Billionaire's Secret Baby - Claire Angel Page 0,1
who of the organization, paying particular attention to the likes and dislikes of the company’s big wig, Chris Carter. It wasn’t often that people impressed me, but I had to admit that the thirty-year-old Carter seemed to be a force of nature.
Everything billionaire Carter, CEO of one of the most influential and successful corporations in the US and abroad touched, turned to gold. Such men intrigued me, and I looked forward to meeting him. That was, of course, if he deemed me worthy of his time. It could go either way with billionaires—I knew that from experience. Old money, or new money, billionaires lived by their own set of rules, especially handsome ones like Carter.
“Excuse me, Miss. Can I get you something from the bar?” An immaculately dressed flight attendant stooped over me, waiting patiently for me to make up my mind. He was a looker alright, not that I was surprised—first class had its perks, plenty of tight buttocks and charming smiles to go around.
“Tequila and orange juice, please.” I read somewhere once that tequila had the lowest sugar content of all the spirits, so naturally it became my drink of choice. I preferred it neat, but drinking it that way seemed barbaric, so when the sun was out and I wasn’t jiggling my ass on the dancefloor, it would be toned down with orange juice. The two seats beside me were empty, what a great start to my trip.
When my drink arrived, I kicked off my shoes, pulled a magazine from the seat pocket in front of me, and settled down. Soon I’d hit the ground running, so I planned to enjoy my short stint of peace and quiet. I closed my eyes and imagined the steam rising from the freshly baked french patisseries and the sounds of Charles Tenet’s La Mer drifting through the street cafes. Manifique!
***
CHRIS
I wasn’t exactly blown away by the events company we’d used the year before. Actually, that was an understatement—they put on a piss poor show. It was one excuse after another, until I kicked their asses to the curb—I had no time or patience for incompetence. A colleague of mine referred me to Platinum Events, based in New York, and so far, they impressed. Usually I left the organizing of such things to the army of PA’s who swarmed our offices in Paris. However, after the last debacle, I thought it best to keep a hairy eyeball on the events company’s progress myself.
I stood on the balcony of my penthouse apartment on 7th Arrondissement, enjoying the view of the Eiffel Tower. No matter how many times I gazed at the magnificence of the wrought-iron structure with its four immense arched legs and majestic height, I never got enough of its splendour. At night when the city came alive with lights and music, she bathed us in amber light. Truthfully, the tower exemplified all that was Paris.
My phone rang as I took the last sip of my coffee.
“Good morning, Janet,” I answered.
“Bonjour, Mr. Carter.”
Janet was not only my housekeeper, but my rock. Behind my multi-billion-dollar empire, was a man like any other. I killed in the boardroom, juggled a myriad of balls simultaneously, and was formidable when it came to negotiations and business decisions. But if you left me to my own devices in one of my mansions or villas, I couldn’t burn toast or change a light bulb to save my life. What Janet lacked in height, she more than made up for in moxy—she was a lot of woman in a small space. The outspoken French pocket rocket was all over me like white on rice when it came to keeping my domestic shit together. A drill sergeant she was, and I adored her for it.
“And what can I do for you today, my little Napoleon?” I asked and heard her chuckle at my smartass chirp.
“I’m calling to remind you, Christopher, that I’m taking the week off to visit my Chanel in Sète. I’ve left Suzanne in charge of the villa while I’m away. She is more than capable of standing in for me, but if there is an emergency, please feel free to call me.”
Janet was the only one who called me Christopher, apart from my mother that was, and Mom usually did that when I was in trouble.
“Thank you, Janet. I’m sure there’ll be no need to disturb you. Unless, of course, I’ve lost a sock or burned down the kitchen fetching my coffee.”
“I’m sure you're right, but