Deal With The Devilish Wall Street Tycoon

Ami Cleveland's eyes snapped open.

The ceiling of the presidential suite spun in slow, sickening circles.

A vicious headache pounded behind her temples. She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her forehead, groaning as the pain pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

She took a shallow breath, and her stomach dropped. The expensive silk sheets beneath her smelled like cold, sharp men's cologne. It was a scent of cedar and expensive tobacco, and it did not belong to her.

A wave of pure panic crashed into her chest. She threw back the heavy duvet and looked down. She was completely naked.

Her breath caught in her throat. She scrambled backward against the headboard, her hands shaking as she pulled the thick blanket up, clutching it tightly against her bare chest.

Her wide eyes darted around the dim room. She tried to force her brain to work, trying to piece together the scattered fragments of last night's celebration party. Everything was a blur of champagne glasses and flashing lights. She vaguely remembered sneaking into this particular celebration because she had heard a rumor that Jerad Kidd, the elusive Wall Street titan, was staying in the presidential suite of this exact hotel. He was the only hope left to save her family.

Then, she saw it. Her custom-made evening gown, the one that cost more than most people made in a year, was torn down the side. It lay discarded on the dark velvet sofa across the room like a piece of trash.

Her legs felt weak, trembling from the wildness of a night she couldn't even remember. She pushed herself off the bed, her bare feet hitting the freezing dark marble floor. The cold shot up her spine.

She walked over and bent down to pick up the ruined dress. As she lifted the heavy fabric, a solid metal object slipped from the folds and hit the marble with a sharp clink.

Ami froze. She looked down. It was a custom platinum cufflink, heavy and expensive, engraved with a complex family crest. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she had no time to study it.

The sudden, harsh vibration of her phone on the nightstand shattered the dead silence of the room.

She jumped, dropping the dress. She rushed to the bed and grabbed the phone. The screen flashed with the name Sterling-her mother Else Odom's chief legal counsel.

She pressed the answer button, her fingers slick with cold sweat.

"Ami, where are you?" Sterling's voice was frantic, breathless. "The FBI is at the headquarters. They are freezing all the company accounts. Everything is gone."

Ami's face went completely white. The blood drained from her head so fast she swayed on her feet. The brutal reality of her family's impending bankruptcy ripped her out of the panic of losing her virginity to a stranger.

"I... I'll fix this," she whispered, her throat tight.

She hung up the phone. Her hands moved on autopilot. She grabbed the platinum cufflink and shoved it deep into her designer clutch. She decided right then to bury the absurdity of last night forever. She had bigger problems now.

She ran into the massive bathroom and turned on the faucet. She splashed freezing water onto her cheeks, slapping her own skin to force herself awake.

She gripped the edges of the marble sink and stared at her pale, exhausted reflection in the mirror.

"Get it together," she told herself. She swore to herself that today, she had to corner that mysterious Wall Street billionaire, Jerad Kidd, in the lobby. He was her only way out.

She rushed back into the room and clumsily pulled on the torn dress. She grabbed her long trench coat and wrapped it tightly around her body, tying the belt hard to hide the ripped fabric.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door of the suite and stepped into the quiet hallway, walking so fast she was almost running.

As the elevator descended, her chest felt tight. She nervously chewed on her lower lip, silently repeating the pitching speech she had prepared for the billionaire.

The elevator doors slid open at the ground floor. The blinding morning sunlight and the loud noise of the busy lobby hit her face.

She stepped out, her eyes scanning the luxurious seating area. She was looking for any group of men in suits that looked like a top-tier billionaire's entourage.

Suddenly, a crisp voice called out from behind her right shoulder.

"Professor Cleveland?"

Ami's entire body went stiff. Her stomach tied into a knot. She turned her head slowly and saw Tobias Mercer, one of her students from New York University. He was staring at her with wide, surprised eyes.

Tobias took a step closer. His eyes scanned her messy hair and the edge of the evening gown peeking out from under her coat at nine in the morning.

Ami felt a hot flush of shame burn her neck. To maintain her dignity as a professor, she panicked. She quickly lowered her head and brought her clutch up to cover the side of her face.

"Tobias. I... I'm just here to meet a friend," she stuttered, her voice shaking. She didn't wait for his reply. She turned her back to him and walked quickly toward the revolving glass doors.

Just as she kept her head down, rushing to escape, a group of men in sharp black suits walked through the main entrance. They were bodyguards, surrounding a tall man in the center.

