The Billionaire Wants Me

Chapter One

First day I met Rob the billionaire, I was delivering gifts to someone else in his company, AetherTech Innovations, the popular tower whose tip is so high it is buried in the clouds, a solid landmark of concrete and steel.

The client I was delivering the items to was on the thirtieth floor. I was holding his basket of snacks, luxury chocolates and vintage wine. And the moment I reached the reception and pressed the elevator button, a tall figure stood behind me. We walked in together.

He quickly filled the elevator space with his aura, smelling like menthol and clean air. You could tell that an important person was standing beside you even without looking, but I had to look. Alas, I was immediately taken aback. This was goddamn Rob from the magazine covers, the billionaire owner of the building I was in.

It became more terrifying that he was looking right back at me. “Hello,” he said, smiling.

"Hi,” I cleared my throat.

His voice was unnaturally deep. Truthfully, he was like rare god. Think of Bill Gates in his late twenties but taller and bulkier without the eyeglasses. He has stubbles on his chin like freshly cut grass in tiny, sharp definition.

My heart was in my mouth and I could feel it. What were the chances? I had submitted applications multiple times to AetherTech, getting rejected by human resources for not having enough experience. My boyfriend, Max, and my best friend Olivier, thought we should go into couriering, and as it currently stood, it seemed our startup was doing just fine. Delivery was quick and smooth. I rode my power bike like a pro, cutting through the craziest New York traffic just to keep clients happy.

Right here in the elevator, I wasn’t feeling professional or competent or any of those stuff. I felt powerless, weak at the knees, almost like the country’s president was the person standing next to me. Rob’s smile hadn't even faded yet.

I had to shake myself off the inertia before it became too awkward. I must say something. Say something, Priscilla. “Nice shoes.” I pointed at his legs.

He laughed and said, “Are those for me?” gesturing with his chin at my gift basket.

"Nope,” I giggled. “Sorry. They’re for someone else”

He lifted his palm and gently slapped his forehead. “I want some for myself. When will you be delivering mine?”

"Well,” I stood up straight to explain carefully, almost as if I was about giving a presentation. “The way it works is that you will have to place an order, right? You place it, you get it.”

"Ohhhhhh,” the billionaire said sarcastically. “I wouldn’t have guessed! You know what? What’s your name?”

"Priscilla.”