The Billionaire's Revenge: Billionaire Brothers Billionaire Bachelors (Tycoon Billionaires Book 3) (2 page)

Joseph laughed. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Matthew draped his arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and shot her a sickly smile. Joseph was sure she flinched.

“I do have a proper job lined up for you, pumpkin. We’re off to see Blair Robertson right now.”

Her face lit up. “The owner of News Scape?”

“Yep, my boss will soon be your boss. I promised I’d get you in there – I know this is your dream. And I’m all about making your dreams come true, my darling. And because you’re so special, you’re not being seen by one of Mr Robertson’s subordinates, oh no. When Matthew Wright promises the best, you get the best. You’re going to be interviewed by the most powerful media man in the business. But – in return – I need you to do some quality interviews with the band.” He cast an irritated eye at Joseph. “God knows their reputation needs it.”

Eleanor seemed genuinely stunned. “Thank you,” she stuttered. “This is awesome.”

“No problem. I always knew taking a job with Robertson’s record company would be good for us both. Soon we’ll be one happy family, so we must all do our best to show Mr Robertson our appreciation. Because if daddy’s happy, then we’ll all be happy, okay?”

Joseph gazed blankly at Matthew. “Did you just suggest that Blair Robertson is our father? Because let me tell you, his blood isn’t even the same temperature as m–”

“Shut it, Joseph. I want
you
to meet Robertson too.”

“Why? Do I owe him a Father’s Day card? Or perhaps he owes
me
some allowance?”

“Because he’s your boss as well as mine. He owns
us
.”

“No one owns me.”

“Yeah, whatever. He’s dying to meet you. I was amazed when he said you hadn’t yet been introduced. I mean – other than his tabloid newspaper – you must be his most valuable commodity.”

“I’m not a commodity.”

Matthew ignored this. “So, in exchange for him seeing Eleanor today, I’ve promised that you and the boys will perform at his fiftieth birthday party next week. Just a few songs – it’s going to be a huge celebration. Best behaviour, please.”

Joseph flicked his gaze at Eleanor. He knew how desperately she needed this break as a journalist. If she could work for Robertson’s broadsheet newspaper, her career would be fixed for life. He nodded. “Right, okay.”

“And I want you to play a
new
song,” Matthew said, strolling towards the exit.

“None of the new songs are ready yet.”

“Well you’d better make them ready, hadn’t you? Look, we can argue about this later. But for now, you simply need to be at Robertson’s office at two o’clock so he can meet his current bestselling product. Don’t be late. Come on, Eleanor.”

Joseph sighed. Matthew was ruthless and would do anything for the band to get publicity. He was ultra-controlling, which was difficult considering he was working with three young men who weren’t in the business of being ordered about. When he’d first got his hands on the band six months ago, he’d fired the original drummer and replaced him with someone better looking, who Joseph didn’t really get along with. But that was Matthew’s style of management. It was true that Joseph was now rich and famous beyond his wildest dreams. But what was the point if he didn’t have any freedom – artistic or otherwise?

Matthew turned at the door and wrapped his arms possessively around Eleanor’s shoulders. “You’d seriously better start behaving yourself, Joseph. I made you; I can destroy you just as easily.”

Joseph suppressed the desire throw Matthew through the soundproof glass. He shrugged. “I guess you didn’t hear the news, Matthew, but behaving like a dick won’t make
yours
any bigger. But of course you’d be lucky to find yours – it’s shoved
so
far up Blair Robertson’s ass.”

Matthew’s expression surged to fury. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Eleanor grabbed his arm. “Let’s go – you don’t want to face Mr Robertson with a black eye.”

She threw Joseph a sympathetic glance as she bundled her fiancé out the door. Matthew was shouting furiously now, but the door swept shut behind them and they were gone. And Joseph’s world immediately dulled.

