Still scowling, I turn to my right to look out of the window willing traffic to move. I don’t even bother telling my driver to hurry it up. I run a hand over my face in frustration before glancing down at my Rolex. Unfortunately and irritatingly, I can’t control the city’s traffic either-one of the city’s top twenty-five most eligible bachelors or not. And right now, I just want to get back to my penthouse and have a stiff glass of brandy before calling it a night. Call me a control freak, but I want everything within it to go exactly as I say it should. I just don’t trust anyone to handle some of the tasks I’m intent on overseeing myself. Sure, I’m well-aware I could hire on more staff. It was one thing after the other until I was struggling to keep from flinging my desk out of my twenty-story-high office window. But today has just been one of those days. I guess I’m known for being a bit of an asshole, but I’m not usually as irritable as I am today. Being a billionaire is enough to land me a spot in this sorry excuse for a publication. I look down at the paper in my hand and scowl at my placement in the city’s top twenty-five most eligible bachelors. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I wasn’t constantly expanding my company. I spend all day in the office of my headquarters in the city, and then when I go home, I usually spend a good portion of the night in my office at home too before I finally crash. I’ve been doing it for so long it’s second-nature to me. Is it too much to ask for my employees to do their damn jobs competently? All of my days are busy with work. As the owner and self-appointed CEO, I’m in charge of every aspect of my business, but dealing with the top-dollar mergers and acquisitions keeps me wrapped up in meetings all the time. Running my company, Channing Enterprises, would be a hell of a lot easier if I could just do it all myself, but I am only one man. I’ve about reached a ten on the pissed-off scale, and I’m ready to snap.

“I don’t care what you need to do, Martin,” I interrupt him, “but get it done!” That last bit comes out as a growl, but I’m unapologetic, as always.

I don’t know why I haven’t fired him yet. “Sir, we just need a bit more time-“ my assistant, Martin, is babbling on the other end of the line. I’ve been in meetings all day dealing with a pack of morons, and I’m not in the mood for this shit. Stressed doesn’t begin to describe the day I’ve had.

Stalked by the Billionaire by Emma Bray