Billionaire's Second Chance
“That sounds like the perfect ending to a perfect evening.” I stepped back to close AJ’s door, and we walked together to the master bedroom that overlooked the beautiful mountains behind us. “I love you, Mr. Harris.”
“I love you, Mrs. Harris.” He pulled me close for a long kiss, and I smiled, knowing that everything was going to work out for us.
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BILLIONAIRE’S CONTRACT
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Claire Adams
CONTRACT VOLUME I
Chapter One
August 2014
Dax
“Ladies and gentlemen, after a long and arduous process, it is my pleasure and honor to welcome the newest member of the NFL family into the fold tonight,” Commissioner Goodell said as he scanned the room of high-level executives, club owners, and athletes. “It’s taken more than two years to get to this point, but it’s been time well spent! Please join me in welcoming Dax Connor, the new owner of the Chicago Storm!”
The crowd went wild as I turned and high-fived my best friend, Finn O’Brien, then walked across the stage and accepted a number 0 jersey with the Storm logo on the front and my name across the shoulders. I smiled as I shook Goodall’s hand and then raised my arms over my head in a victory salute to all the members of the NFL Owners’ Club who had supported my application and then worked to convince the holdouts that I deserved the franchise.
“Thank you all,” I said leaning into the microphone. “I know there’s been a lot of talk about what it means to finally have two NFL teams in Chicago, and that there’s no way any team could compete with the Bears, but I promise that we will all work to bring you the best possible team we can, and that we’ll strive to make sure the Storm players are the best of the best in the NFL!”
The crowd was on its feet clapping and cheering as I held up the jersey and pumped my fist a few times for good measure. The flashes from thousands of cameras lit up the room as the press joined the frenzied action and tried to get shots of everyone in the room. From where I stood, I could see several people gathered in a tight knot at the edge of the room, throwing skeptical glances my way, and I knew they were the holdouts who’d been strong-armed into agreeing to award me the franchise. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Finn shooting me a thumb’s up before turning slightly and flipping the bird to the group in the corner with a wide grin.
“Screw it,” I muttered as I smiled back and shook the hands of those who were cheering my success. “Those old bastards can rot in hell for all I care.”
“Great, isn’t it?” Goodell said, smiling as we descended the stairs from the stage and the roar of the crowed swelled.
“Just fuckin’ awesome,” I said dryly, but he didn’t hear the distain in my voice because he was swallowed up by the crowd as we hit the bottom of the stairs. I smiled and shook hands as I worked my way across the room. I knew that at least half of these people hated me for having done what had once been deemed impossible, and the other half were looking for a way to worm their way into my new organization.
I didn’t trust a single one of them, but I knew better than to publicly voice my thoughts. Instead, I smiled and made inane small talk with the drunken has-beens and wannabes, and flirted with the women who rested their hands on my arm as they spoke. I knew what they wanted, and while the idea of taking one of these gorgeous and well-manicured ladies to my bed appeared to be a good idea, I knew better than to give in to the siren call of wealth and power. I’d worked way too hard to squander this all for a quickie that would likely result in bad press for the team when their rich husbands found out and sought revenge.
I scanned the room looking for Finn in the crowd, but he’d disappeared again. This whole night was the result of a bet we’d made several years ago when we’d sold the online gambling company we’d created. We were two poor-but-smart kids from Back of the Yards Chicago who’d done the impossible: made a fortune and gotten out. We’d sold the company for almost $10 billion and split the profits equally between us, thinking now we’d kick back and take it easy, but we’d spent our whole lives hustling on the South Side, and it wasn’t long before we were both itching for a new challenge.
Finn was a multitasker, and as a result he always had side deals going, but I was more of a single-issue hustler in love with the thrill of risk-taking. Finn always came up with the wildest ideas, and I’d calculate the risk involved as well as the potential payout, then we’d make a bet and I’d get to work. More often than not, I won the bets. Partly because I was far more patient about long-term payoffs, but as we got older, I found that I needed bigger and bigger bets in order to feel the thrill that accompanied winning. Finn was more than happy to supply me with ideas.
Acquiring the franchise that allowed me to create the Chicago Storm was the culmination of a bet that Finn and I made the week after we’d sold the business. Tonight, we’d celebrate my win, and Finn would pay the wager of $5 million. The money was nothing to either of us. It was the honor of winning the bet that mattered most, and even when he lost, Finn still acted like he’d won. Some things never changed.
I headed for the bar to get a refill on my scotch before I went looking for my date, who had somehow disappeared into the throng of people. I’d brought Gram with me since she’d been the one who’d raised me and encouraged me and Finn to push beyond the limits of what other people imagined we could do. Plus, she was a huge Chicago Bears fan, and she wanted to meet the players.
“You seen my grandmother?” I asked one of the security guys hanging around the bar. “Small, older woman with red hair dressed head to toe in blue and green?”
“Over there,” the mountain of a man said as he pointed toward the circle of Bears players gathered around a corner table. I nodded and headed toward the table, but a tall, dark-haired woman wearing a black evening gown that looked like it had been made out of ace-bandages intercepted me.
“Congratulations,” she said unenthusiastically.