The Billionaire's Masquerade Page 0,1

length of the driveway or the height of the bushes surrounding her. It almost felt like she was walking out of civilization. The area seemed so isolated, almost lonely back here. Rachel wasn’t the kind of person who needed people around at all times, but there was something almost…desolate about this gravel road. Why would anyone want a narrow, one lane road leading to their house? How could people easily come and go, socialize and network?

Okay, the man is famous for being a recluse. So he probably didn’t socialize a whole lot. He is probably fat and gross and irritating, so no one cared that he had a crazy-long, almost inaccessible driveway because they never visited!

She’d been walking for perhaps ten minutes when she heard a different, non-nature-produced sound. It was very faint, but definitely not a bird or an animal rustling in the bushes. Her shoulders relaxed somewhat. At least there was some form of humanity out here along the rustic, Maine coastline!

Perhaps if she were more laid-back and less goal oriented, she might actually appreciate the beauty around her. But as it was, she had a mission, an objective, and this long nature hike was slowing her down. She was on a time-schedule!

She pulled on the bottom of her jacket one more time, assuming the only person who would dare to be out in this crazy nature stuff would be none other than the reclusive Emerson Watson himself. She smoothed the wisps of hair back that had escaped during her precarious trek and straightened her shoulders, trying to appear as tall and confident as possible.

Taking the last few steps around the latest bend in the driveway, she looked around with what she hoped was a gracious smile on her face. But as soon as she took in the new sight, her shoulders drooped in frustration. This couldn’t be Emerson Watson’s house. The tiny, cozy cottage had all the windows open, a comfortable looking rocking chair on the front porch where several boards needed to be replaced, and weeds grew all over the cracked, concrete sidewalk. She didn’t know what it looked like inside, but as it was, the outside appeared rundown, almost sad.

Nope, the shockingly wealthy Emerson Watson wouldn’t be caught dead in this abode, she thought with disappointment. She looked to the left, and the road continued further through even more bushes. This tiny little cottage must be someone else’s home.

She could see the potential of the cottage. With some work, it could be very quaint and relaxing. Maybe some bright curtains on the windows, some fat pillows and comfortable chairs on the front porch…a handful of shrubs and flowers to soften the outside. Well, and a good coat of paint…yes, this house could be perfect!

But Emerson Watson was one of the ten wealthiest men in the world. He was a legend in the investment community with a reputation for being ruthless in business. The man had built up his investment corporation, luring the wealthiest clients from all over the world, and compounding their wealth several times over with his secretive investment strategies. The Securities and Exchange Commission had investigated his accounts five years ago as a possible Ponzi scheme. Agents were suspicious of his investments because they consistently made money and earned returns significantly higher than the average funds could even dream of achieving. He’d been completely exonerated, and the investigation, which normally would leave some investors doubtful, had instead only added to the Watson legend.

Now Rachel wanted in. Emerson Watson chose one stock broker every year as an intern, teaching that person his secrets. Rachel wanted to be that person this year. She was sick of being an insignificant fish in a large ocean of stock brokers. Every intern Mr. Watson selected went on to gather even more clients. No one ever left his employ, they simply moved from being an intern to an employee who worked out of whatever Watson Investment office in the world they chose.

She was determined to do everything in her power to become his next intern. She’d psyched herself up to not allow any of his reputed grouchiness to hurt her feelings. She was tough and impervious to insults. She bit her lip nervously as she considered that claim…she could be. In truth, Rachel admitted to herself that she might be a wee bit too sensitive, but she could learn to be tough and impervious. She could learn anything. And Emerson Watson was the man who was going to teach