Exclusive Love (British Billionaires Series) (2 page)

‘Except Exclusive Love.’

‘What?’

‘Exclusive Love. Single British millionaires residing in The States, wanting women in the same social strata to date.’

Waiting for her to continue, John hunched forward in his chair. His eyes were no longer gazing at the junior dogsbody of the newspaper.

‘It’s only single, British, male millionaires. Women wanting to sign up need an annual salary of $100,000, or an equivalent amount generated from interest on a lump sum, trust fund or pocket money from a very rich mummy and daddy. If they can prove it, they join the website for free.

‘Seriously?’

‘It appears to be. That is not a criterion extending an open invitation to anyone and everyone. The message they’re sending out on this website preying on the allegedly insecure, lonely, and single is that money can buy you love—if you’ve got it. Seems to me British millionaires have no interest in the normal everyday woman.’

‘Is that the angle?’

‘I’m not sure. Is Britain versus America relevant?’

‘It is to us. We fought to be independent of them. Now they’re suggesting our women that don’t come from wealth aren’t satisfactory to date.’

‘It might be interesting to see what exactly these men expect from us.’

‘You might have uncovered a nugget here, Katy. It is fresh. It is new. It could work. An online dating expos
é
involving millionaires could be what the paper needs to boost readership. I’ll get one of the girls on it.’

‘No!’ barked Katy.

The words were out. She hadn’t a chance to monitor her tone of voice.

‘What?’

‘It’s my idea. Let me run with it.’

‘How do you propose to do that?’

‘If I present myself as a working woman I’ll have to do my regular hours. It won’t interfere with court duty. I’ll do it in my spare time. Let me write it and give me the by-line.’

‘How are you going to meet the financial criteria?’

‘You can aid me with that, plus I can get assistance elsewhere to slip through the net.’

‘You’ll need a budget, Katy. You can’t turn up to dates dressed in your wardrobe. The clothes can’t contrast with your online persona.’

‘Then you’ll have to allocate me a budget. I can go vintage labels to keep costs down.’

‘I don’t know. Financing this is my responsibility. You can understand my reservations letting an inexperienced junior reporter loose on an undercover story of this nature. If you blow it I’ll have lost money and you’ll...’

‘Have lost my job?’

John studied her carefully. Unbeknownst to Katy, she hadn’t gone unnoticed by the editor. Hard-working, determined, and driven, John was resolute the girl would work her way up the ladder as he had. He knew she was prepared to undertake that path in her career if it led her to the heights she wanted to scale. Her willingness to risk her job for this piece of investigative journalism attested her confidence in providing content to his exacting high standards.

‘Against my better judgment, Katy, I’m going to say yes. If only because you’re the youngest, prettiest member on the team. You’ll attract dates. The other girls may struggle.’

Katy grimaced knowing how her colleagues would react to that comment.

‘Nothing to do with my ability to scout out and write a decent story?’

Katy detected a fraction of affection in his smile.

‘That helps, but don’t let me down.’

‘Will I get the royalties if a larger national publication runs it?’

‘Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?’

‘I call it front loading and preparation.’

‘You get a salary, Katy. That’s how it works. If you were working freelance the royalties would be yours for the taking, but you know the old adage—you can’t have your cake and eat it too.’

‘Can’t I work for you and offer this one-off story freelance?’

‘Certainly. If you can raise the cash to register with the website.’

      The editor knew she couldn’t manage it. Katy’s head bowed. She knew what possible royalties would do for the paper and the kudos would be shared come what may.

‘If this works, you’ll get a bonus and pay raise, Katy, but you sign on another five years,’ he asserted.

She rolled her eyes. Another one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days in the court.

‘
This could launch you and if that happens you’re free to go, but I have a business to run. That five years would have to be paid for if I let a star reporter go. That’s why the royalties stay with the paper. It’s unheard of sharing them with the reporter. I found you and I need to benefit as well. I hope you comprehend that. Unfair as it is, you’d be working overtime virtually for nothing. It’s your call, but I’ll back you. An outside bet can often pay off.’

      Standing, Katy offered her hand.

‘Deal. If nothing big comes of it, but you rate the writing, I stay on. No horoscopes or making up Dear Doris letters ever again.’

      He shook her hand firmly.

      ‘
You’re a fine reporter, Katy and a competent writer. You’re above horoscopes.’

‘Done then,’ she stated, ‘For now I’m headed down to the court.’

Chapter Two

      Stretching his long legs under the sizable oak desk and tipping his head back over the top of his black leather chair, at six foot three Oscar realized to get comfortable he was definitely going to require a new seat to cater to his extraordinary height. Swinging round he took in New York City from his view on the 52
^nd
floor.

Peaking at 65 levels, upon arrival he’d been assigned one of the world-class offices on the top floor.

      Given he was there to assess company finances, he felt it prudent to situate himself on the same floor as the company accounts department. His presence in the American Head Office caused a stir. As the boss’s son, his relocation to the New York office could only mean changes to the current company structure. Unable to comment publicly, Oscar knew the suspicion of the staff was warranted.

