One Night With The Tycoon: A Billionaire Romance

by Roxy Sinclaire

Genres: New Adult & College; New Adult Romance

Synopsis

Angela Reynolds works as a freelance reporter and photographer and lives pay to pay in a small, downtown, studio apartment in Manhattan. She doesn’t know where her next meal is coming from and can only hope the phone rings and she has a job tomorrow.

All of this changes when she’s hired by the New York Times to interview the thirty-year-old business tycoon, Clive Davis, and this billionaire takes a liking to her.

Angela isn’t impressed by fast cars, grand gestures or the fact everyone avoids eye contact with Clive as if they’d insult a god by looking directly at him. Instead it’s the man behind the mask that wins her over. But that causes a whole new set of problems that the two, who are from two different worlds, must face.

Will she be able to handle the pressure that comes from being someone of Clive’s background? Will Clive be able to withstand the backlash that may come for being with someone of a lower economic class?

One night With The Tycoon is a billionaire romance novella. There is NO cheating, NO cliffhangers, and a happy ending!

Release date: March 1, 2017

Print pages: 133

Sample

Chapter 1

 

 

“Oh, shit,” Angela hissed as she scrambled to the microwave to pull out the Styrofoam cup of ramen noodles that had boiled over. She lazily tossed a dirty rag in the microwave and mopped up the mess, before giving up. Drying her hands on her jeans, she brought her dinner to her bed and sat down.

 

The mattress on the floor served as her bed, sofa, and kitchen table in the scant Manhattan studio apartment. Since Angela moved in a year ago, she had already survived four roach infestations, two mice, and one nasty case of bedbugs. The bathroom that she shared with four other residents on her floor was always filthy and the shower was never warm. The whole apartment complex was filled with twenty-somethings trying to make it in show business by working at restaurants, or single mothers with way too many kids. Sometimes, the constant noise made it hard to think.

 

Angela loved it.

 

As she ate the noodles with a spare set of wooden chopsticks from a Chinese takeout, she flipped through a binder filled with articles filed neatly in plastic page protectors. There was the piece about the art gallery opening, then the interview with the up and coming chef, and then the exposé on the models at fashion week. Each clipping brought back a wave of memories. Angela wanted more—tougher stories, more prestigious clients, and more money. She really needed more money.

 

Under her portfolio of past work were stacks of unpaid bills. For Angela, it seemed like she would no sooner cash the checks from her freelancing gigs, only to turn around and put the money in someone else’s hand. Her rent was always at least a week late, and the remaining balance on her student loans was always being shuffled around so she could defer the payment. Most meals consisted of anything she could buy for a couple dollars.

 

Angela didn’t mind, though. Even though she never knew when her next job would come, she loved the thrill of it all. She worked hard to put herself through school, and while the work wasn’t great, it was still work.

 

When she scrolled through her various social media accounts, she occasionally felt ashamed of her situation. Friends from high school were buying their first houses, getting married, even having kids. Angela hadn’t even dated anyone since college. It seemed like everyone she knew had a steady job and stable life while she was contemplating if she even needed electricity in her apartment.

 

Still, Angela knew that to live the life she always wanted, there would be sacrifices to make. She could work for the newspaper in some small town, but what news would she find there? No, she knew that her big break would come eventually. But only in a bigger city where there would be more possibilities for her career.

 

As the sun set through her tiny porthole of a window, she realized that she never showered or changed from yesterday’s sweatpants and college t-shirt. Sniffing the armpit of her shirt, she flopped back on her pillow with a dramatic sigh, knocking over several empty wine bottles in the process.

 

Angela hadn’t worked in weeks, and she was running out of money. Before long, the fifty cent instant noodles that she got down at the bodega would run out. She could plead with her landlord to let her pay her rent with next month’s, in hope that she would have a job before then, but she was already behind. If she didn’t get a gig soon, she would have to find another job. Or worse, move back home.

 

She was about to start looking through the local job listings when her phone began to shake on her coffee table. She didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway.

 

“Hello?” Angela asked in a raspy voice from lack of human interaction.

 

“Is this Angela Reynolds?” a female voice asked. “This is Maggie Park.”

