Going Down (Quickies #1)
Read Going Down (Quickies #1) Online
Authors: Cassie Cross
Quickies Series #1: Going Down
Quickies Series #1: Going Down
Text copyright © 2014 Cassie Cross
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, weather electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Cassie Cross.
Quickies Series #1:
Going Down
A Billionaire Romance
By Cassie Cross
I really hated parties, but I loved my best friend Paige, which was why I was standing in the alleyway behind
Azure—
one of the hottest clubs in Manhattan—trying to talk Paige into breaking out of the shackles that were chaining her to her desk so late on a Thursday evening.
“Paige, listen to me,” I said, trying to sound as patient as I could, even though I felt like my sanity was hanging on by the thinnest of threads. “We’ve been planning this party for
two months.
A group of our friends are inside the club waiting for you. We paid
a hundred dollars
for a bottle of champagne! You work your ass off, can’t you leave just this once? It’s your birthday; you can’t work overtime on your birthday. You only turn twenty-three once, and we love you. We want you here with us.”
I pressed the palm of my free hand against my ear, trying desperately to block out the sound of honking horns and rowdy Wall Street types that liked to frequent this area of town after hours. Even through the bustle of the city around me, I still managed to hear Paige’s long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line.
“Chloe,” she said with a hint of a whine. “I want to be there, okay? But Carter has a presentation tomorrow, and I have to get these slides cleaned up before I can go.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Paige sounded a little hesitant and a lot suspicious, which I supposed came from five years of friendship. She knew me like she knew the back of her own hand; she had to have known that I would never give up so quickly or so easily. If she’d gotten to be that gullible, then I definitely needed to get her out of that office for some much needed fun.
“Yeah,” I replied, stalking out of the alley and shouldering my way through the crowd that littered the sidewalk. “Okay.”
“You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“No.” It wasn’t a very convincing lie, but that didn’t matter when I had my mind set on something, and I was getting Paige out of that damned office and into
Azure
to enjoy her birthday party if it was the last thing I did.
“
Chloe,
” she groaned, exasperated. But I could hear the lilt of hope and amusement in her voice, and that was what pushed me forward to the curb, what raised my arm to hail a cab. Well, that and my pure, unadulterated rage toward Paige’s boss, one Mr. Carter Armstrong.
Paige was ten times as ambitious as I was, which was saying something, and she seemed to have a bit of a masochistic streak too, working for a man who thought that just because he was born into a certain family that everyone on the planet existed purely for his benefit. Because Carter? He came from money. Not new, house-in-the-Hamptons-and-a-yacht kind of money, but old money. The kind of money that put the Armstrong family name on public libraries, hospital wings, and museums.
Legacy
money.
Now, I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Carter just yet, but I had learned everything I needed to know about him from listening to Paige gripe about him when she’d shuffle through the front door of our apartment after a long day at work. Supplemental material was occasionally provided by the society pages of the
Post
.
The thing that really grated on me about men like Carter was that they walked around like they owned the world, like the people living in it owed them something. Sure, with Carter there were heart-stopping good looks along with the chiseled perfection that was his body, but he was just your typical, run-of-the-mill-billionaire, right? Surely he’d recognize the value in a good business proposition, which was exactly what I was going to give him.
When my taxi pulled up in front of the Armstrong building, I was feeling a little on edge; the adrenaline coursing through my veins had set my heart racing. I loved a good confrontation, especially with someone who had it coming to them like Carter did. I pushed the door open before the cabbie even came to a stop, slipping him enough bills to cover my fare before I slid out of the car and ran up the steps, yanking the large glass door open and stepping through.
I handed my ID to the security guard manning the desk, then angrily attached the visitor’s badge he gave me to the collar of my new pink top, hoping the little claw-like clasp didn’t leave too much of a mark.
I stomped my way to the elevator, then pressed the up button repeatedly with fervor.
“You know, pushing’ that thing fifty times isn’t going to make it come any faster,” the security guard hollered, his voice echoing through the lobby. He had a friendly smile that soothed my frazzled nerves, and made me smile too, for what seemed like the first time all night.
“I know,” I replied, smoothing my hands down the front of my skirt. “But it makes me feel better; helps channel the rage.”
