The Billion Dollar Plan: Incongruity Series Book 1 Page 2

  They taught me that loyalty is a bond that is not at all common but whenever you have a good reason to fight for something, loyalty comes effortlessly.

  They taught me how to love myself. That I’m strong and can do anything that I set my mind to do. They taught me that I need to stand for something in life so that I don’t find myself falling for anything.

  They taught me to be kind, to work hard in everything I do. As well as being thorough with whatever I set my mind to do.

  They taught me to love my identity as a mixed race kid. To love my long curly hair, my features and my background despite what anyone else would say. They taught me to stand up for myself but then again, I think I was born with that quality.

  “You have fire in you, Charlotte.” My mother would say sternly, annoyed at having to deal with yet another altercation with one of the park kids. Some silly boy who thought he could bad mouth my family and walk free with no consequences.

  “But Mama. . .” I would start to defend myself and she would cut me off.

  “Yes, I know. You had to defend your family’s honor. That’s great and I encourage that. But that doesn’t make violence a viable option.” She would say looking me straight in the eyes, showing her displeasure. With shame, I would break gaze and look down to the floor.

  “You have the same fire in you just like your grandfather.” She would say absentmindedly.

  I would whip my head up so fast, shocked at hearing her words. Mama and Daddy never talked about any family members and each time I asked, they would tell me they didn’t have any.

  “Grandfather?” I would blurt out.

  “What?” She asks me, wide-eyed.

  “You said something about my Grandfather.” I would say, excitement coursing through my bloodstream. I am normal after all, I have Grandparents like every other kid!

  “Charlotte!” She exclaims with a brush of anger and I grow silent instantly. “Don’t change the topic.” She would lecture.

  “But it wasn’t me. . .” I would interrupt.

  “No, you punched that boy and you march yourself out of here and go apologize.” She instructs, at this point any patience she had with me, gone. “And take those cookies to give him as a peace offering.” She would say.

  “No! But Mama, those are my cookies.” I would complain, my little heart breaking.

  “They were, until you decided to use violence to express yourself.” She starts packing the delicious choc-chip cookies and then hands them over to me.

  “Mama. . .” I would try again.

  “No Charlotte. Just go. And think about toning down that fire while you go.” She would instruct dismissively. “Because God knows it might just burn the world down.” The last part was not intended for my ears but I heard it. She was right.

  I’ve never really been able to tone down anything within me. Not the fire burning rage or the grief, or anything else. It’s all there. Boiling, waiting to burst out of me.

  I brutally shake my head, desperately trying to push away the pointless emotion evoking memories that are a constant occurrence in my life. No matter what I do, they are always there. Waiting for me with the rise of the sun, and the setting of the same.

  Not today though. I can’t afford to be in that kind of head space today. I need all my wits about me. No emotion, just clear precision. Not treasured memories. I don’t have time for them today.

  Today is the day!

  Fifteen years, and my goal hasn’t changed. Fifteen years and my thirst and hunger for vengeance has only been multiplying, growing stronger, marinating and aging like some fine wine, that will eventually be poison.

  Poison intended for one man.

  I’m almost there now. There is no room for error, I can’t afford to mess anything up. I only have one shot. A single shot to put down the rabid monster that took my parent’s life. And at this point, it’s all I need.

  I have worked too hard for this. I have put together all the pieces of my life to be in sync for this very day. I can’t fail, I won’t fail. I refuse to.

  It’s six in the morning and I have to get ready for work.

  I make my way to the small bathroom across the hall from my room and hop into the small shower stall to get ready for the big day. I take a nice long shower, being generous with the hot water knowing damn well that I am going to have to pay extra for it later but I don’t care. This day deserves the best of me, in every form. I am willing to sacrifice a few more dollars for it.

  Soon, I am drying up and applying some makeup to my face. I go for a natural, sleek and professional look.

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror and look into my dead gray eyes. Dad always used to say that my eyes are the most unique feature about me, after my fast wits of course. Beauty and brains he declare, with pride in his eyes.

  He would say the lighter my eyes are, the happier I am.

  And that they could also brew like a storm with the raging of the emotions within.

  When I asked him how he could possibly know that, he told me that my mom did the same with her own gray eyes. But now, as I inspect them, I can’t see what he meant.

  There is no variation of brightness of color in my eyes. Unlike my mother who had brilliant specks of green and yellow swirling in her orbs, mine are just plain, boring and well, dead.

  Reaching into the drawer by the small sink, I grab onto the case that contains my colored eye contacts and take out a pair. In a matter of seconds, I am a totally different person, with dark eyes and my long curly hair tied into a sleek, tight bun atop my head.

  I inspect myself and make sure, like every other morning for the past three years, that there is no physical feature about my appearance that could possibly resemble my parents.

  It would be game over for me if my boss discovered that, after all I have sacrificed throughout my life, that I look just like the people he ordered to be killed years ago.

  No. I can’t have that happen.

