Billionaire undercover. That’s how I’ll do it. A Trojan horse into Kyra Lewis’ company. I’ll convince her, gently nudge her towards a decision, do what it takes to get her to see that relocating would be in her best interests.

The idea is brilliant. So much so that I couldn’t even hold my attention at the art gallery yesterday. Luckily, Jessica was too busy showing art collectors around, and I was left to stare at paintings that a three-year-old chimpanzee would have created if he’d been given a bucket of paint.

At least the champagne was flowing.

When Emma walks in, I steeple my fingers together and stare at her, deep in contemplation.

“What now?” She puts down the pile of daily newspapers.

“Brad Hartley,” I state.

She frowns. “Who’s he?”

“My new alter ego.”

Emma raises an eyebrow and I pick up one of the papers, pretending to glance at the headlines so that I can give Emma time to absorb this news. “What?” she cries.

“You must have seen those reality TV shows?” I prompt. She stares back with a blank expression.

“I’m going undercover like that, working for Kyra Lewis.”

A tangle of lines forms on her otherwise smooth forehead. “But not to help her.”

I smile, because she understands. “Of course not.”

“I should leave,” she mumbles, her wrinkles deepening.

“Hear me out.” If anyone will find holes in my idea, it will be Emma.

“You’re obviously not going on a TV show.” Her dry response and the disapproval wedged into her lips tells me not only that she knows what I plan to do, but that she doesn’t approve.

“Never.” I guard my privacy and am hardly ever seen in the press. “This is how I’ll get Kyra Lewis and her people, and all the other Greenways business owners to leave. I think it’s perfect.”

She scoffs. “Only you would think of that.”

“Persuading her to move is the easier option. This way I avoid the circus of a public hearing with all its hoops and legal tape to jump through.”

“But it’s wrong,” she replies, her voice flat with weariness. Enamored she is not.

“Do you have any idea how much money this deal will bring in? We’ll make millions. A heck of a lot more than Kyra Lewis and her outfit.”

“She’s doing good work. She employs vulnerable people from homeless shelters, victims of domestic abuse. She gives them a chance to rebuild their lives. The work that woman does has meaning.” And though she doesn’t say it, her death stare indicates that mine doesn’t.

I press my lips together. I didn’t expect her to clap, but I expected her to be impressed. I’m going out on a limb here. Stepping out of my usual business-like domain. This is different for me. I’m thinking outside the box, but she doesn’t see any of that.

“You putting that report together for me has turned you into her biggest fan.”

“I can’t help but admire her,” Emma states. “Did you read any of it?”

I cock my head and grimace. “I flicked through it.”

She shakes her head. “How do you propose to go about this, given that you don’t fully understand her or her business?” she asks.

“I don’t need to understand her. I just need to infiltrate her workplace. I’ll pretend I need a job. I’ll work for free, naturally, and then I’ll win her over with my charm.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “It’s a crazy idea.”

“But it will work.”

“She’s smart. She won’t fall for your lines as easily as you think.”

“I’ll tell her I have ideas. There will be holes I’ll have to fill. Things I haven’t thought of. I’ll make it up as I go.”

“People aren’t stupid, Brandon. Even the ones you call ‘peasants.’” Her voice is almost a sneer. Sometimes I wonder if Emma hates me and is simply tolerating this job because the perks and salary are good. I’ve only used that term a few times. While I don’t consider someone like Kyra Lewis to be a peasant, everything I’ve read about her tells me she’s not Jessica Montrose, although I knew that already.

Who the hell starts a business for the betterment of society instead of for the sole reason of making money? I will never understand people like her, but I don’t need to understand Lewis in order to get her to do the things that need to be done; the things that will benefit me.

“You’re not going to tell her who you are?”

“Do you think she’d want to listen to anything I have to say if she knew who I was? This way is better. She won’t know me, or why I’m there.”

“Won’t she hate you when she finds out? When they all do?”

“Do I care? I’ll have secured the land by then. I don’t care what happens to any of them after that.”

“Why not leave it to Neville and your usual sleazy tricks?”

“Those things take time. He’s on it. That’s the back-up plan in case this doesn’t work.”

“I don’t see Kyra Lewis falling for your charms.”

