A Billionaire's Love Story, Book One: Falling In A Moment



  A Billionaire’s Love Story, Book One: Falling In A Moment

  By J.M. Cagle

  Copyright 2015 J.M. Cagle

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  Other Books in A Billionaire’s Love Story Series

  Book Two: Chasing Love

  Book Three: A Billionaire’s Assistant

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About J.M. Cagle

  Other Books by This Author

  Connect with J.M. Cagle

  Chapter One:

  The smell of bleach was one of the least pleasant smells in the world to Elle Cinder, followed closely by the smells of vomit and burnt food. Truly, it had only been in the last year that Elle had realized how horrible the smell was. Before bleach, a bad smell to her was too much cologne, or the sour smell that comes from finding a rotten corndog emanating from between your roommate’s bed sheets. But for now, those smells seemed downright pleasant, compared to bleach. Elle found the best way to lessen the effects it had on her was to turn her head and hold her breath whenever she had to open a bottle and pour a little into her cleaning bucket. Even if she used a minuscule amount, by the end of her shifts, it would have slipped through her work clothes, and her skin seemed to naturally absorb the smell. It was like a rancid perfume that was slowly choking her to death with its toxic aroma. But like every night over the past year, give or take a Saturday or Sunday off, she held her breath until her lungs complained and an ache developed in her throat, begging her to give in, and started cleaning.

  For almost an hour, she scrubbed the bathroom’s toilet bowls, washing away the stench of stale urine that was only barely covered by the smell of whatever floral jasmine and vanilla scent they pumped through the air vents. Rising from her hunched position, Elle’s back ached and gave an unforgiving crack that echoed through the empty and pristine white on white room. With her back still protesting, she lugged her heavy bucket across the room and began the process of washing the egg white walls in between the urinals of The Charmant Publishing House until the splashes that marred the off white wall, due to careless aiming, were less prominent. Elle hummed along to whatever tune made the night and her job go by faster, and she checked every now and then that the door was propped open by the dingy yellow mop bucket that she used as a door stopper, so that fresh air could circulate through and not leave her suffocating under a mushroom cloud of Mr. Clean like her first night. She had learned a lot of cleaning tricks since her first disastrous jaunt into being a working woman. Her calloused and brittle nails were testimony that she was no longer the lily-handed book worm, freshly hired a year ago. Elle used her bleach-speckled smock sleeve to brush back her large mass of coarse copper curls off of her sweaty face, careful lest a whiff of the bleach sting her nose and make her eyes tear up.

  The men’s bathroom on the 12th floor of the prestigious Charmant Publishing House was her final stop of the night, and she wanted to finish as quickly as possible. Her body throbbed and protested the positions she cleaned in, and after she’d visited her mother and father’s grave site earlier that day, all she wanted was to curl up into a ball under her shabby sheets and sleep. Though, even if she slept for a thousand years, Elle doubted it would be enough. Mostly she wanted to sleep so that she could forget about the anger she felt towards her father, who she had only a year ago loved with all her heart. But a flush of hatred and despair seemed to always blossom in her chest whenever she thought of him since then, and those feelings had not seemed to lessen over time. She stretched and let out grunts of satisfaction as her joints popped and creaked. Pulling off her soiled yellow gloves, she grabbed the handle of the bucket and carefully wobbled to one of the farthest toilet stalls to pour the nasty water out. When she was done, she flushed again for good measure, and with a satisfied sigh, happily exited the stall. Giving a cursory glance around the bathroom, she turned out, flipping off the lights as she moved to the small utility closet hidden in the alcove next to the men’s and women’s bathrooms. Placing the cleaning supplies and bucket in their designated spot, Elle felt almost giddy in anticipation of leaving in the next few moments, and she just needed to find Claire, her roommate, best friend, and fellow maid, before she could hop in The Pumpkin and get into her awaiting bed. Checking that she had not missed anything in her haste to clean tonight, Elle was in the elevator and off to the 10th floor in no time.

  Claire was just finishing up as the elevator doors opened to let Elle out into the lobby. The floor housed editors and copy editors and the like, if the names and titles on the plaques attached to cubicles were any indication. Elle took note that someone had a copy of the works of Shakespeare stacked in a corner on their desk, and her fingers itched to crack it open and dive into the sonnets and plays she knew filled it. But that was against the rules, for cleaners to touch other people’s properties, unless it was for the express purpose of cleaning something. Turning away from the tantalizing view, she decided to watch Claire as she finished putting away her tools.

  Claire Mather had been Elle’s friend since pre-school. With such pale blonde hair, it had been at times more accurate to just call it white. It was a choppy cut that was currently in style, and just barely grazed her shoulder. Her skin was almost as pale as her hair, but part of the pallor may have been accentuated by the fact that she was forever wearing a shade of red on her lips, and was constantly either dying or shading her naturally pale eyebrows black. Rather than wash her out, the splashes of color seemed to suit her well, and brought out the blue of her eyes and her elegantly high cheek bones. Though she was as thin as a bean, she had the kind of gracefulness one usually only found in swans or ballerinas. It was a shame that she was so short; if she was taller she could have easily been a super model. But sadly, she was stuck being a cleaning woman, all the while waiting for the chance to move on up in the company, and maybe sometime in the future get a book published. Claire was many things, including a loyal friend and a very sharp and fashionable dresser, but she was at heart a romantic. This dreamy mindset greatly conflicted with Elle’s recently decided upon hatred of all things men and love, much to Claire’s chagrin.