Eleanor smoothed down her pencil skirt as she sat in Blair Robertson’s lavish office, trying not to let her intimidation show. The News Scape headquarters took up this entire eighteen-storey glass building in Times Square, and Robertson’s office was at the top, overlooking the city through massive windows. It was the biggest executive office Eleanor had ever been in – furnished with a cream carpet, high walls, and thick drapes. Roberson sat arrogantly behind his varnished desk, emitting an unpleasant aura that invaded Eleanor’s personal space and crushed her like a flimsy soda can. The leather chairs that she and Matthew were sitting on were the softest and most comfortable she’d ever seen. And judging from some of the hunting trophies on the wall, Robertson’s reputation for loving the finer things in life was accurate. Eleanor was desperate to impress the man she’d always wanted to work for.

Well… truthfully, she’d always wanted to work for
The New York Times
. But the universe was offering her News Scape, and she didn’t plan to decline. She sat bolt upright and listened politely as Robertson chatted to Matthew about Joseph Quinlan. Bloody Joseph – why was everyone so obsessed with him?

And why was
her
mind so full of him? Why did her heart pound like a teenager in his presence? Why did their daily banter brighten up her life? And why was she so desperate to touch him and kiss him?

Her rational mind overrode such nonsense. She hated herself for feeling this way. She was no better than those stupid hormone-fuelled girls who skipped school so they could get a glimpse of him. But she was a grown woman. It was probably just because she and Matthew were going through a bad patch… and he was cheating on her again by the sounds of it. She suppressed her anger and dejection. She resented the fact that she’d become one of those women willing to forgive her man’s infidelity simply because he possessed something she wanted – ie: the chance to impress Blair Robertson. She knew she was putting her happiness in Matthew’s hands and allowing him to do whatever he wanted with her heart, as long as he fulfilled his promises to help her career. Well, after today perhaps she could cut him and his cheating ways loose and find a better man.

But then she’d have no more access to Joseph…

Not that
he
was any better than Matthew. He was a reckless idiot with sparkling eyes and a devilish grin. And she was at the beginning of her career as an investigative journalist – ready to take on the world and make it a better place by exposing political corruption and international injustice. She didn’t need the over-commercialised likes of Joseph Quinlan anywhere near her.

All she needed was to convince Blair Robertson to give her a break, and she’d be free.
The New York Times
was a hop, skip, and a jump away.

She pulled herself back to the here and now and realised that Mr Robertson had turned his attention to her. He was as cold and impersonal as his office – a middle-aged deeply-tanned man, with a full head of hair – or a very good toupeé. She hadn’t seen him smile yet – in fact, he seemed to constantly frown, which was strange considering he was one of the wealthiest men in the country – owning the two best-selling newspapers, a TV production company, a TV channel, and a record company. He gazed at Eleanor over his metal spectacles, making her nerves flush up.

She smiled professionally, praying he’d give her this chance. He was famed for recruiting young journalists who he could mould to his will, then demand their eternal gratitude. Eleanor hoped she seemed ruthless, yet malleable.

He took off his glasses and spoke with a strong gritty New York accent. “Eleanor, thanks for dropping in. It’s good of Matthew to bring you to me.”

“Eleanor is an excellent journalist,” Matthew said. “Talented and very keen.”

Eleanor glared at him for speaking on her behalf. She smiled at the powerful man behind his desk. “Thank you very much for inviting me, sir.”

“From your resumé it seems you’ve had a good education and some journalistic experience.”

“Yes I have.”

“Tell me about this freelance work you’ve been doing.”

“Sure. I’ve been working for a community newspaper in the town where I grew up since–”

“Where?”

She realised she was wringing her hands. “Just on the outskirts of New York City, sir. It’s a weekly edition, and we report on matters that… um…
matter
to the local people. Then we recruit the local homeless to sell it and they get to keep a portion of the money. It’s a registered charity.”

His hard expression didn’t flicker. “Sounds socialist.”

“It’s for a good cause, sir. And I’ve contributed an article every week since I was fifteen.”

“I see. And if I contacted this paper, they’d confirm this?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Well, okay. I’m a busy man so I’ll keep this brief. Anyone who wants to work for my newspaper needs to prove themselves to me as worthy.”

“Of course – and I thrive on a challenge.”

