The Billionaire's Affair: Billionaire Brothers (Tycoon Billionaires Book 2) (16 page)

This time Dylan wasn’t taking any chances of his car being sabotaged – he was taking taxicabs all the way. The little café was practically empty today, other than the young Russian spy sitting in the corner, engrossed in his coffee and ancient laptop. Dylan and Sarah halted at his table, not bothering to sit down.

Mikhail looked up. “Right on time.”

“You got what we need?”

Mikhail reached under the table and pulled out a bundle of papers. “Everything of Natalia’s is right here. Her ID, also printouts of the emails she sent about Orlov and his corruption. I wish I could be there when that bastard gets what’s coming to him.”

Dylan took the papers. “This lot must be worth quite a bit to your organisation – but you trust me and Sarah?”

“I know you will do what you say you will. Natalia trusted you enough to have an affair with you, so I should trust you too, yes?”

“You want these back?”

“Leave them with Orlov’s gang. They need to see what sort of woman he was married to. I want them to know how stupid he was to let his dick control his brain. He gave up a lot of secrets during the pillow talk, you know.”

“And what will you do now?” Sarah asked.

“I will go back to Russia. Lie low. Mourn my beloved. Continue to fight for our homeland and freedom.”

Dylan offered his hand. “Good luck.”

Mikhail shook it firmly. “And to think I was going to kill you less than a week ago.”

The three of them laughed nervously. Dylan stashed the papers in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, then led Sarah back out into the sunshine, where the cab was still waiting.

Dylan had been to Orlov’s office several times during the negotiation process, but the plush Central London building seemed smaller today; less intimidating. He held Sarah’s hand as they strode into the lobby where Detective Edwards and her male partner were sitting on a leather couch, drinking takeout tea and chatting casually in their plainclothes. Trying not to give the game away.

The detective looked tense, but Dylan was confident that in less than ten minutes, she’d have her murder case solved.

She scowled as Dylan and Sarah drifted over. “Mr Quinlan, I’m not happy about this plan. We don’t usually allow civilians to –”

He held up his hands. “Well, sure, if you want to go up there now and arrest him with no confession or evidence, be my guest.”

She opened her mouth to give a gruff reply, but then she closed it again and shook her head. “If he kills you, I’ll tell your family ‘I told you so’. Alright?”

Dylan chuckled. “It’s a deal. You got your cell-phone number? I’ll call you so you can record the whole thing, okay?”

“Yes, go on then.”

He winked at her and she
almost
smiled. He called her, then placed his own phone in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

The detective held her phone to her ear. “I can.”

“Perfect. Sarah, sweetheart, stay here with the detectives and I’ll be right back, okay.”

Sarah threw her arms around him and kissed him hard, attracting a few looks from the reception staff. “Be careful, Dylan. I’m not losing you again.”

He laughed and eased himself away. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Dylan made his way in the elevator to the third floor and summoned up his cockiest stance as he strode down the lavish corridor towards the heavy wooden doors of Orlov’s office.

He drew on the strength of his brothers – Adam’s charms, Ivan’s fighting spirit, and Joseph’s optimism – and they merged together in his chest, along with his deep love for Sarah. After this was over, they’d be free to love each other safely again. And this time he was never letting her go.

He threw open the door without knocking and ambled inside. The huge boardroom overlooked the stunning London skyline, and the massive windows made the whole space feel light and airy. But the main feature of the room right now were the eight burly Russian men sitting in expensive leather chairs around the long boardroom table dressed in designer suits, all staring at Dylan with their mouths open. Dylan recognised most of them from Orlov’s party. The guy who’d been led away that night was conspicuous in his absence. But the others were here and waiting to see what Dylan wanted. They were managing to keep as cool as Orlov – who was sitting in the centre of the boardroom table, drumming his fingers on the polished wood.

Dylan stared directly into his eyes, refusing to be intimidated by how young and good-looking his nemesis was. “Hi, Vlad.”

“Mr Quinlan,” Orlov said coolly. “I think you are early for our meeting.”

“No, actually, I’m right on time.” He strolled into the room and stood at the head of the table – as eight pairs of fiery Russian eyes scrutinised him. “You see, the thing is, I thought you and I should confess our dirty secret to your buddies here. I’m sure they’d like to know all about that little thing you lost, huh?”

Orlov’s face didn’t flicker. “Well, please be welcome to confess all, Mr Quinlan, but it would be like committing suicide. They will merely torture you until they get it back.”

