How to Get Auctioned to a Billionaire - London Casey Page 0,1

hit the fan.

I was a lowly office person. One of three women in the company.

I handled invoices and payments.

I ran the office.

Whatever happened in the big, bad main office was far above my pay grade.

And, honestly, anyone who looked at my paycheck would first feel sorry for me, and then secondly agree with me.

The parking lot was still empty when I arrived at the office.

Which was good.

Maybe I wasn’t as late as I thought.

If people started bothering Mr. Haron before I arrived with his coffee, that’s when the hell would start.

I raced through the office, throwing my keys to my messy desk.

“I have your coffee!” I announced. “You’ll never guess what happened to me. I spilled the first one because of a…”

I opened the door and the office was empty.

“Mr. Haron?” I called out.

A part of me wanted to tell him about the fake leather douchebag and see if he could arrange for some of his guys to beat the hell out of him.

Oh, yeah, that was also part of the construction company too.

There was some violent, dark stuff that happened…

I approached his desk and put the coffee down.

“Hello?” I called out.

My eyes looked at the bathroom door.

It was partially open.

I started to move but then saw my name.

It was like a smack in the face.

I twisted my head, then turned the documents around on Mr. Haron’s desk.

It was… financial stuff.

Loans. Payments. A bank account. Bills…

All in my name.

I licked my lips and when I moved the papers around and saw the bank balance, I gasped.

It was… a lot.

What the hell was going on?

I moved from Mr. Haron’s desk and crept toward the bathroom.

Why is my name on paperwork?

My heart started to race.

I once heard a story of how Mr. Haron used someone’s name on some loan stuff and that person had to take the fall for some scheme because his name was on the papers.

Did that mean Mr. Haron was setting me up?

I reached the bathroom door and stuck my head inside.

So let’s keep score…

How shitty could my morning get?

Strike one was the coffee spilling.

Strike two was finding my name on documents that I didn’t sign.

Strike three?

Finding Mr. Haron dead on the bathroom floor.

(Hudson)

I learned how to tie a bow tie before I learned how to tie a tie. My thought process was to look the part, but different and better. That’s why when everyone else was tying ties, I was putting on suspenders. And a bow tie, if necessary.

Not that the look had anything to do with who I was or what I did, but it was just another piece of life I could control.

I stood in front of the mirror and nodded to myself.

The bedroom door opened and Athena walked in, face down in a tablet.

I turned my head and she looked at me.

“What?” she asked.

“You already know what.”

“Oh, right. I’m the only woman that can burst into your room like this and stay clothed.”

“There you go.”

“I’m pretty sure that kind of talk can get you into serious trouble.”

“Are you planning on suing me, Athena?” I asked.

“Not today,” she said. “We have too much to do.”

“Sounds good. I’ll keep my eyes open for the paperwork.”

“Oh, please, Hudson. If I ever decide to sue you, I’m writing it in the sky.”

“That costs money.”

“On another note, can I have a raise?”

I laughed. “I see you’re in a good mood today.”

“Like always,” Athena said. “At the service of a billionaire.”

“Do you have to say it like that?”

“Why not?”

“I’m more than just my money,” I said.

“That’s not what you tell women.”

“Well… my personal life is very separate from my business life.”

Athena snorted and pointed to the tablet screen. “You’re going to be late. You have a meeting with Booker at ten. Then there’s a conference with London. The city. Not the woman you took out last month.”

“I thought her name was Paris?” I asked.

“Maybe. I don’t get paid enough to keep track of your conquests.”

“Conquests,” I said. “That makes me sound like a manwhore.”

“Well…”

“Funny,” I said. “Get out of my room, Athena.”

“You need some alone time?”

“Are you going to clock out so you can join me in bed?”

“Now that’s harassment.”

“Or maybe just a pending promise.”

“I’m ten years older than you,” Athena said.

“Age is just a number.”

“You’re laying it on thick this morning. No date last night?”

“No date last night,” I said. “My apologies. I’ll back off. Last thing I would ever want to do is create an environment where you feel threatened by my good looks, charm, and bank account.”

“Hudson, if