The guard let out a low, rumbling laugh. “I’ve been there. I hope your night gets better, but seeing as you’re going to the thirty-fifth floor, I doubt it.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink, and there was something nice about knowing that this guy wasn’t a fan of good ‘ol Mr. Armstrong, either.
After an elevator ride that seemed to last for an eternity, I stepped foot into the offices of Anderson Technologies. I had only been in here once, and I wasn’t surprised to see that the sterile, impersonal feel that I remembered was still in full-effect. It was the kind of office you’d expect for a tech giant’s headquarters, all sleek lines and minimalist furniture. There was a hideous egg-shaped statue in the middle of the lobby for crying out loud, and I was reasonably sure that the ugly thing cost more than my first semester’s tuition at NYU. The fact that someone would spend money on something so visually displeasing only added more fuel to my rage.
The entire office was dark, save for the soft light emanating from Paige’s desk in the far corner, and just past that I could see Carter’s large, cherry wood door slightly open. I kept moving forward, and the further I ventured, the warmer it seemed - much less clinical. Carter Armstrong hired designers who knew how to appropriately light an office, I’d give him that.
After I cleared a row of low-walled cubicles and finally saw Paige all hunched over her desk, stress just rolling off of her, my heart broke. Obviously tired, she looked completely uncomfortable and just…completely
done
. Not at all the way a twenty-three year-old woman should look on her birthday.
“Paige,” I said quietly.
Her head snapped up, and for the faintest second I saw a flicker of happiness flash across her face, but it didn’t take long for the worry to settle in.
“You shouldn’t have come, Chlo.”
“And you shouldn’t be here at nine-thirty on your birthday. Work is important, but so is your life,” I told her as I sat down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. Once I was settled, I handed over the sparkly purple gift bag I’d been clutching since I left the club, hoping it would serve as a peace offering for doing what I was about to do.
“What’s this?” Paige asked, and I was relieved to see that she was starting to smile.
“It’s the first of many presents. This is a little one, for sentimental reasons.”
Paige pushed aside the tissue paper and peered inside the bag, her smile growing into a full-blown one. She laughed as she pulled out a small bottle of white zinfandel. “Awww,” she cooed. “It’s our drink of choice!”
Years ago, when she and I had finally settled into our dorm room and unpacked the last of our boxes, we huddled together on Paige’s bed on our first night away from our families, and we shared a tiny bottle of white zin that we’d found tucked away in the bottom drawer of the otherwise empty dresser in our room. We shared that bottle of wine as we got to know each other, our budding friendship erasing the loneliness of being in a new city. We’ve been nearly inseparable ever since, and I hadn’t let her down yet. I wasn’t about to start doing it tonight.
Paige tore through the rest of the tissue paper in the bag and squealed with laughter. “What’s this? A tiara!”
“Put it on,” I told her. “I’m busting you out of here.”
“Chloe, no!” Paige whispered, but it was too late; I was already pushing my way into Carter’s office.
The following didn’t happen exactly the way I had planned. I had expected for my overwhelming annoyance to make this confrontation easier, what I hadn’t expected was for Carter Armstrong to be so, well…
captivating
in person.
My breath caught when I stepped into the room and saw him. Behind a large desk—all gorgeously lit by the soft glow of the lamplight in front of him—was Carter Anderson in all of his GQ glory, and
wow
, pictures just did not do him justice. It was then that I felt the first traitorous pull at my heart, because I shouldn’t be finding this man so attractive, not after the way he treated Paige. But his whole existence in that moment was like a laundry list of Chloe Moore’s Favorite Things:
Tall and ruggedly handsome? Check.
Crisp white shirt undone at the collar with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows? Check.
Steel blue tie halfway undone around his neck? Check.
Five o’clock shadow? Check.
I felt a little swoop in my belly, one that stretched all the way out to my fingertips. It was an odd sensation to have after I’d spent so much of the evening angry. I still
was
angry, but now I had this intense desire
to both yell at him and put my tongue in his mouth. Basically, the thoughts I was having about this man were obscene in many, many ways. And it was so cliche, you know, that being in such close proximity to someone like Carter Armstrong could make my anger melt into lust so suddenly, somehow making the two of them almost indistinguishable from one another.