A middle-aged balding Russian glared at Orlov. “Get what back?”

Orlov stared at Dylan, daring him to expose their secret.

Dylan shook his head in mock-disapproval. “Alright,
I’ll
tell you. Orlov’s lost the blueprint for the perpetual motion device. Can you
believe
that? I mean, who’d do that?”

The atmosphere in the spacious room turned as chilly as an Arctic glacier – and much more destructive. Dylan saw Orlov run a finger nervously inside his shirt collar. Perhaps one person in here was beginning to feel the heat…

A stern-looking bullet-faced Russian banged his fist on the table, making it shake. “Is this true, Vladimir?”

Orlov refused to become rattled. “Our friend here has it. I assume he thinks he can blackmail us with it, but he obviously doesn’t know Russians very well. He will give it back or he knows what will happen.”

“Yes,” the bullet-faced Russian growled. “You will give it back now. You will
never
blackmail us. Return it, or your family will suffer.”

Dylan shrugged. “Impossible. I destroyed it.”

Dylan smiled as his words slammed into the minds of the powerful Russians. Realisation dawned and they seethed as one. Dylan’s heart pummelled his ribcage, but he stood tall and kept his cool. The Russians seemed to be processing the fact that their ticket to infinite wealth, power, and world domination had just exploded in a single second.

And they all knew whose fault it was…

“You destroyed it?” the balding man hissed.

“He’s lying,” Orlov said. “No one sane would ever destroy such a valuable commodity.”

Dylan smirked. “Well, I must be crazy, because it’s gone. I know this is an alien concept to you, but some people do actually value world peace more than world domination. So you can forget the idea of trying to blackmail my country or start a war, alright.”

The oldest Russian with white hair and wrinkled skin spoke in a raspy voice. “We don’t intend to start a war with America. Why would we do that?”

Dylan reached slowly into his inner jacket pocket, which caused a few men to whip out guns and point them at him. He forced himself to remain calm.

“Cool it,” he said. “What I’ve got here is more potent than any firearm.”

He held aloft the bundle of papers that Mikhail had given him. The Russians stared at the papers, not understanding.

“I’m not entirely sure
why
you want to start a war with America,” Dylan said. “But I’ve got plenty of evidence right here to say you do. And Natalia Orlov knew about it too, because these are her emails to the anti-government rebel group she was a member of.”

Dylan allowed this to hang in the air. No one reacted so he continued. “She was a spy, and she shafted all you men right under your noses. Fun, huh?”

Like a pack of hungry hunting dogs on a lame deer, the Russian men turned and sank their vicious glares into Orlov. Some of them were still holding their guns. One guy pulled out a flick-knife. Orlov looked like he was about to pee his pants.

Orlov darted his eyes around, desperate to wriggle off this deadly hook that Dylan was dangling him from – dangling him directly into shark-infested waters. “What are you talking about? Natalia wasn’t a spy. You are a liar.”

“Don’t play dumb, Vlad,” Dylan said. “It doesn’t suit you. You know as well as I do that you fucked up by falling in love with a spy, then when you found out the truth you panicked and killed her, right?”

No one spoke, or even breathed. Everyone stared at Orlov, waiting for his reply. Orlov himself was staring at the bundle of papers in Dylan’s hand, willing it to be nothing but a bluff – a pack of lies. Dylan glanced at the papers too, then threw them into the middle of the table like a nail bomb, waiting for it to explode right in Orlov’s smug handsome sinister face.

“It’s all in there,” Dylan said.

The Russian nearest to the bundle picked it up and started to rifle through. “It’s true,” he whispered.

The other men leaned closer towards Orlov, brandishing their guns and knives, trying to decide which bits of him to cut off first.

Orlov held up his hands; his voice was straining with panic. “But she’s gone now. I had her killed. As soon as I found out, I arranged to have her killed!” He appealed to his comrades. “Let’s kill
Quinlan
and no one will ever know the truth!”

“So you admit you killed Natalia?” Dylan asked. “Hired a hitman, did you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t do it myself, would I?”

“I guess not. But anyway, thanks for the confession.” Dylan pulled his phone from his breast pocket. “Detective Edwards has been recording all this in the lobby, so she’ll be up to deal with you soon. But I guess your colleagues would probably like to deal with you in their own way first, huh?”

Dylan smiled coolly at the devastated Orlov, then he turned to walk towards the door, leaving the bundle of papers in the hands of the Russians.

He glanced back as the men began to close in on him. “Oh, by the way, Vlad – just in case you’re wondering, the sponsorship deal’s off.”

