A Billionaire Affair

Chapter 1 (#ubccee690-ccc0-511f-9d16-98f503139410)

Chapter 2 (#u9ee85a63-3d59-5e29-8284-5e7074389279)

Chapter 3 (#uf493f802-4170-52fc-8064-ce9044b8b2f6)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#ud62d9db4-8489-5592-852c-5ff7a6070cb6)

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alek Ansah nodded sharply at the pilot and crew of his private plane just before disembarking. Quickly he jogged down the metal stairs, not even paying attention to the crisp London night air whipping against the hand-tailored tuxedo on his well-built frame. He checked his de Grisogono watch as he strode across the airfield to his waiting black Bentley Mulsanne. By the time he reached it, his longtime driver had exited the vehicle and held the rear door open.

“Julius,” Alek greeted him, his accent a blend of his Ghanaian ancestry and his upbringing in England. He unbuttoned his jacket and slid onto the smooth leather seat.

“Sir.” His driver gave him a polite nod of his head.

As soon as the door closed, Alek relaxed and settled his chin in his hand as he released a heavy breath and looked out the darkly tinted window as the vehicle eased forward. The sights of London were reflected in the depths of his coal-black eyes. The capital of both England and the United Kingdom had served as his home base for the last five years.

That would change tomorrow.

Alek was surprised at the slight tinge of nervousness he felt. Was it leftover anxiety about the fear of flying that he hid so well, or the day of reckoning fast approaching? He sighed, his mood now pensive.

The ride from the airport to his penthouse apartment in the heart of historical and prestigious Westminster took less than fifteen minutes. As the car rolled to a smooth stop outside the building constructed of stone, granite and bronze, Alek looked up at the illuminated floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment. It was the lone flat on the tenth floor.

He climbed from the vehicle before Julius could even leave his seat. “Good night, Julius,” Alek called over his shoulder, already loosening his bow tie and the top button of his monogrammed shirt as he strolled up the length of the walkway and entered the building.

After a full day of work topped with his evening flight to and from Paris just to attend a charity event at the Pavillon d’Armenonville, his muscles felt weak with fatigue—a rarity for him. He was strong and fit and thrived on challenge. Still, he was human and required even minimal rest.

Striding across the stylishly appointed lobby, the soles of his handmade Italian shoes beat against the marble floors as he made his way to the elevators. He entered his private code for the elevator to go to the penthouse and rode in silence. As he stood there with his legs apart and his hands behind his back, he flexed his shoulders and rolled his head to relieve the slight strain of tension he felt. He paused when he caught sight of his reflection against the bronze of the double doors.

He did a double take and then chuckled a bit. Earlier that night one of the waitresses shared with him that he should audition to be the first black James Bond. He was nearly 100 percent sure she thought he was Idris Elba. He didn’t know whether to be flattered by that or insulted that he was the honoree at the very event where she worked and she had no clue who he was. That was a first in the circles in which he moved.

The doors of the elevators opened directly into his apartment; he removed his white dinner jacket and folded it over the back of one of the four modern charcoal sofas in his expansive living room.

“Your drink, sir.”

Alek turned away from the view of the London cityscape to find his loyal manservant, Huntsman, still very much awake, dressed in customary black on black attire and ready to serve. With a smile, he accepted the snifter of brandy from the small wooden tray held by the bald middle-aged man. The warmed crystal felt good in his hand as he swirled the alcohol and took a small sniff of the aromas released by the heating of the glass before taking a satisfying sip.

Over the rim of the glass, he looked out at the sight of Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament in the distance. At night, he often found himself standing there in front of his windows enjoying the sight.

To think there was a time when none of it mattered to him. Simplicity had been key.

With a smirk, he looked around at his lavish surroundings. Everything had changed, and sometimes he wasn’t sure it was for the better. With a slight clench of his square jaw, Alek focused on his six-foot reflection, letting the cityscape laid out before him blur as he did.

Sometimes he felt he hardly knew the man in the reflection.

“Big day tomorrow, sir.”

With another sip, Alek glanced over his shoulder to find that Huntsman had never moved from his spot, the serving tray still in his hand. “Very,” he agreed, curving his lips into a smile.

Huntsman chuckled.

The two had been officially employer and employee over the last fifteen of Alek’s thirty years of life, but they had a friendship and a mutual respect that extended beyond a work relationship and their twenty-year age difference. Huntsman knew almost everything about Alek’s life and pretended to turn a blind eye to his jet-setting ways filled with a string of beautiful women that gave the international paparazzi plenty on which to report. It was well documented that Alek Ansah worked hard, but he played just as hard.

Still, Huntsman was very aware of Alek’s inner struggles, and he knew Alek’s imminent return to New York was a mixed blessing.

“Your luggage and travel arrangements are prepared. Are you?” Huntsman asked, stepping up to stand beside him.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Alek asked, and took another deep sip.

“No, sir, you do not.”

In the morning, Alek would return to the corporate headquarters of the Ansah Dalmount Group in New York to officially claim his position as the cochairman of the billion-dollar conglomerate. He was fulfilling the wishes of his father, Kwame Ansah, and not his own. “You won, Dad,” he mouthed as he lifted his snifter in a toast and looked up to the heavens with a small sardonic shake of his head, as a wave of grief caused his gut to clench.

Five years ago, the lives of both his father and his father’s business partner, Frances Dalmount, were tragically ended in a crash of ADG’s company jet. He had been deep into his grief and grappling with the lost opportunity to mend his strained relationship with his father when the reading of the will completely turned Alek’s life upside down.

Alek’s grandfather, Ebo Ansah, began a financial services firm in Ghana in the 1950s that grew significantly in the mid-1960s, providing a very respectable living for his wife, Kessie, and their four children. His eldest son, Kwame, grew under the tutelage of his father and was anxious for his opportunity to enter the family business. They expanded the fiscal services offered to their loyal clients and grew their business. Life was good, and with the Ansah men working together doggedly, it became even better. Upon Ebo’s passing in the early 1980s Kwame took over the running of the business, aggressively taking over smaller banks and insurance and investment firms to catapult himself to wealth and prominence. When the opportunity arose in 1987 to join forces with Frances Dalmount, a business competitor from England, he accepted with the intent to use their combined resources to take on other business ventures. The Ansah Dalmount Group was formed, eventually becoming one of the most successful conglomerates in the world with its business umbrella encompassing financial services, oil, hotels/resorts/casinos and telecommunications.

Kwame Ansah relished every moment of their success because he knew his father would be proud. And he wanted nothing more than for his eldest son to join him to advance the company even further. It was their biggest point of contention.

Alek clenched his jaw in regret.

After graduating with a Master of Business Administration degree from Columbia University, Alek did not enter the family business as planned and instead fostered his love of the outdoors and sailing by working as a deckhand on a luxury mega yacht, with plans to rise up the ranks to captain his own vessel. What his father saw as defiance was just him fighting for his independence to be his own man. It was the first time he ever defied him.

Back then he felt so much pride in striking out on his own.

Back then he was pleased that his job kept him away from home so that he could avoid the look of disappointment and anger in his father’s eyes.