“I’m not planning on seducing her, Emma. She’s not my type. Besides, she’s young and not fully experienced when it comes to business matters. I’ll convince her that it’s a bad idea to stay where she is. I’ll make suggestions to relocate. Who cares?” I stand up, feeling rather proud of myself and adjust my cufflinks.

“You have no soul.”

“And I consider myself very lucky.”

I’ve done my due diligence, and I plan to build condos and luxury apartments, and have an upscale shopping mall filled only with designer boutiques. The area will abound with restaurants and bars. I’m looking at insanely, filthy profits from this development, and nothing or no one will stand in my way.

Not even Kyra Lewis.

“What if she recognizes you?”

“Who, aside from the people who work here, know what I look like? I don’t do the celebrity, paparazzi circuit. I don’t court publicity.” I’ve avoided the limelight for years. Many in my position wouldn’t, but I have more to hide than most.

“This will get you only so much publicity, and when you’re found out, it won’t be good for the company.”

“No one’s going to find out. I’m not going to force her out. I’m going to gently persuade her. The choice to leave will be hers.” My persuasive skills are legendary, as Kyra Lewis is about to find out.

Emma heaves out a sigh. “You’re making a mistake.”

“This is a business proposition for me. Not a date.”

“Then send someone else to do your dirty work. There’s no reason for you to go. You’ve got far more important things to do here.”

I sit back and examine my clean fingernails. “Because if I find some dirt on her, I’ll soon knock that Florence Nightingale crown from her head.”

Emma’s school-teacherly look is highly condescending. The firm press of her mouth tells me she’s holding back from giving me her true opinion but I’m intrigued. She’s my compass. She lets me know when I’ve strayed too far from levelheadedness. “Say it, Emma. Don’t hold back.”

“What you’re doing is pure evil.”

“I’m not a saint.”

She folds her arms together, her body posture spelling defiance. “You won’t find any dirt on her, because she doesn’t have any. Have you read about the things she’s done?”

I flick my hand in an air of defiance. It’s wearing on my nerves, how everyone blows this woman’s horn. Talking about her as if she’s the best thing to happen to the city. “No one can be that good.”

I should know.

Emma eyes me in surprise. “Yes, they can.”

I shake my head, refusing to believe such bullshit. “It will give me extreme satisfaction to prove to the world that Saint Kyra doesn’t exist. No one is that selfless. She’s up to something.”

“She has lots of corporate donors clamoring to donate to her cause.”

I disagree. “She’s a media darling, but she’s not an angel. People aren’t squeaky clean,” I tell her. I can find dirt on Kyra Lewis, if I put my mind to it.

And then, it won’t look too bad, when the truth comes out that I, and Hawks Enterprises, developed the land for our own gain. More than that, taking her down will give me a sense of satisfaction.

Emma eyes me with more contempt than a school principal would show to kids smoking weed in school.

“You’re going to lie and cheat your way into their lives, and steal their land from beneath them?”

I open my mouth to protest, but my PA’s appraisal of the situation is accurate. I can’t fault it. “Correct.”

“I don’t know how you can face yourself in the mirror each morning.”

“I can, and quite easily, too, I might add.”

She blows out an exaggerated huff as she walks away, everything about her screaming scorn for my idea. She can’t fully see or appreciate the brilliance of it.

“You have to help me.”

She turns around. “I will do no such thing. I’m your PA. I won’t be a party to your evil crimes.”

I stand up and slide my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “Emma. I pay you to do as I say. And for the record, I pay you very, very well.”

She mumbles something under her breath as her hand grips the door handle. It amuses me to watch this battle of conscience playing out before my very eyes. She glares at me. “Help with what?”

“I don’t know how to do ‘poor’. What to wear, what to drive. I have no idea.”

“‘Poor’? You want to know how to do ‘poor’?” Her tone scalds like hot water. “These people aren’t ‘poor’. They have heart and history, they’ve worked in those businesses for decades, and all they’re trying to do is earn a living.”

“They can earn a living, just not on my real estate.”

“What do you need my help with?”

“Advice. A resumé, a new wardrobe of clothes. A car.”

She scoffs. “Yes, you won’t be able to cruise over in your Tesla.”

“I’ll need something old. Something with a stick shift.” I rub my hands with glee. “This is going to be a lot of fun.”

Buy it now!