Orlov’s voice trembled with terror. “Dylan, please don’t leave me! Send the police up, send them up! I’ll confess everything – names, crimes, dates, anything. Just don’t leave me with these maniacs!”

Dylan closed the door and tried to block out Orlov’s pleads for mercy. He knew the detective wouldn’t allow Orlov to come to any harm – that’s how justice was done in civilised societies; even for bastards who pushed the bounds of human decency. Dylan strolled down the corridor, feeling strong and secure. Sarah had helped him to find his inner-strength through love, and now he wanted to take her far away from this madness, and make sure nothing like this ever happened to them again.

He jogged down to the lobby, where Detective Edwards was chatting with a group of uniformed officers. She seemed to be taking her time with the Orlov rescue-mission, which made Dylan chuckle.

“He’s all yours,” Dylan said.

She thrust out her hand. “Thank you, Mr Quinlan. You did a good job.”

He shook her hand and they exchanged a mutual smile, then he stepped over to where Sarah was waiting. She threw her arms around him and he held her tight.

“You okay?” she asked. “They didn’t hurt you?”

“Nah, they wouldn’t dare.” He gazed down into her eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” She let out a laugh of relief. “Do you know what, Mr Quinlan? I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

Sarah and Dylan ran down the steps of Orlov’s building and onto the busy London sidewalk, where the sound of squealing buses, honking cars, and chattering pedestrians hit them like the sun that shone brightly on this sweltering July day.

Sarah felt like a little girl, full of freedom. The commuters were swarming like insects in the heat, talking loudly on their phones, heads buried in their iPads. But Sarah felt as wide as the ocean – as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Dylan pulled her close and they kissed, causing the manic world to fall away.

She gazed into his eyes. “So what happens now?”

He caressed her cheek. “We’ve got one more piece of unfinished business. Come on…”

Dylan stuck out his hand for a cab, and they both climbed inside.

“Where to, guv?” the driver asked.

“Fenchurch United soccer club, please,” Dylan said.

Sarah frowned. “Why there?”

“Old time’s sake… you’ll see.”

He put his arm around her and they snuggled together in the back of the cab, until the driver pulled up outside Fenchurch United’s home-ground. Sarah had been here once before as a child, but it was totally different now – back then they’d been a second-rate team with a dilapidated stadium. But now… Truthfully, for such an expensive venue, it didn’t look that impressive to Sarah. It was enormous, but functional and industrial. The surroundings of the stadium were made of asphalt – car parks, bus stations, and fast-food stalls. The structure itself was made of grey toughened plastic, and the open-air roof was crisscrossed with a steel lattice, making it look like a futuristic factory. The front of the building was glass like a department store, but the huge plastic letters that spelled out ‘Fenchurch United’ along the top reminded Sarah that no shopping would be done here – not unless she wanted to buy their ridiculously overpriced merchandise.

Dylan told the taxi driver to take them around the back, where Sarah realised there was a much smaller ‘directors’ entrance’. Dylan paid the driver and they made their way over to the glass doors and walked inside. It was much more impressive in here – more low-key and corporate than what Sarah imagined the public lobby probably looked like. In fact, it felt as if they’d strolled into a very expensive gym.

The suited man behind the reception desk glanced up. “Good afternoon, Mr Quinlan. I wasn’t aware that you were coming today.”

Dylan threw him a confident grin. “Hiya, Stanley. I’ve just had a meeting with Mr Orlov and I wanted to show my girlfriend around. Okay?”

Sarah held his hand and glowed with pride at being introduced as his girlfriend.

Stanley was a pro – he’d been given this job because of his ability to schmooze the wealthy clients who came his way. He was young and handsome – but not so much as to intimidate the middle-aged men of soccer who he dealt with daily. He smiled professionally at Dylan. “Of course, Mr Quinlan. There are no stadium tours occurring at the moment, so please feel free… do you need a guide?”

“Oh no, thanks. We’ll be fine alone.”

Stanley pressed a button to release the locked door that led to the rest of the stadium. “Have a nice time, madam,” he said to Sarah.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling shyly.

