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Beauty and the Billionaire Brothers

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole Elliot

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One

Kayla

Brushing her bangs from her forehead, Kayla looked up at the high-rise towering amidst the downtown skyline. This couldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be. But she was about to walk inside and do the unthinkable—work for Wyatt Miller and Jason Wentmore.

What choice did she have?

None.

The blast of cold air kicked up from the sidewalk, smacking her face. She tucked the scarf closer to her chest. Chicago was bitter cold this time of year. She walked through the revolving doors, hating every step she took. She resented all of this. The fact that she was here. The fact that she was being used.

Kayla sighed, approaching the reception desk. Everything was covered in marble. If she didn’t hate where she was so much, she might stop and marvel at the architecture and artwork. It might be a corporate tower of global business, but it was decorated like an Italian museum with fine art and furniture.

“I’m here to see Mr. Miller and Mr. Wentmore.” She smiled at the receptionist. Did she know why she was here? Did everyone who worked for the company realize what was about to happen?

The woman pulled her glasses to the brim of her nose. “Do you have an appointment? That’s the top floor. They are quite busy. I don’t handle their schedule. They each have a personal assistant who informs me of any visitors.”

Kayla sighed. She wondered if they had made it difficult on purpose. If this was just part of the humiliation. Did they want her to turn beet red in the lobby?

“They…they are expecting me,” she explained.

The truth was she didn’t know if they were as anxious about this meeting as she was. Her stomach churned with nervousness. She could feel the stickiness on her palms.

“I don’t see anything on the daily guest log for any appointments today.” The assistant scrolled through the screen on her computer. “However, you can wait over there.” She pointed to a set of leather chairs. “I’ll try to get one of the assistants on the phone. What was your name?”

“It’s Kayla. Kayla Dauler.”

“Dow-ler?” Her mouth made a round O shape when she pronounced the last name.

“Yes. That’s it.” Maybe that was the problem. They thought her last name was supposed to be Mancetti. She didn’t feel like explaining the potential mix-up. She was proud she was a Dauler, especially now. Especially today.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” Kayla walked to the sitting area and perched on the edge of the couch. The leather was cool and soft against the back of her thigh.

She had worn a short skirt with her jacket. It was part of the dress requirement. That had been made clear. She tugged at the hem, but it didn’t make a difference. She scooted her high heels closer, tapping the seams together.

People walked in and out of the lobby. She watched them, wondering if they had some sneaking suspicion of why she was here. If they had any clue what had brought her to the Miller-Wentmore Center.

They stared at their phones and ran with their messenger bags. She was the only one who was a bundle of nerves. She was the only one who was embarrassed.

At twenty-five, she was getting ready to take on the most important role of her life. Everything was dependent on this meeting.

She picked up a magazine resting on the coffee table and stared at the glossy front. The co-CEOs of Miller-Wentmore Global were on the cover, posing in fitted suits. Undoubtedly ridiculously expensive. Custom-made just like their expensive leather shoes, and Italian silk ties. They were mirror opposites.

Wyatt had dark hair and dark eyes. His square cut jaw was like something out of a sculpture museum. And then there was Jason. Tall, dark blond, and green eyes that shimmered even on a magazine cover. She realized they had shot the photograph in the lobby. She recognized the pillars behind her.

Kayla tossed the magazine on the table. They were the kind of men most women drooled over. The bedroom eyes. The athletic bodies. The ungodly amounts of money they each had. And more power than anyone could dream of. But she wasn’t falling for it. She didn’t have the luxury to be lulled by their good looks, or charmed by their expert flirting. No, she wasn’t here for fun. She was here to work. She was fighting for her freedom.