  When they’d been children, before Elle’s mother had passed and she was sent away to school, she and Claire would spend hours talking and drawing about what their princes would look like. Where their fairy tale weddings would take place, and who would get to ride a unicorn off into the sunset with their prince charming. But like the illusion that unicorns exist, Elle realized that she had an illusion that good men also existed, much to Claire’s dismay.

  But Elle was taken out of her thoughts on men and her childhood when Claire, with a bounce in her step, bounded up to Elle. “Ready to go, my dear? The night seemed to go by quicker than I thought. Can it already be midnight?”

  Claire continued to chatter on as they waited for the elevator to arrive, Elle was only half listening as the doors opened and they made their way down. She was quickly taken out of her thoughts of curling into bed and never waking up when Claire p
oked her in the shoulder. “Hey were you even listening to me?” She half-pouted, drawing attention to the pale pink rose hue of the lipstick she wore tonight.

  “Of course I was.” Elle tried fibbing, but upon making eye contact, knew she was caught. “All right, I wasn’t. I am sorry. I am just so tired, I wasn’t paying attention. What were you talking about?” She tried to keep the fatigue from her voice, but she knew she was unsuccessful as Claire's dark brows furrowed together, causing little lines to form in between her eyebrows.

  Claire wrapped her arms around her, pulling Elle into a tight hug.

  “Are you alright? I knew you should have called in tonight, especially with it being the anniversary of your father’s death.” Her voice was slightly muffled as she spoke into Elle’s frizzy mass of curls.

  “I am fine, I swear.” Elle tried to conjure up a smile, but she only half succeeded. “What is done is done; I have had a year to deal with it and I have. See, no tears.” It was a lie, and her eyes burned slightly as she tried to push down the threat of tears as she hugged Claire back briefly before stepping away from the embrace. “Now, what was it you were trying to tell me?”

  Just as Claire opened her mouth to answer, the door let out a loud ding before opening, letting them out into the underground garage. Elle looked around, cautious of any movements from the shadows, but Claire bounced out of the elevator uncaring of any potential danger that might be afoot. Exhaling noisily in exasperation, Elle quickly caught up. Pulling a set of keys from her scrubs pocket, she quickly unlocked the doors to a rusted and ancient station wagon, that Claire, upon seeing the hunk of junk that Elle had purchased with her little savings, had said “looks less like a lemon and more like a pumpkin.” And so the name had stuck, and though it was cheap and old, it was a reliable-ish way for Claire and her to get back and forth to work every night. Once they were buckled in and driving away, Claire turned down the radio, seemingly remembering that she had not shared her news with Elle.

  “We are going to the party tomorrow.” She said it with such finality, that Elle knew she would not be budging on whatever this idea was.

  “Party? What party are you talking about?” Elle chanced a glance to the passenger side, the street lamps they passed by casting flickering shadows over Claire’s face, causing her blue eyes to look larger and her skin ethereal. But it was the smile that she gave that caused Elle to shiver with worry; the sly smile of the Cheshire cat, which she only gave when she was feeling especially mischievous.

  “Why, the publishing party, my dear! Tomorrow night we will sneak up to the top floor at the start of our shift and be back down by the end of it. No one will be the wiser.”

  A lot of thought and questions swirled around Elle’s head, but the question that was blurted out was just a simple, “Why?”

  “Why?” Claire seemed confused, as if the answer would be obvious. She settled into her seat, seemingly content to play the teacher and explain all Elle’s confusion away.

  “It is the best way to break into the company. We go up there, amaze with our natural charisma and ideas. Market ourselves, and poof we get new jobs. Ones that don’t involve smelling strongly of cleaning supplies. All the big wigs will be there, the board members, the executives from all the offices around the world, even the presidents of Charmant Inc. All three brothers. can you believe it?” Claire let out a giggle of excitement.

  “All three brothers?” Again the wrong question slipped from Elle’s lips.

  “Well, partly to celebrate the new release of the book and the other to celebrate a job well done by the youngest brother, I am assuming. Mr. Luke Charmant has been in control over the publishing company for a little over a year now. I don’t know all the details. The memo I read it off of didn’t get into specifics, mind you.”

  “You read a private memo!” Elle’s eyes went wide as she turned her blinker on to signal a turn. As they pulled into the driveway of their apartment complex, called Luxury Living although it proved to be everything but, she parked the car and turned to stare in disbelief at Claire. “What were you thinking? You cannot just ruffle through the companies' papers like that!”

  “Would you relax, it was sitting right there on the desk. No ruffling necessary. Honestly, it’s like you think this is my first rodeo.” Unbuckling herself, she turned in her seat to look Elle in the eye, a determined glint coloring her pale irises. “We are dressing up and going to that party. Everyone in the company is invited to celebrate; and we are a part of the company. So, it will not be like we are crashing it.” She pouted her lips again, and gave a pleading look, knowing how hard it was for Elle to turn it down. “Please, this is my one chance to really break into the business, will you please, please, please, please come with me? I cannot do it without you.”

  Elle tossed her head back against the car headrest, and let out a loud resigned growl. “Alright, but what are we going to do about dresses?”

  That Cheshire grin was already back in place as Claire let out an excited squeal, “Don’t you worry: I have it all taken care of.”

  Why does that make me more nervous than the idea of attending the party? Elle couldn’t help but think as they got out of the car.