The sun shone down brightly on the huge pitch today, but the steep surrounding eighty-thousand plastic seats were shaded by the vast steel open-air roof. Sarah could see on the other side of the ground that some of the red seats had been replaced with white ones, to spell out ‘Fenchurch United’. She assumed the white ones on this side also spelled something, but she was too nearby to decipher the words. The bright green field in the centre was exposed and it glistened like emeralds. Sarah vaguely remembered coming here as a child with her dad, but the atmosphere back then had been noisy with cheers and chants. It’d been exciting and overwhelming. Today it was as lifeless as an old photo in a childhood scrapbook. But it was certainly much more upmarket since the recent refurbishment – thanks to all that Russian money…

They sat on the front row of the public seating, where – if there’d been a match on – they would’ve had a perfect view.

Dylan put his arm around her. “You been here before, sweetheart?”

“Once when I was a little girl. Dad brought me. It was just a fading local soccer club in those days – I didn’t recognise it from the outside at all. But here… yeah, it does bring back memories.”

“I’ve been here a ton of times during my negotiations with Orlov, but you know what I was thinking about the whole time I was here?”

Sarah blushed – hoping he was going to say
her
. She smirked. “Er… were you thinking about how much you wish Bob Jones had scored that penalty in extra time during the FA Cup match?”

He laughed. “No. I was thinking of
you
. When we were back in college, your dad loved this club. And you were a fan by default – by heritage!”

She smiled nostalgically. “I was always obsessed with finding out the results back in college, wasn’t I? I guess it was my way of feeling connected to my home while I was away in America.”

“I know. I always miss my home whenever I’m away on business.” He sat up straight, tensing his muscles. “But now my business here is over.”

Sarah’s heart sank with terror. Was he breaking up with her? “Really?”

“Yep. Grafton Techs can run itself until we decide to sell it, so I’m free to return to New York. Honestly, there was only ever one thing tying me to London.”

She twisted to face him. “Fenchurch United Soccer Club?”

He chuckled affectionately. “No, Sarah,
you
.”

“But you’re leaving?”

“I sure am.” He gazed at her inquisitively for a moment, then he threw her that dazzling grin – the one he reserved only for her. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. “So… do you wanna come live in New York with me?”

Sarah’s heart jolted with joy. She gripped the plastic armrest to check she wasn’t dreaming. “Oh god, Dylan – I’ve been waiting seven years for you to come here and ask me that!”

He grinned and shot to his feet, grabbing her on his way up and pulling her into his arms. He held her close and twirled her around, making her giggle.

He placed her back down on the concrete and they gazed into each other’s eyes. Sarah’s mind swum with questions – what was she going to do in New York? There was no way she could just be Dylan’s girlfriend – she needed her own sense of purpose.

He ran his fingers through her hair. “I know you’ll miss London, but we’ll have
one
thing to tie us both back to the UK, right?”

“What’s that?”

He laughed. “Fenchurch United Soccer Club.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m buying it for you. For the memory of your dad.”

Sarah gasped in shock. “Dylan… what are you saying?”

“How would you like to be a soccer club owner?”

“I don’t know anything
about
being a soccer club owner!”

“Neither did Orlov. Come on, you’ll be better than him. At least you actually care about the club. And you’ve got years of experience in hospitality. And your family are life-long fans… You’re the perfect woman for the job, sweetheart.”

“But… Orlov owns it.”

“I know. But soccer clubs are run by boards like most businesses and he’s about to either go to jail or get torn apart by his gang. They’ll be needing a new owner.”

Sarah laughed. “You never stop looking for a business opportunity, do you?”

“Nope, I’m a Quinlan. So what’s your answer? Come live with me in New York and be the chairwoman of Fenchurch United. We’ll find some good guys here in London to keep us informed at all times. What do you say?”

“I don’t know
what
to say… “

“Well, just say yes.
If
you want to.”

“Yes! Aww, Dylan, you’re so romantic, thank you!”

He ran his fingers down her back and squeezed her ass tight, causing her lust to rocket. “I’m not losing you again, Sarah – not now I’ve got you back. I need to keep you interested in me
only
. I can’t let you walk out again.”

“I’ll never walk out on you again, Dylan.”

“That’s what I needed to hear. I can’t wait to show you New York – I’m done with London.” He cupped her chin and kissed her hard. “I got what I came here for.”

Sarah sensed her life unfolding ahead like a sunbeam. She grinned into his eyes. “Hey, you wanna go back to the hotel and make love all afternoon?”

Dylan pressed his hard-on against her. “Love to, babe.” He glanced over at the green sparkling grass of the soccer field. “And once we’ve bought this place, we’ll make our mark on it by fucking right in the middle of the pitch. How about it, huh?”

She stepped away from his arms and thrust out her hand for him to shake. “It’s a deal, Mr Quinlan – it’s a deal!”