Intimate Mergers

  Intimate Mergers

  Raleigh Davis

  A sultry standalone romance about a billionaire prince and the fake engagement that feels all too real…

  * * *

  Grace: When I landed a job at a big-name tech company, it was like winning a golden ticket. At least until I uncovered a massive conspiracy and my golden ticket became a golden cage.

  * * *

  Now I’m jobless and about to be deported. Imagine my surprise when Paul, the handsome Prince Charming of Bastard Capital, comes riding to my rescue. But then his mom, the Ice Queen, sweeps in and we’re suddenly pretending to be engaged. And my ex-employer acts like a big, bad troll and Paul saves me again.

  * * *

  Fairy tales aren’t real, and I’m not princess, but Paul’s got me believing in the impossible…

  * * *

  Paul: I’m a Bastard—the well bred, old money one. So when my mother shows up with an engagement ring and her unlucky choice of bride in tow, I don’t tell her to get lost. Instead, I spin a white lie about the wonderful woman I’m already engaged to.

  * * *

  Grace is only too happy to take the deal—she fakes being in love and I set her up like royalty back home. She’s the perfect pretend fiancée: gracious, canny, and leaving very soon.

  * * *

  But Grace turns out to be more than just an easy solution, with her sarcastic one liners, love of pro wrestling, and scorching hot kisses. And now I’m determined to make my fake fiancée my very real lover…

  * * *

  Enter the world of Bastard Capital: Unrivaled men. Unimaginable wealth. Unlimited power.

  * * *

  Books in the Bastard Capital Series

  * * *

  Secret Acquisitions (Book One, Mark’s story)

  * * *

  Unfinished Seductions (Book Two, Logan’s story)

  * * *

  Competitive Instincts (Book Three, Finn’s story)

  * * *

  Intimate Mergers (Book Four, Paul’s story)

  * * *

  Hostile Attractions (Book Five, Elliot’s story)

  * * *

  Private Disclosures (Book Six, Dev’s story)

  Copyright © 2019 by Raleigh Davis

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  The lawyers lined up in front of me are about to shit their pants.

  I fold my hands on my desk—polished teak with carved legs, an heirloom acquired by my great-grandfather—and savor the sight. Six of them in crisp wool suits, sweating through their imported linen shirts.

  I’d enjoy it more if my day were going slightly better and if the legal eagles in my office could give me what I want. It’s one thing to twist the knife if it means getting your way. It’s less fun if you can’t.

  “Are you seriously telling me you can’t get anywhere with this case?” I keep my question cold and focused with no hint of anger. Abusing your underlings is for uncultured people, new-money families. And as my mother is so fond of reminding me, we’re definitely not that.

  A ripple goes through them. That’s what they’ve been saying for the past ten minutes, lined up like guilty schoolchildren. Normally I’d meet with them in the conference room, offer them all a seat and refreshments, but I knew going into this meeting I wasn’t going to be happy. So I made sure there were plenty of subtle and not-so-subtle indications that I expected more from them.

  The lead lawyer, a man in his early fifties, clinging as he would to a lifeline to the last wisps of hair circling his skull, clears his throat. He’s argued before the Supreme Court, but I’m not impressed. “I’ve never seen anything like this. All my contacts at Immigration Services, the second they hear her name, they hang up. Nobody there wants to even touch this case.”

  Grace Li. That’s her name, the one nobody at USCIS wants to hear. They don’t want to speak about her; they just want to deport her.

  This dream team of lawyers was supposed to stop that. And now they’re telling me they can’t do a damn thing.

  I want to pinch the bridge of my nose, to massage away the building pressure there, but I won’t give away any weakness. I’ve been trained since birth to never give anything away. “I can’t believe no one will talk to you. Isn’t this America? What happened to due process of law?”

  “Technically, noncitizens aren’t entitled to that. And Corvus wants her gone. Like yesterday.”

  I don’t need this lawyer to tell me one of the biggest tech companies in Silicon Valley wants Grace gone. They’ve been fighting to get her deported from the second they fired her. Without the H-1B visa sponsored by Corvus, Grace can’t stay in the country.

  Or at least if it weren’t for my efforts and these lawyers I’ve spent a fortune on. This is what I do—the kind of problem I usually solve with a wave of my hand. In addition to the lawyers, I’ve gotten her job offers, positions with some of the most respected companies in tech, companies more than willing to take responsibility for her H-1B, but Immigration has said no to all of it.

  It’s not hard to figure out who’s whispering in their ear. Corvus is one of the biggest contractors for the NSA, CIA, and the Department of Homeland Security. No matter how good my lawyers are, they won’t have contacts like the ones Corvus does in Immigration. Hell, Corvus has tentacles twined around them, not just contacts. Which means they can make Immigration dance to their tune.

  No matter how much money and legal talent I throw at this problem, Grace will be deported.

  I shouldn’t be so upset. This was never meant to be my problem, only a simple favor I was doing. It’s not some deep, personal failure.