  I quickly dash back to my room, straight to my wardrobe by the corner and take out one of my perfectly pressed, white power suits and slip it on with a cream camisole underneath. Next, my one and only expensive pair of black Christian Louboutin shoes.

  I need every single inch provided by these shoes, because although my father was tall probably six foot four, my mother was short and petite. She barely reached my father’s shoulders when they stood together.

  There is no way I could have afforded this on my own, but it’s one of the perks I don’t mind receiving from my job. After all, my boss is all for “maintaining appearances” and that includes the people that work for him.

  Lucky me. I say that with all the sarcasm I have in my five foot five body.

  I quickly grab the files I need and I am out of my room, grab an apple waiting for me atop my small kitchen counter and make my way out of the door. Soon I am on the bus, heading for the center of the business world, the beautiful and magnetic Manhattan.

  I LOVE THIS CITY, LOVE the frenetic flow of energy that baths it. A metropolitan city rich with culture and diversity. It gives me the ability to dream and aspire for more, after all, they do say that this is where dreams are made, where they are supposed to come true.

  Moving to the Big Apple after college in Pennsylvania, and having lived here for over three years now, I’m still in awe of its grandiose and beauty.

  It’s amazing what a three hour difference can do to a person.

  I am still in awe of this city and can't seem to stop staring, fascinated by the lights, the people, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air, the wailing of the occasional firetruck and ambulance, followed closely by a police car. The three seem to co-exist in New York. If I could describe this city, I would definitely use sound and smell.

  There is just something distinguishable about this place that makes it unique. Apart from the expensive shops, the increasing cost in housing affecting everyone whose tax bracket is far lower than the top dogs that inhabit Upper East Side or SoHo,
it’s vibrant.

  I think anyone who looks at me can tell that I’m still a fraudulent New Yorker, but I don’t mind. I don’t think anyone can really get used to a city with so much character such as this one.

  Dreams.

  I’m still waiting for my own dream to come true. Finally! Mama always said that hard work pays off eventually. I have been forcing myself daily, pushing myself really, to work for him. To work for a monster of a man.

  The man that killed my parents, Stefan Demetri.

  The bus comes to a screeching halt, jolting me out of my reverie. I mean it’s New York City, traffic flows like the Zambezi River in the south of Africa.

  The door opens and I disembark along with many New Yorkers, all of them distracted by their own personal battles brought on by the issues of life.

  Besides, it’s Monday morning. Enough said.

  I briskly walk a good five minutes to my office building, the prison that keeps me hostage, working me like a damn dog; but at the same time, it gives me a sense of hope and a kind of sinister expectation of the havoc I am about to reign down.

  I stop for a moment and look up at the intimidating structure of a building. It looks gloomy and repelling, and why not since it houses inexplicable evil that I loathe with my entire being. The sinister appearance of it fits right in with the man who occupies the top floor.

  Taking a deep breath, I force myself to move, steadying my heart beat and wiping all traces of nervousness away.

  “Be clear and focused, Charlotte” I hear my dad’s voice in my head.

  They never called me Charlotte unless I was doing something wrong. Which was never enjoyable for me, a lot could go wrong in those moments. But at this very moment, I need all the help and steadiness I can get from them.

  I can do this.

  As I go up the front steps that lead to the entrance, which has intimidating looking glass doors brushed with aluminium, my phone rings.

  Judging by the ringtone I know who exactly it is. I smile to myself and start looking for my phone. I have two bags with me, my work bag/briefcase which contains files and documents for my ‘beloved’ boss and my personal handbag.

  See, I am the Executive Assistant to President and CEO, and scumbag, Stefan Demetri, the owner of Demetri Enterprises, so every file I have is important and can’t be in the wrong hands.

  But then again, they are already in wrong hands. Oops.

  I am going up the stairs, searching furiously for the ringing phone, not looking where I’m going until I literally bump into a huge, hard and tall wall. Knocking the wind out of me, with the force of the collision.

  When did they place a wall here and why on earth would anyone do that?

  You see, the fatality of the situation hit me in an instant. All my bags are suddenly launch into the air, including the phone I had just found. I lose my footing, and I am at the edge of the last step.

  And I know. I just know, that for the second time in my life; by the time I land at the bottom of the concrete steps from where my journey began, I was going to be covered in blood.

  But this time, it was going to be my own. Maybe I’m being a little over dramatic but hell, you get the gist.

  Well damn, I was almost there, Mama.

  I watch like a horror movie in slow motion as I try to regain my footing but I am losing the battle quicker than I anticipated. I am well into the air by now and there is no stopping the inevitable.

  I close my eyes and say a small prayer. I tell my parents that I tried and I love them but it wasn’t enough I guess.

  But the fall never comes.

  I wait for a few seconds hell even minutes, for the inevitable, but it doesn’t come. Maybe I’m still in motion. Damn can this thing hurry up already?

  A clearing of a throat has my eyes springing open so fast, I think my eyes roll more oscillations in their sockets than my best friend, Sam, does when she responds to my sarcasm.

