Billionaires Dollar Series

“Send her in.”

I grin at Miles, hoping to draw out some form of response from him. All the employees here can’t be ice-men. “Thanks for escorting me here,” I say brightly.

He gives me a narrowed glance, as if he can’t quite figure out my game, and pushes the door open. Oh well. I’m sure I’ll wear him down eventually.

Nick is standing by a window, his back to me. The only one I’ve never managed to wear down with my charm. The door closes behind me. Locked in with the beast.

“Lovely office you have here,” I say. “The mood seems to be somewhere between a slaughterhouse and a prison. I can’t decide which I’m leaning toward more.”

Nick doesn’t turn. Dressed in black suit pants and a dark shirt, sans jacket, he looks… impressive. I know he’s trying to rattle me by not speaking-by not looking at me.

I hate that it’s working.

“Cole told me it was your idea to hire me. I’m guessing that was somewhat of a white lie, but I’ll go along with it if it’ll make your life easier.”

Nick shrugs, his wide shoulders rising and falling once. “Believe what you like,” he says, “as long as you’ll do the job I’ve hired you for.”

At that, my hackles rise. Have I ever suggested otherwise?

“So far, all I know is that it involves evaluating B. C. Adams as a business.” I take a seat opposite his desk, ignoring the fact that he’s also ignoring me. “I’ve been given a file about their financial information. That’s all I know. Care to fill me in?”

Nick turns to look at me. There’s still nothing in those dark eyes of his-he’s capable of looking so cold, so still, like someone carved him from marble with too rough a hand. I sit still under the hawk-like gaze.

“And?” he says. “Do you think you can do it?”

“Yes.” I pour more confidence into the word than I feel. “But I want you to tell me the truth about last weekend.”

Impossibly, he grows even more still. “Last weekend?”

“Mr. Adams? B. C. Adams? I’m not an idiot. That was why you were there. You used my presence and my name for this deal.”Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Nick strides to his desk, pulling out his chair with one smooth motion. “And?”

“And that means I helped you close this deal.”

He snorts. He actually snorts. “Not in the least. It was basically signed and sealed before.”

“So you’re saying you played cornholes with me voluntarily?”

His eyes narrow. “Fine. You’re right on both counts. They had doubts, and seeing me as a person with friends, especially famous and well-liked friends, helped. Does that change the current situation in any way?”

“Not in the least,” I say brightly, “but I very much wanted to hear you say it.” I look away from the fire in his eyes to the binder in front of me. “Now, will you brief me on this job?”

Complete silence again. Nick is staring at me with clear frustration on his features. It’s like he can’t believe I’m really here.

That makes two of us.

“I didn’t expect you to say yes,” he mutters.

“Yes, well, I surprised myself as well. Now come on. Explain this process to me. What exactly have I been hired to do?”

Nick leans back in his chair. In this office, in his suit, everything about him speaks of boardrooms and spreadsheets and ruthless endurance. I’ve heard of this side of him before, but I’ve never seen it in action.

“They’re deep in the red,” he says. “Bleeding cash. Without our added liquidity, B. C. Adams would have gone bankrupt within the month.”

My mind reels at the words.

And he bought companies on the brink like this regularly? “Sounds like you should get your money back,” I say. “Did you keep the receipt?”

He doesn’t smile, but I didn’t really expect him to. “We’re sitting on a hell of a lot of inventory,” he says. “They have two hundred and fifty stores across the country.”

“Two hundred and fifty-three,” I say.

He narrows his eyes at me again. “Two hundred and fifty-three,” he concedes. “Gina has been calling store managers all morning. We’re closing fifty of the least profitable locations immediately. They’re setting up out-of-business sales as we speak.”

My stomach drops. Fifty stores closed in a day, and all because he made the decision. How many employees had just been notified that they were redundant? How many families devastated?

Perhaps he sees these thoughts on my face, because Nick leans forward, a sudden flare of dark relish in his eyes. “It’s only the beginning, Blair. Who knows how many stores we’ll have to close before this is all said and done? I bought it to profit, not to save. Either I’ll right the ship or I’ll sell it off, piece by piece.”

He wants to shock me.

He wants me to say that I can’t do it and walk out of this office with my tail between my legs. It’s there in his eyes, the challenge.

“Set up an online store,” I say. “Immediately. The fact that they don’t already have online shopping is beyond me.”

A shadow of annoyance crosses his face. “We’re trying to. Their stock is spread out between twenty different warehouses across the country.”

“Inefficient,” I say.

“Very,” he says, looking more sullen about the fact that we’re agreeing than the actual fact itself. “You’ll work with Gina. She’s running point on this. You can advise her on the retail side of the business. What inventory is sellable? What is unusable? Any ideas you have, she’ll want to hear.”

Despite the frown on his face-despite the fact that we’re like vultures picking at a dying hundred-year-old American business-excitement unfurls inside me. My hands itch to sort through their inventory and their products.

“We’re not selling to women like you.” Nick holds up a warning finger. “This shop sells to the average woman. To… to housewives and teenagers.”

“B. C. Adams does not sell to teenagers,” I say tartly. “Which is why they’re going out of business. And as for the target demographic, I’m perfectly capable of separating my own preferences from the market in general.”

“See that you do.” Nick’s eyes gleam in the dim lighting of his office. I meet the challenge in his gaze squarely, ignoring the sudden racing of my heart. Perhaps my old crush isn’t quite so dead and buried as I’d thought.

His next words are reluctant. “Welcome to the team, then.”

Gina turns out to be no-nonsense personified. She works like a robot and very nearly talks like one, too. It’s comforting-she doesn’t openly doubt my capabilities but neither does she reassure.

“Here we are,” she says as the cab pulls up outside of the B. C. Adams store in downtown Seattle. It looks like they all do-a familiar sign and a familiar layout. It’s been many years since I’d stepped foot in one. Despite myself, Nick’s voice comes back to me. The target market isn’t you.

Could I really do this?

“Are you coming?” Gina waits by the automatic doors. I join her. Awaiting us is a store in complete disarray. A simple glance reveals a complete lack of thought to the layout of clothing racks, no artful display of clothing ensembles on mannequins. There’s not a single customer in the entire store.