The communications industry was booming. As massive profits were forthcoming from the company’s activities in other continents, the American outlets were struggling in the economy. The primary step in rectifying the situation was to study the financial reports to find where costs could be cut to streamline the company. An examination of current process and policies would then identify how management and sales strategies could be improved.

Wages were the biggest expense of any company. Oscar knew jobs would have to go. It was inevitable, but breaking the news was never painless. Too often his business mind was the origin of forced redundancies, but it didn’t harden his heart to deprive people of a household income.

The glass walls of his goldfish bowl office offered no privacy. His fidgeting and shifting was evident to onlookers. Facts and figures were blurring. Analyzing them was similar to deciphering a foreign language. It was 3pm. Food and a break might combat his lapsing concentration.

Stepping out of his office, his PA addressed him enthusiastically.

‘Good afternoon, Mr. Woodruff. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘No, thank you. I’m grabbing a bite to eat.’

‘I can run out for you or order in.’

‘No, thank you, Sandy. The walk will clear my head. I’ll be fine.’

Her face was disappointed. It seemed that of late, he did nothing but disappoint the female staff. Attending a celebratory work function for a director’s twentieth anniversary the previous week, Oscar’s presence was to represent his family’s appreciation for their valued employees. Women flocked to him. The adoration was flattering.

The bulldozer advance was however, undignified. Oscar retreated rapidly, unsure of how to react and doing his utmost to soften any rejection. Attractive female colleagues became unattractive with their public threats of pursuit and upfront sexual demands. Dominant, sexually aggressive women didn’t bother Oscar, but being labeled a ‘prize catch’ because of his surname did bother him.

Taking him to an array of bars with a range of women, the men within the company tried integrating Oscar into society. American beauties fell at his feet when introduced. They fought hard to engage with him one-on-one when they heard who his father was. Oscar was depleted of energy from the onslaught of constant female attention.

Stepping into the summer sun, he inhaled the smell of New York City. It was distinct, and invigorating. The stroll to the deli took minutes given the strides of his lengthy legs. Entering, he grinned at the familiar waitress. A young girl, plump and of Italian descent. Her brown eyes lit up at the sight of him.

‘Hello, Lucia,’ he said warmly, unaware the baritone of his clipped English accent made the young girl’s legs turn to jelly.

‘Hi,’ she replied. ‘The usual?’

‘Surprise me!’

Avoiding his habitual pastrami sandwich, she set about heaping turkey, stuffing, mayonnaise and cranberries between two thick wedges of bread.

After she wrapped and passed it over, Oscar attacked the sandwich as an impoverished child. Her fingers hadn’t entered the amount in the till as he took his a bite.

‘Tasty. Nice to stray from the ordinary.’

      ‘It’ll be tastier after Thanksgiving. If you stay that long.’

‘I might well do,’ he said amiably, passing her a bill to cover the cost.

      ‘I thought you might go home to visit family for the holiday.’

‘We don’t do Thanksgiving in England. Besides I’d be foolish to avoid having a second crack at this sandwich if it improves over the holiday.’

Leaving the change in the tip jar, he leaned on the edge of the counter, devouring the sandwich, as they discussed the variation in holidays between the two countries.

‘I have to make a move or they’ll send out a search party on the assumption I’ve lost myself in this magnificent city.’

‘You couldn’t lose yourself in New York. Not the way our streets are set up.’

‘Very true, Lucia. They might think I’m shirking, which I am. A sandwich and a chat with you are far preferable to sitting alone at a desk piled with reports with no food and a glorious view.’

The words were genuine but innocent in intent. Lucia’s heart was aflutter. Stupefied, she waved goodbye as he left.

      It was a shame girls with Lucia’s nature were hard to find in the city. Devoid of female company in the three weeks he’d spent in the country, Oscar had a feeling he’d have to revert to Exclusive Love. The dating website financed by the sister of an old school friend, was specifically tailored for men faced with his predicament. He hated himself for considering it, but it seemed viable.

      The sooner he was able to date without the threat of every woman wanting his wallet the better. He was thirty-five and had great appreciation for women; their figures and their company. The longer he was alone in New York the more likely he was to attach to someone who captured his eyes rather than his heart. Surrounded by beauties, finding a confident, financially independent woman was akin to the idiom of finding a needle in a haystack.

      He hadn’t discussed with his father the duration of his stay in New York office, but he had no intention of living like a monk during his residence. The website would hasten the process. It wasn’t his ideal way to date but it would be helpful. Work was stressful. He wanted his spare time to be fun. Hunting and rooting around NYC for the right kind of woman was not Oscar’s idea of fun.

      Locking himself in his office, rather than process reports, Oscar emailed his friend to fast-track the verification process and started creating his online profile. Appreciating they liked to ‘match’ couples to increase the likelihood of a connection, the registration form wasn’t completed till mid-evening. Having invested valuable hours, he hoped the quality of women were as the site promised, and hit the ‘submit’ button.

The floor was empty as he departed. Not a soul in sight. The display on the wall clock was past 9pm. At least his employees had a reason to go home or at least get out of the office. Oscar would return to his suite at the Four Seasons for another night of room service and cable TV.