  Still, I can’t give up. I can’t explain why—perhaps it’s because I almost always get my way and have since I was a boy—but I’m not admitting defeat. And neither are these lawyers. Not yet.

  I press my palms into my desk. “There must be something more we can do. She’s got an interview at Pixio today—she’s definitely got the job.” I talked to Jack, the CEO, this morning on his personal cell. He assured me it would be fast-tracked, and we arranged to meet up for some polo this weekend. He’s convinced Golden Gate Park to reopen the field there for actual polo just for him. And I played a fair amount in college and high school, although I have to borrow horses here. “They won’t even be impressed by Pixio?”

  All the lawyers exchange a glance. A glance that says I don’t want to be the one to deliver the bad news.

  The head lawyer—Wickersham is his name—is the one to throw himself on the grenade. He clears his throat again, which irritates me so much I’m almost tempted to tell him to knock it off. “I don’t think they’ll be satisfied by anything. There’s nothing that’s going to move them on this.” He swallows hard. “I’m so sorry.”

  He doesn’t need to make it sound like he’s giving a cancer diagnosis. Like I said, this wasn’t supposed to be my problem.

  It’s a friend-of-a-friend thing, which given my network of contacts, happens a lot. Grace worked for Corvus. She’d shared an apartment with her best friend, January, until Grace had moved into Corvus housing, essentially disappeared, and discovered Corvus had illegal spyware installed on pretty much everyone’s phone.

  January found out when she was searching for Grace’s whereabouts, about the same time she hooked up with Mark—okay, they actually fell in love, but that’s the boring part of the story—and Mark is one of my best friends and another partner at Bastard Capital. They rescued Grace from Corvus, stopped the spyware, and now Januar
y and Mark are going to live happily ever after. The end.

  But there’s no fairy-tale ending for Grace. She was fired. Which put her visa in jeopardy.

  That’s where I come in. Since Mark is my friend and I know everyone—and I mean everyone—I offered to help with Grace’s situation. Across all six continents, I know anyone who’s worth knowing, the powers both in front of and behind the curtain. And if I don’t know them, I know someone who does. I’m two degrees of separation away from anyone who matters.

  Of course, if we were talking about Antarctica, you’d be shit out of luck. Although I could probably pull some strings there too, given enough time.

  Apparently I’m shit out of luck with American Immigration though.

  The plan was to get Grace a new job, transfer sponsorship of her H-1B visa, and she’d be home free. Well, except for that huge conspiracy she uncovered at Corvus. But Grace is a smart woman; she knows to keep her mouth shut. All the information she sent to January about the program was shared anonymously, and she hasn’t uttered another peep, publicly or privately.

  It doesn’t matter though. Corvus is determined to ship her back to China no matter what. Probably as punishment for that conspiracy she uncovered.

  I don’t know what I’m going to tell Mark. Mark would do anything for January. January would do anything for Grace. And I’m going to help Mark any way I can, so here we are. With me reaming out these useless lawyers and Grace off at a job interview that will get her nowhere.

  Once I’m done with these guys, I’m pouring myself a nice stiff drink. Just the one, because any more wouldn’t be classy. But damn do I need it.

  I pitch my voice low, making them work to hear me. “There has to be something else. I thought you were the best immigration lawyers in the world.”

  They are, because they got Archie Chu out of his little… incident a few years back. Archie crashed his Ferrari on the 280 one evening, going way too fast with way too much alcohol in his system. The fire was so bad the freeway was shut down for the entire day, and when the cops booked him, it turned out his visa wasn’t exactly valid.

  He called me in a panic, asking for help. His cousin was school friends with my sister, which meant that I was obligated to help. So I hired Wickersham here, and he started calling people at USCIS, and Archie’s situation was all cleared up in a few weeks.

  The lawyers flinch at my words. Because of course they consider themselves the best—look at what they charge hourly—but the fact they can’t make any headway on this clearly galls them.

  I’m trying very hard not to imagine Grace’s face when I tell her this news. Her bright, inquisitive eyes will dim, her lush mouth will twist, and her striking cheeks will go white. Her chest might start to rise and fall as she holds in her tears—

  This is exactly what I’m not supposed to be thinking about. She’s a friend of a friend. She can’t be anything more, not even in my fantasies. It’s not fair to her. She’s vulnerable and depending on me. And I’ve failed her.

  “This is a very… unusual case.” One of the younger members of the team, a woman, says that. She doesn’t look quite as abashed as all the rest. “The order for her to leave comes from the very top. Unless you have the ear of the president himself, there’s not much more to be done.”

  I do have a backdoor connection to the president, which I’ve already tapped to help me here, but sadly my connections aren’t as powerful as Corvus’s.

  It’s over. I know it is, but I don’t let that show in my expression. “I don’t want to hear that,” I say. “What I want to hear is that you’re working on new angles. Constantly. We’re not giving up on this until the moment she’s actually loaded onto a plane.”

  That moment is going to be in less than sixty days, the amount of time an H-1B visa holder can stay once they lose their job. But I’m not ready to admit that to the lawyers. Although I’ll have to admit it to Grace so she can prepare for the worst.