 

“Hi, Maggie,” she said after clearing her throat.

 

“I don’t know if you remember me, but you were in my writing class at Northwestern a few years back. I was the grad student that taught one of the media courses.”

 

“I remember you,” she replied. “What can I do for you, Maggie?”

 

“I’m working at The Times now, and I came across your portfolio.”

 

“The New York Times?” she asked incredulously.

 

“That’s the one. I remembered your name, so I looked you up and saw that you were in the city now. How do you like it?”

 

“I really like it,” she said with false cheeriness. She spoke in the same manner as she did when discussing her career at high school reunions. She wasn’t about to lie about her success as a journalist, but she didn’t want anyone to know the extent of it.

 

“It can be hard to stand out in a place like this,” Maggie said, seeing through Angela’s façade. “But from looking at your portfolio, it seems like you’re doing just fine. The reason I was calling was because I think I have a story for you if you want it. Are you busy?”

 

“Not at all,” she said. “You really have something?”

 

“My boss is looking for someone who can do a human-interest piece. It’s not really hard-hitting investigatory stuff, but if they like what you come up with, you might find more for you to do here.”

 

“That sounds great,” Angela said, standing up from her bed. “I’ll write whatever you have for me.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Maggie chuckled. “We’ve been looking for some new talent to write the little pieces that none of the big shots want to do. If you ask me, some of the regular contributors are too pretentious for their own good. We need someone who can take direction and work hard. Think you can do that?”

 

  “Absolutely,” she said, pacing back and forth.

 

“Great. If you can make it work with your schedule, my editor could meet with you tomorrow. What time works for you?”

 

“Anytime.”

 

“How about ten-thirty tomorrow morning? When you get to the building, just tell the receptionist that you have a meeting with Constance Jordan.”

 

“Okay,” Angela responded, a little dazed. “Thank you so much.”

 

“It’s no problem. Good luck tomorrow.”

 

Angela hung up the phone and fell back onto her mattress. She couldn’t quite process the phone call. What were the chances that she would get a phone call to write a story for one of the biggest publications in the country, especially when she had just a few dollars to her name? This couldn’t be real.

 

After picking up a few different discarded wine bottles next to her bed, she finally found one that wasn’t empty and took a long drink.

 

Then it was time to get to work. Angela grabbed an empty trash bag and filled it with the empty bottles, discarded coffee cups, and takeout boxes. She picked up the dirty clothes that carpeted the linoleum floor and threw them on a chair. The apartment wasn’t clean by a long shot, but it was good enough. She had enough space to think.

 

Grabbing her worn down laptop, she did all the research she could on The New York Times. Of course, she was familiar with the place; she even studied them in school. But it was different when she was trying to impress them. Not a brownnoser by nature, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get in the editor’s good graces during the interview. She hoped her résumé and portfolio could do the talking.

 

Angela read through the most recent edition of the paper, trying to pick up the style of the writing. It made her stomach rumble with nerves to think that she would be in the same building as journalists who were covering big stories like wars overseas and human trafficking cases within the country.

 

She flipped through the other sections to find something like she would be writing. Angela groaned as she clicked on headlines about art gallery openings and marriage announcements of the city’s elite. It was all so dull compared to the hard-hitting stuff on the front pages. But, if she could get her foot in the door there was a chance that one day she’d be the one on the front page. Besides, at this point, she would write anything for a bit of extra cash.

 

After reading a few short articles on the website, she had a feeling that she would be covering a dog show or something that no one really cared about. She’d write four hundred words or so, then collect enough money to convince her landlord not to evict her. All she had to do was impress the editor, and then she’d be in.

 

She waited for about an hour for the shower to become free, then tiptoed through the puddles to prepare herself for her big break. Angela wasn’t a morning person and while she wanted to stay up all night practicing interview questions, she knew she needed to do everything in her power to help herself out. She placed her remaining clean clothes on a chair and tucked herself into bed just before midnight.

 

Tossing and turning for a few hours before finally settling down, Angela was terrified, yet ecstatic by the possibility of being employed by The New York Times. Things were finally looking up and the timing couldn’t have been better.