The Billionaire's Deadline

*Sandra*

It had to be tonight. There was no other time, and no other way.

I looked in the mirror and straightened the dress with the too-deep plunging back and too high leg slit. The too-high heels made my ankles wobble the first half hour I'd worn them, but I'd been walking around the low-cost hotel room for hours, pacing and thinking and breaking in the shoes and my ankles.

The dress was wine red and fit my slim body well. It was tight where it needed to be and had light ruching at the neckline. The dress was spaghetti-strapped, but the neckline was just high enough to hide the scar from my port. I'd had it taken out, just in case. The pity vote might get me places, but I didn't want to win that way. I needed to be strong for my company.

My cell phone rang, and soon I was walking out to a black town car. The driver was probably more than confused, seeing a woman in a pricey dress coming out to his town car in this neighborhood. But I needed to save money everywhere I could.

"The Ritz-Carlton, Central Park, please," I said to the driver, further confusing the poor man.

He was professional, though, and didn't comment other than to say, "Yes, miss."

Miss. I looked like a sixteen-year-old girl with black hair and Elizabeth Taylor eyes. That was mostly due to my disease, which left me skinny and flat-chested. Though that could also have been genetics – my mother, who'd died of the same rare bone cancer that was killing me–had had much the same build.

In truth, twenty-three wasn't exactly past the "miss" stage of life, but I'd been rather hoping to make it to "ma'am."

Pushing away my melancholy thoughts, I dug in my purse for my compact to check my make-up one last time. It was as flawless as I could make it. I was no make-up artist and wasn't going to waste the money hiring one. I hoped that hadn't been a mistake.

"You look lovely, miss," the driver said encouragingly from the front seat.

I smiled at him. "Was it that obvious?"

"You might as well be trembling like a leaf. Miss...?"

"Kingsley," I provided. "But you can call me Sandra."

"... Sandra. Whatever it is you're out to do tonight, I'm sure you'll accomplish it. You're on a mission, I can tell. And I can also tell you don't take 'no' for an answer. You're going to do fine," the driver reassured me.

"Thanks," I replied. "Mister...?"

"Just call me Ben," he said.

I smiled again. "I hope you're the one picking me up again at the end of the night."

"Sandra, you couldn't stop me," Ben grinned back. "And you'll tell me all about your success."

"I hope so," I responded, nervousness bubbling up in my belly once more as I tapped a red-lacquered nail against my teeth.

Too soon, we were in front of the Ritz-Carlton. Ben came around the side of the vehicle to help me get out. "Knock 'em dead," he said to me.

I shook his hand. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Ben nodded and got back in his car.

I realized my mistake too late.

The old and new money rich set who were entering the Ritz-Carlton were staring at me in distaste. Clearly, one did not shake hands with the town car driver.

I sighed. Fail One.

I rolled my shoulders back and walked past the onlookers, who tsked at me under their breath and murmured about me being "trash" or "brand new money."

In truth, Kingsley owned one of the largest manufacturing empires in Chicago. My father had been very successful, until the end. Now, Kingsley was secretly drowning in debt, and Father was gone, laid side-by-side with my mother in Rosehill Cemetery. He'd mourned her the rest of his life and hadn't taken one girlfriend since her death. I loved that about them. A forever kind of love.

A forever kind of love. I swallowed back tears. I was never going to have that.

The main hall of the Ritz-Carlton was impeccable, beautiful, even. I wasn't paying much attention to it, though. I had one target in mind, and this was the only place I was going to be able to find him.

At least the Kingsley name still had enough juice to get an invitation to this little soiree. Was it Save the Pandas or Save the Whales? I wasn't sure.

American Cancer Society.

My mouth went dry, and I almost walked into a column. I really should have taken more care to ask Margie, Father's old and aged assistant, what the event was for. I recalled her even trying to tell me. Poor dear was probably lamenting right now that she hadn't been able to protect me from this. I'd have to get her a cheesecake before I went home.

"Need a drink, Miss...?" an obese, older gentleman with wispy gray hair asked me.

"Kingsley," I said without thinking.

"Of the Chicago Kingsleys?" the older gentleman inferred.

I blushed. "Yes, sir. Sorry, can we keep that quiet? I was hoping to just have a lovely even-"

"I was so sorry to hear about your father. What has it been? Less than a month, I think..." the older gentleman mused, handing me a glass of champagne.

With a polite smile, I took it but didn't drink. God only knew what it would do when combined with the myriad of meds I was taking. "Three weeks."

"Three weeks. Was he keeping you at home, then? Smart man. If I had a daughter who looked like you, I'd be keeping her at home as well," the gentleman chortled.