  Damn.

  The lawyers continue to hover, some of them looking eagerly toward the door. I suppose they’re not used to getting their asses chewed out for failure. They’re waiting for my dismissal, knowing I’m too powerful a client to leave without my explicit say-so. I let them sweat a few seconds longer, just to remind them who’s paying their exorbitant bills. Not that it will make a dent in my fortune, or even a scuff, but you don’t get wealthy and stay there for several generations by wasting money.

  “I want something better than this and soon.” I nod toward the door. “The clock is ticking.”

  If any of them wonder why I’m so worked up about a random nobody and her visa, they don’t let on. Instead, they file out with obvious relief.

  It’s not fair of me to call Grace a random nobody, although that’s what my mother would do.

  My mother’s more of a snob than I am, but she wouldn’t be wrong about Grace, at least not at first glance. There are millions of tech workers like Grace in Silicon Valley, all of them holding an H-1B visa and hoping if they can keep their jobs for five years, they’ll earn their green cards.

  I couldn’t help but get to know Grace better as we worked on her case, and those first impressions were wrong. She’s driven but also compassionate. She wants to stay and she wants to expose her ex-employer’s wrongdoing, but she doesn’t want anyone she left behind at Corvus to get hurt because of her actions. I don’t let myself think of her much beyond that. I can’t help but think about how attractive she is, which is more than enough trouble for me.

  I get up and head over to the bar in my office, which sits against one wall. All the partners have them—me, Mark, Logan, Finn, Elliott, and Dev—but I usually only use mine when I have company. Drinking alone isn’t my style, but today I need it. Because Grace is going to walk in my office in about an hour, relieved and hopeful and excited about her new job prospect, and I’ll have to kill the light in her eyes stone dead.

  Disappointing people is part of my job. I have to tell people no all the time: no, I won’t be funding their proposal; no, their great idea isn’t so great; no, there’s no way to save their company. I’m pretty good at being diplomatic but firm. Which is what I’ll have to be with Grace.

  Grace…

  I grab a glass and shake my head. I tell myself this is going to be like any of the million times I’ve had to say no, but I was never good at lying to myself. It will be different, but I’m going to have to pretend it isn’t. If I’m calm and keep my polite smile in place, Grace will take this much better than if I’m angry or frustrated. Even though I’m really fucking angry and really fucking frustrated.

  Three fingers of single malt ought to do the trick. The glass is heavy in my palm, and the whiskey smells like heaven if it were filtered through peat.

  I stare at our atrium as I sip. All our offices face the atrium, creating a hexagram of glass. Dev’s office is directly across from mine, but he’s not in there. I can tell because he closes the curtains when he is. Dev’s always been the mysterious one, but he’s been doing that more and more lately. Closing himself off even further from the rest of us. I’d ask him what’s up, but he’d never answer.

  Speaking of what might be up with Dev, our office manager, Anjie, steps into the atrium. She gives me a wave and a smile, and I raise my glass. Anjie’s the one who turned the atrium into an orchid’s paradise. There are trees and moss and hidden hollow places, all to give the orchids the very best environment to bloom in. Anjie’s in there every few hours, checking on her beloved blooms. Grace often can’t tear her eyes away from them when she meets with me here.

  I take another healthy swallow and prepare my speech to Grace in my head. It’s a little trick of mine, to always rehearse before any social situation. When you’re at ease, it puts other people at ease. Even if that ease is practiced.

  We’ve done everything we could. That’s technically true and an okay way to start, but my mouth twists bitterly as I think about it.

  I have contacts in the best tech firms in China. Yo
u can find an even better job there. That is definitely true. I can even set her up with enough money to start her own firm in China. She could be her own boss, live close to her family, and never have to worry about immigration bullshit ever again.

  She didn’t tell me the reason she wants to stay so badly, and I didn’t pry. But I know that if it were as easy as her finding a good job there, she wouldn’t be fighting so hard to remain here.

  Know anyone who’s up for a green card marriage? That won’t even work anymore—people have tried that trick one too many times. I don’t spend even half a second lingering on how my gut twists at the thought of Grace marrying someone else.

  I don’t want to marry her—I hardly even know her. It’s just simple possessiveness. I’m attracted to her, and I can’t have her. So my body is reacting primitively.

  By the time I get to the last finger of whiskey, I’ve got something decent worked out. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.

  My private cell phone rings, the line that only my personal assistant and certain family members and friends have access to. Most likely it’s my assistant, but if she’s calling, something’s up.

  Great. Because this day wasn’t already shitty enough.

  I set down my glass and grab the phone. The caller ID says it’s Avery, my assistant. “Yes?”

  She doesn’t waste a second on niceties, which I appreciate. “I have urgent news from your sister.”

  My heart rate picks up, just slightly. My sister is vivacious, almost flighty, but she wouldn’t call Avery unless it was important. “What?” My assistant is one of the few people I can be blunt with, so I take full advantage.