr. Rutherford?”

I blink.

I don’t have Begonia’s phone number.

How the fuck do I not have Begonia’s phone number?

I didn’t need it on the island, but I should’ve thought—and I didn’t—and fuck.

Robert, the second-in-command on my personal detail, visibly fights a smile as the car pulls away. “Got it right here for you, Ms. Therese.”

“Thank you, Robert.”

I don’t speak to either of them the rest of the ride, instead burying myself in email on my work cell phone, nor do I acknowledge when my personal cell phone vibrates with an incoming contact card from Robert.

Good man.

He’ll be finding a new bottle of his favorite brandy sitting on his doorstep this evening.

Since my parents persuaded me to come work for Razzle Dazzle on the financial side of the business a few years after I finished my master’s degree, I’ve split my time between the New York and California offices, so walking into headquarters today should be nothing new.

But it’s the first time I’ve walked in since my cousin Thomas passed unexpectedly, leaving the chief financial officer position vacant and me as the supposed best man for the job. Last week was spent communicating with the technical team, getting all the correct files unlocked and access granted, digging into active and upcoming issues, and having virtual meetings with various officers inside the company to get up to speed. Being back in the office now is the first time I’ve had to bother with things like personal assistants, a schedule full of meetings with officers and executives, and sitting in a chair once occupied by a relative I wish I’d spent more time with.

We rarely saw each other outside the office, and with my former role as associate vice president of financial affairs for parks, real estate, and development keeping me nearly as busy as the CFO position kept him, we rarely saw each other inside the office either.

It was a rare relationship that required little talking and less drama. While Keisha will forever be my favorite relative, I’ve realized I didn’t know what I had with Thomas until he was gone.

Also not helping?

Thomas’s executive assistant is out on maternity leave and won’t be returning. The one modicum of peace I’ve clung to after his death is knowing that he was able to see his daughter before the accident that claimed his life.

While my family won’t publicly claim Mirabella or her mother as Rutherfords, they’ll both be well cared for. And lest you think we’re heartless bastards who put our reputations above all else, the decision is as much Thomas’s secret girlfriend’s as it is ours.

She doesn’t want to raise her daughter in the limelight that comes with being part of my family.

God knows I understand that to my core.

But it means that I need a new executive assistant, and when I leave my office at quarter to two, there’s a wall of women crammed into my foyer who immediately leap to their feet.

There’s a damn wave going on in my office as if we’re at a baseball game.

I look at Therese. “Did you schedule the interviews simultaneously?”

She lowers her cat’s-eye glasses and smiles at me. “Of course not, Mr. Rutherford. But we did stress to all of the applicants that timeliness is important.”

I look at the wall of women again, and I turn and retreat into my office.

I don’t want to pick an assistant.

I want—

Fuck. I want to not be here.

I’m dialing Begonia’s number before I can think twice.

“Hello?”

“Begonia. I need—”

“Hayes! Hi, sweetie. Did you know downtown Albany has a performing arts center called The Egg? It’s amazing. And Nikolay said the right thing to the right person and we got this unbelievable behind-the-scenes tour that—”

“You know people,” I interrupt.

“Quite a few of them, yes.”

“Good. Come here. Now. I need someone to interview executive assistants for me.”

I can hear her blinking. “Can I—can I speak freely in front of Nikolay?” she whispers.

“No.”

She growls.

Begonia.

Begonia growls at me.

“What the hell kind of noise was that?” I ask.

“That’s me breathing very deeply before I don’t remind you that people like you don’t call people like me to do the things that you have other way more qualified people to do for you.”

“I don’t trust them.”

Fuck me.

That truly is the root of all of my problems.

I spin in my chair and peer out my top-floor window at downtown Albany. I can’t see The Egg, which is apparently exactly where Begonia is right at this minute, but I know roughly where it is and I can’t stop staring in that direction, hoping the buildings between us will disappear so that I can see her waving at me and telling me I’m being ridiculous.

And she’s right.

Powerful men from rich families don’t call the woman they found naked in their bathroom barely over a week ago and ask said woman to pick their new executive assistant.

“I don’t understand people,” I say slowly. “I don’t know if my temporary executive assistant is hitting on me or trying to annoy me, and I don’t know why everyone thinks getting married is some pinnacle event to be celebrated when it looks like shackles and chains to me. I know numbers. I was born and raised to be if not in this exact position for Razzle Dazzle, then damn close to it, and I know I can’t do my job without help, but I don’t know how to find the help, but you—you knock on doors and ask people for food not because we can’t afford it, but because you somehow know it would actually make other people happy to help. You know why people tick. You could probably tell me what Nikolay wants for Christmas, who his last girlfriend was, why they broke up, and if he has a favorite sports team, but I—”

“A ride in a hot air balloon, Sheila with the shoe collection, she didn’t like his hours, and the Copper Valley Thrusters, because he likes their mascot, just like me, but he said it first, for the record,” she whispers.

My heart squeezes.

When it comes to people, I get very, very little right.

With Begonia—I trust her.

And if she fucks this up, I’ll just fire whoever it is I hire on her advice, and I’ll start over from scratch.

With four applicants vetted by human resources, who will all be fired if they allow my waiting room to fill up like this again with applicants.

“Will you please come interview these hundred women who want to be my executive assistant? I’ll buy you diamonds and pearls and cancel Paris and take you somewhere else instead, and order you golden chocolates so that you can—I won’t finish that sentence, but I did listen to every word your sister said about it.”

“Hayes, you don’t have to buy me gifts for me to do the little things.”

“This is not a little thing.” I’m too old to crawl under my desk and hide, but I want to.

And wanting to is a bad, bad sign.

We should’ve stayed in Maine.

I could’ve done everything remotely.

I can still go back.

“Have you had lunch?” she asks softly.

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite meal?”

“Begonia—”

“Your job applicants aren’t going anywhere if they’re worthy of working for you, Hayes. Where are you?”

“Locked in my office.”

“Good. Stay there. I’ll be there in twenty—no, Nikolay says ten minutes, but we have to stop to get you a lunch that’ll taste good enough for you to remember it, so definitely twenty minutes, and then I’ll handle everything. Also, can I tell Hyacinth about this?”

“No.”

“Good gravy, I’ll leave out the part where you look human and vulnerable, okay? You’re really, really great at a lot of things, but asking you to interview a hundred women on your first day back in the office after a death in your family sounds like something your mother would dream up in a really bad Razzle Dazzle film.”

I freeze.

She’s fucking right.

And if not my mother, someone in my family set this up.

“Do not call your mother,” Begonia orders. “Let me.”

I stare harder in the direction of The Egg, and I picture Begonia straightening her spine and smearing on blood red lipstick—no, not blood red.

Neon magenta.

To match her hair.

And while I don’t feel very chief financial officer-ish in this exact moment, I find I can breathe again.

“Begonia.”

“Yes, Hayes?”

“You’re a very good friend. Don’t fuck me over.”

“Someone hurt you very badly, didn’t they?”

Yes.

Yes, they did.

“Tell Nikolay to bring you here and then run out for whatever else it is you’re convinced I need. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”