Billionaire's Contract (The Billionaire's Contract Series) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Angelina Jenoire Hamilton
cottage.’
‘Erm...I’m going to need some time to get ready,’ she said, realising she was still in bed. Had he said private jet? She had never been treated like this as an author. She had never been treated like this ever.
‘I’ll send the driver for you at one,’ he said. ‘See you at the cottage.’ He hung up.
She slid out of bed and it wasn’t until she got to the bathroom that his words hit her. ‘See you at the cottage.’ Had he said that or had she misheard in her half-awake state?
* * *
She hadn’t misheard. As she stepped from the back of the Bentley and onto the paved driveway outside the cottage, Tyler Blake stood by the open front door. He wore a light grey suit with a buttoned up grey waistcoat and a dark grey tie over his white shirt. He leaned casually on the front wall of the cottage, hands in pockets. He smiled at Kirsty as she approached and she felt unsure whether the wolfish grin was friendly or predatory.
The driver unloaded her two small cases from the car and took them inside. She felt like she had experienced a small taste of what it was like to live Tyler Blake’s lifestyle. Being driven in luxury cars and flying on a jet where she was the only passenger were experiences she could definitely get used to.
‘Come inside,’ Blake said, stepping in through the front door and telling the driver to wait for him in the car. Kirsty followed him inside.
The cottage was spacious but homely, furnished with comfortable-looking easy chairs and a large plush sofa. A modern glass desk and swivel office chair sat in one corner by the window, looking out of place among the rustic furnishings, and Kirsty wondered if Blake had brought them here today, especially for her. The window beyond the desk looked out over the sea and the golden sandy curve of Carbis Bay in the distance. A stone fireplace cut into the wall contained an unlit pile of logs in the grate. In front of the fireplace, a thick burgundy rug contrasted with the room’s cream carpet. The only thing incongruent with the seaside cottage feel was the collection of framed black and white photographs hanging on the walls. Instead of beach scenes, they showed abandoned factories. A low coffee table in the center of the room held copies of publishing and writing magazines. Kirsty could picture herself producing a novel in this cosy cottage overlooking the sea.
‘Well?’ Blake asked, watching her closely.
‘It’s perfect,’ she replied, knowing that he had arranged it to be perfect.
‘Mi casa es su casa,’ he said.
‘Thank you. I appreciate this.’
‘Nonsense. I’m just taking care of my investment. I’ll see you tomorrow at six pm to read the manuscript so far.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘And every day after that for the month while you write.’
‘You’re going to read my daily output?’
He nodded. ‘And offer guidance.’
‘Guidance? I don’t need...’
‘I think you do,’ he said levelly. ‘This is new territory for you. And your contract states that you will be open to editorial input during the writing of the first draft.’
‘Contract?’
‘You signed the contract for this book. Clause 13.1 gives me control over the process. The Red Rose Bound line is too crucial to the company for me to relax that control.’ He walked over to her and handed her the key. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said on his way out of the door.
Kirsty stood bewildered in the room, her thoughts a tangle of knots.
* * *
‘Clause 13.1?’ Jane said on the other end of the phone.
‘That’s what he said.’ Kirsty stood on the patio she had discovered behind the cottage. A warm evening approached, heralded by a sunset that painted the beach and cliffs orange.
‘Let me check my copy,’ Jane said. Kirsty heard the dry sliding of papers as her agent leafed through the contract. ‘Oh...yeah...there is a clause.’
‘Should I have signed?’
‘It isn’t an unusual clause to add to a publishing contract. You’re simply
‘Erm...I’m going to need some time to get ready,’ she said, realising she was still in bed. Had he said private jet? She had never been treated like this as an author. She had never been treated like this ever.
‘I’ll send the driver for you at one,’ he said. ‘See you at the cottage.’ He hung up.
She slid out of bed and it wasn’t until she got to the bathroom that his words hit her. ‘See you at the cottage.’ Had he said that or had she misheard in her half-awake state?
* * *
She hadn’t misheard. As she stepped from the back of the Bentley and onto the paved driveway outside the cottage, Tyler Blake stood by the open front door. He wore a light grey suit with a buttoned up grey waistcoat and a dark grey tie over his white shirt. He leaned casually on the front wall of the cottage, hands in pockets. He smiled at Kirsty as she approached and she felt unsure whether the wolfish grin was friendly or predatory.
The driver unloaded her two small cases from the car and took them inside. She felt like she had experienced a small taste of what it was like to live Tyler Blake’s lifestyle. Being driven in luxury cars and flying on a jet where she was the only passenger were experiences she could definitely get used to.
‘Come inside,’ Blake said, stepping in through the front door and telling the driver to wait for him in the car. Kirsty followed him inside.
The cottage was spacious but homely, furnished with comfortable-looking easy chairs and a large plush sofa. A modern glass desk and swivel office chair sat in one corner by the window, looking out of place among the rustic furnishings, and Kirsty wondered if Blake had brought them here today, especially for her. The window beyond the desk looked out over the sea and the golden sandy curve of Carbis Bay in the distance. A stone fireplace cut into the wall contained an unlit pile of logs in the grate. In front of the fireplace, a thick burgundy rug contrasted with the room’s cream carpet. The only thing incongruent with the seaside cottage feel was the collection of framed black and white photographs hanging on the walls. Instead of beach scenes, they showed abandoned factories. A low coffee table in the center of the room held copies of publishing and writing magazines. Kirsty could picture herself producing a novel in this cosy cottage overlooking the sea.
‘Well?’ Blake asked, watching her closely.
‘It’s perfect,’ she replied, knowing that he had arranged it to be perfect.
‘Mi casa es su casa,’ he said.
‘Thank you. I appreciate this.’
‘Nonsense. I’m just taking care of my investment. I’ll see you tomorrow at six pm to read the manuscript so far.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘And every day after that for the month while you write.’
‘You’re going to read my daily output?’
He nodded. ‘And offer guidance.’
‘Guidance? I don’t need...’
‘I think you do,’ he said levelly. ‘This is new territory for you. And your contract states that you will be open to editorial input during the writing of the first draft.’
‘Contract?’
‘You signed the contract for this book. Clause 13.1 gives me control over the process. The Red Rose Bound line is too crucial to the company for me to relax that control.’ He walked over to her and handed her the key. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said on his way out of the door.
Kirsty stood bewildered in the room, her thoughts a tangle of knots.
* * *
‘Clause 13.1?’ Jane said on the other end of the phone.
‘That’s what he said.’ Kirsty stood on the patio she had discovered behind the cottage. A warm evening approached, heralded by a sunset that painted the beach and cliffs orange.
‘Let me check my copy,’ Jane said. Kirsty heard the dry sliding of papers as her agent leafed through the contract. ‘Oh...yeah...there is a clause.’
‘Should I have signed?’
‘It isn’t an unusual clause to add to a publishing contract. You’re simply
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