  Unfocused and slightly disoriented, I didn’t feel the strong, thick arm wrapped around my waist.

  I look up and one thought immediately comes to mind.

  What a wall!

  Chapter 2

  Chloe

  I NOTICE A FEW THINGS when I regain focus and my breath stills in my throat. No way I’m seeing this right.

  There are forest green emerald gems staring at me so intensely, my breath leaves me so fast, again, I think I grow a little dizzy with the absence of it.

  These gems are focused on me, sucking me into their vortex. As I keep staring, they seem to alter somehow, to change a bit; all of a sudden, I am front and center experiencing my first screening of raw, unbridled power and a scorching force of will that I feel in my very core.

  The energy of it almost knocks my knees together as they weaken and I’m in danger of falling again.

  And lastly, I’m being rude here, but I think I just fell in love with these gems. Where are they being sold? I want a pair.

  “Are you okay?”

  And just like that, a deep, cultured and textured voice meets my ears and I am snapped back to reality when my stomach flutters a bit.

  The gems actually speak?

  I embarrassingly realize it’s a human being.

  A tall, huge and well built human being with the most gorgeous pair of eyes I have ever seen in my entire life.

  I also realize that the wall is holding me by the small of my back, effectively restricting any kind of movement from me.

  This means two things. First, the wall stopped my almost fatal fall. And secondly, this wall is the reason why I almost careened to my own demise and untimely death.

  With that thought in mind, I forcefully push away from him and notice his brow furrow as if he finds me strange. Join the club buddy. I step back and glance up at him after finding solid footing, and wow.

  Just WOW!

  All I can do is stare. Unabashed, unashamed, riveted by the work of exquisite art that is in front of me.

  This man was passionately created.

  He is so handsome in a disturbing kind of way. In a way that is making me uncomfortable with myself, making me fidget as heat pools in my lower body.

  His facial features are just ... gorgeous.

  Glossy, inky black hair, trimmed in a sexy cut frames a heart stopping, savage, breathless face. It’s hard and masculine, each feature is perfectly symmetrical, presenting a work of art that I think the world hasn’t gotten used to yet.

  There is no part of him that is disproportionate, everything is exactly as it should be. And I feel self-conscious all of a sudden.

  He has a firmly etched mouth that is just dying to be kissed, a sharp nose, his bone structure alone seems heavenly.

  His facial features are now schooled into impassivity, his eyes back to their sharp coldness. So much different from the scorching intensity of just a few seconds ago.

  Or was that hours ago?

  I am rendered speechless when I was just about to vomit some impressive word diarrhea that would make a sailor blush.

  I crane my neck up and down to look at him and take in the rest of him. That’s just how tall he is. Tall, hard and sexy as hell.

  He is dressed in a very expensive black three piece silk suit.

  I think it takes a certain level of confidence for a man to be able to pull off the worldly, suave look that comes with a silk suit; and well this stranger does it, and he does well.

  Pressing all my hot buttons that I didn’t know I had, while he’s at it.

  This man isn’t just wearing the suit, he is owning his look. As if he can’t be owned by anything, let alone anyone. That look in his eyes confirms that.

  His dress shirt is also black. The only color this man has is the soft green tie made of some expensive looking material, and well, his amazing irises.

  I notice those same irises are taking me in as I am doing to him, assessing me, maybe even critiquing me. Evaluating and well... memorizing?

  I don’t really know but it seems like I’m und
er some intense scrutiny here. An examination that I wasn’t aware I would be undergoing when I woke up a few hours ago

  I notice the onyx cufflinks and the white gold Rolex watch before he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  Wearing expensive Oxford dress shoes to complete the billionaire persona that he wields with so much confidence, it seems like he was born into it.

  Everything about him, from the strands of his hair, that I just want to run my hand through, to his pricey shoes, and the delicious scent of him in the air between us, all of it screams money.

  But further than that, the aura about him, the way he stands even now, like he is some kind of royal god, a revered warrior.

  He stands there so self-assured as if he knows that my brain is fried just from looking at him.

  As if he knows he has the whole damn world in his pocket. That’s how self-assured this man is.

  I’m absolutely mesmerized by him, and I’m pretty sure he is aware that he not only has all my attention, but that of all the other women around.

  And for some inexplicable reason, that just pisses me off. I look back into his eyes and I frown, giving him my best no nonsense face.

  “Can’t you watch where you are going? You almost killed me you fool.” I huff out.

  I almost cross my arms in a whiny gesture but refrain from that. I’m not a drama queen, and quite frankly, I don’t need that kind of melodrama right now.

  I’m so unsettled by his nearness, it’s disconcerting.

  “Excuse me,” his deep, low cultured voice reaches me, “you are the one who wasn’t paying attention to your surroundings.”

  And cue in the arrogance that is born of money. I’m shocked at what he says and that just gets me even more irritated.

  At least have some damn decency and apologize.

  “Uh no, excuse me. For you to have to say that means you must have seen me coming. It was on you to move out of the way.” I glare at him.