He steepled his fingers. “Good, listen up. Your challenge is to write and research an exclusive front-page scoop for my tabloid newspaper
The
New York Spin
– if you can do that, the job’s yours. Obviously you’ll need to impress the editor – he’s almost as ruthless as I am.” Robertson chuckled sinisterly.

The vast room closed in on Eleanor, squeezing her lungs. She steeled herself. “I don’t mean to contradict you, sir, but I want to work for your broadsheet, not your tabloid. I want to be an investigative journalist. It’s my dream.”

He shrugged. “I don’t give a hoot about what you want, young lady. Every reporter I recruit is required to get a scoop for the tabloid before they can work for me.
You
included. It’s company policy. And – as this is my company – it’s
my
policy.”

Eleanor was baffled into silence. She didn’t want to write for a gossip rag. But perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad if it was only one story. “And if I can find a story for the front page of the tabloid, I can work for the broadsheet?”

“Sure. This game is called ‘proving yourself’. I need to know you’re serious about this position.”

“Oh, I am.”

He smiled like a hungry alligator. “Good.” He glanced down at his gleaming desk and produced a contract, which he held out for Eleanor. “Now, just sign this freelance contract, and – if you prove yourself worthy – we’ll get you’re a proper contract at a later date. Okay?”

Eleanor took the contract with trembling hands. Matthew handed her a pen. She read it through blurry eyes, unable to focus on the words – suddenly terrified. But it couldn’t be
that
hard, could it? Writing a story worthy of a tabloid front cover? She bit her lip as worry churned in her mind… The
writing
of it should be simple enough… but where the hell was she going to find a sensationalist scandal? She’d been taught at college to investigate political strategies and scientific data – not how to dig the dirt on cheating celebrities and botox bodge-ups. She shoved her worry from her mind – praying she’d be able to figure it out – then she handed the signed contract to Robertson with sweat-drenched fingers, unsure whether to celebrate or burst into tears. 

Robertson dropped the contract to his desk. “Thank you. Now we own your words, huh?”

Eleanor stared at him aghast. “My words?”

He laughed nasally. “Just my little joke. Welcome aboard, Eleanor. I look forward to seeing what you come up with for that story.”

“Me too… thank you for this opportunity.”

He snorted. “Sure. Now if you’d like to wait outside my office, my assistant will arrange security clearance for you for Press HQ over in East Village. You’ll be assigned to a team and the editor-in-charge will brief you.”

Robertson looked down and started to write something in an expensive notebook.

Eleanor glanced at Matthew. He shrugged.

Robertson looked up. “Still here? Don’t you want the job?”

Eleanor stared at him. Her instincts were yelling at her to say
no
. But it was one story. No one was going to get hurt, were they?
Were
they? She felt as if she was at the top of a slippery slope: she could walk out of this office now and go back to being a freelance journalist scratching out a living for an insignificant community paper. Or she could take this chance – jump through this hoop – and obtain the lucrative and fulfilling career that she’d always wanted. Surely it was worth taking the chance? This was her
dream
after all.

“Yes I do want the job,” she said.

“Good. Now off you go, sit outside my office and my assistant will meet you once she’s organised security clearance. Then you’ll need to go across town to Press HQ, where the tabloid and broadsheet are both based.”

She frowned. “So the newspapers aren’t based here?”

“Hell, no. This is the headquarters for my entire business conglomerate – all of our clients and advertising partners come here, and I don’t want them being subjected to hordes of angry protestors, do I?”

Eleanor’s stomach lurched with nerves. “Angry protestors?”

Robertson waved his hand dismissively. “It’s just because of the nature of what we do. Some people get a bit touchy, huh?”

Eleanor nodded slowly. What the hell did that mean?

Robertson gestured to Matthew. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Eleanor, I’ve got some record company issues I need to discuss with your boyfriend.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “And later I’m having dinner with the Mayor and the Chief of Police. Should be a fun and productive day all round.”

Eleanor stood up and thanked him. As she click-clacked in her heels towards the heavy imposing mahogany door, she prayed she hadn’t just signed up for the biggest mistake of her career. If this was her dream, why did it feel so wrong?