"Oh, um. Thank you..." Then I spotted him. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, Adonis of a man who graced the covers of magazines everywhere. The figurehead for his family's corporation. Old money.

Blake Harrington.

"I'm sorry, I really need–" I began.

"I'm Hubert Drake," Hubert introduced himself. "And do, please, tell your new CEO that I'd love to talk business with him."

That struck a chord, and I could feel my lips turn down in a sour expression. "Sir, I am the new President and CEO of Kingsley Manufacturing."

"Oh!" Hubert said. Then he had the audacity to laugh at me! "A pretty little thing like you? Nonsense. You get yourself a real CEO, and let the boys talk."

I shoved my champagne glass back into Hubert's hand. "Excuse me," I snapped, not caring if I was being rude. "I have an appointment."

Hubert's brow furrowed. "At a benefit?"

"Business never sleeps," I responded with false sweetness. Then I booked it as fast as I could in my blasted heels to the last place I'd seen Harrington.

***

*Blake*

God, this was boring. One of the most boring benefits I'd ever been to. And didn't the American Cancer Society have enough money already? All they ever did was walks and benefits and fund drives.

Still, it was a pet cause of my mother's, and I thought she might have blown her top if I hadn't gone.

I took a sip of champagne and sighed, wishing for something stronger.

Maybe Mother would forgive me if I left early.

I looked over to see the grand dame of all things cancer-related in her sparkling, peacock-patterned dress and thick, matching headband, and she gave me a sharp look, as though she'd read my mind.

All right, no leaving early, then.

I walked out onto the terrace to get some air and have a smoke. Just as I was putting a cigarillo to my lips to light up, a faerie appeared on the terrace.

I stopped, pulling the cigarillo from my lips. "Miss?" I asked, wondering where the girl's parents were.

"Mr. Harrington," the fey creature with glowing pale skin, long blue-black hair, and piercing – dear God, were those lavender?! – eyes stormed up to me in a burgundy dress I would never have let my own daughter leave the house in. "I have come here all the way from Chicago to talk business, and I don't have a lot of time. Your assistant keeps putting off my phone calls and talking about making an appointment in six months. Frankly, sir, I do not have six months to wait twiddling my thumbs."

I blinked, my brain ticking over the many messages my assistant kept giving me and landing on one persistent caller. "Miss Kingsley?"

"Yes, Mr. Harrington, I am Sandra Kingsley," Sandra said, crossing her arms and glaring at me.

I had to say, I rather liked that glare. She would be fun to wind up, I could tell. "This is rather unorthodox..."

"You couldn't seem to fit me into your busy schedule while I was in town, so I made a few calls and decided to meet –"

"Confront," I corrected.

"Meet you here," Sandra said stubbornly. "I need to discuss business with you."

I considered her for a moment. She was beautiful, and entertaining, and I rather admired her hutzpah. On the other hand, she was interrupting a very important... boring... event.

"Alright," I replied, deciding I might as well get dinner and a show while I was here. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

"I'm sure it's starting to get out that Kingsley is..." Sandra cast about for the right words.

"Not doing so well these days? Drowning in debt?" I suggested quietly. Not everyone knew, but as Sandra had been calling and calling me, I did have my assistant make a few inquiries.

Sandra's shoulders hunched, and she looked around to see if anyone had heard. But it was just us out on the terrace. "Yes," she whispered. "My father... had dementia toward the end. He made some poor business decisions. But our people, our products, and our infrastructure are still top notch. We've always been at the cutting edge of the industry, and we can be again, we just need..."

"A little infusion of capital?" I said.

Sandra sighed and nodded. "I didn't come to New York with my hat in my hand, Mr. Harrington."

"Blake, please," I interrupted.

"B-Blake," Sandra stuttered. Then she rallied, and though slight and small, I knew she was a force to be reckoned with. "I have a proposal that will allow you to take over Kingsley Manufacturing within six months."

My eyebrows must have hit my hairline because she quickly continued, "I'd give it to you now, only I don't want you to take it at a loss, and I don't want the government taking their chunk along with the debt Kingsley already has..."

"So... there's some time in the future you're going to be able to give me the company when the government isn't going to take their share, and you won't be in debt?" I asked, incredulous.

"No." Sandra took another deep breath. "The company will be in debt. But I'm not asking you to buy it from me. I want you to take it, provided you can keep my employees in their jobs."

Now, I was pretty sure this little elf had lost her damn mind. Maybe dementia ran in the family? "Miss Kingsley..."

"Sandra."

"Sandra, I don't think there's a way for you to give your company to me with all those terms met," I said slowly. "I mean, the transfer of assets alone is going to cost-"

"It won't cost anything," Sandra replied.

"Oh? And how's that?" I asked.

"Because you're going to marry me," Sandra said.