To avoid Tobias seeing her face, Ami stepped sideways to make room. As she did, her shoulder brushed hard against the custom-tailored suit of the tall man in the middle of the group.

"Sorry," she mumbled to the floor, not stopping.

"Keep moving. The Boss has a meeting," Frank Baxter, the executive assistant, ordered the guards.

The tall man stopped walking. He turned his head slightly. His deep, dark eyes locked onto Ami's back as she scrambled away in a panic. The corner of his mouth lifted into a cold, barely visible smirk.

Ami Cleveland stood outside the sixty-story glass tower of the Kidd Group in lower Manhattan. She took a deep breath of the freezing air, trying to calm her racing heart.

She pushed open the heavy glass doors. The interior of the building was minimalist and cold, filled with sharp angles and gray steel. The atmosphere pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She walked straight to the front desk. She tried to keep her voice steady as she asked to see Jerad Kidd. The receptionist didn't even look up from her screen, coldly rejecting her because she had no appointment.

Ami backed away, her hands trembling. She moved to the waiting area on the side and pulled out her phone. Her screen was filled with urgent, desperate text messages from her mother.

She looked up and noticed a private elevator on the right side of the lobby. Two massive security guards stood perfectly still in front of it.

Just then, a small cart delivering floral arrangements rolled past her. The delivery man bumped the corner of a table, and a thick file folder slipped off his cart onto the floor.

Ami didn't think. She acted. She quickly bent down and picked up the file. She straightened her spine, pretending to be the delivery man's supervisor, and walked fast, following right behind the cart toward the private elevator.

As she got close, one of the security guards stepped forward and held out a massive hand, blocking her path. He demanded to see a high-level access pass.

Ami raised her chin. She forced her voice to be loud and authoritative.

"This is an urgent legal document regarding an SEC investigation," she lied, her heart hammering against her ribs. "If this is delayed, you will be held personally responsible."

The guard hesitated for a split second. In that exact moment, the light above the private elevator lit up. A soft "ding" echoed in the quiet space.

The solid steel doors slowly slid open. Frank Baxter, the executive assistant she had briefly seen at the hotel, stepped out first.

Frank saw Ami. His eyebrows pulled together in a tight frown. He immediately stepped forward, using his body to block her path.

Ami didn't care. She pushed past Frank's arm, her eyes locking onto the inside of the elevator.

Jerad Kidd stood in the center of the steel box. He wore a dark, custom-tailored suit. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket. His eyes looked at her like she was an inanimate object, completely devoid of warmth.

Ami's breath hitched. Her chest tightened painfully. She recognized that cold, flawless face from countless financial news segments.

She ignored the security guards rushing toward her. She lunged at the elevator and grabbed the thick metal doors with both hands just as they started to close.

The sensors caught her movement. The doors bounced back open. A flash of extreme, dangerous darkness crossed Jerad's eyes.

Ami ignored the stinging pain in her palms from the heavy doors. She spoke fast, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

"Mr. Kidd, I am Ami from Cleveland Industrial. I just need three minutes of your time."

Jerad didn't move a single muscle. He just stood there, looking down at her from his height. His eyes slowly scanned her wrinkled trench coat and her messy hair from last night.

He leaned forward slightly. When he spoke, his voice was low, deep, and meant only for her ears.

"Do the junk bonds of Cleveland Industrial really need to be pitched by a disheveled woman?" he asked, his tone dripping with mockery.

The words hit Ami like a physical slap to the face. The humiliation burned through her veins, striking at the core of the pride she used to hold so high.

Her eyes instantly filled with hot tears. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper, forcing herself not to let the tears fall.

"Our core assets are solid," she tried to explain, but her voice shook violently, betraying her extreme humiliation.

Jerad straightened his posture. The absolute coldness returned to his eyes, looking at her as if she were a pathetic clown putting on a bad show.

He didn't say another word to her. He just gave Frank a very slight, almost invisible flick of his fingers.

Frank immediately stepped forward. He grabbed Ami's wrists and forcefully pried her fingers off the edge of the elevator doors.

Jerad reached out and pressed the button to close the doors.

"Throw this crazy woman out," he ordered, his voice flat and merciless.

Ami watched in absolute despair as the steel doors slid shut, cutting off the cold, handsome face of the man who held her family's survival in his hands.

The two security guards grabbed her by the arms. They lifted her off her feet. Under the strange, judging stares of every employee in the lobby, they dragged her roughly toward the front entrance.

Ami hit the cold, hard concrete of the New York sidewalk. The security guards had literally tossed her out of the glass doors.

She sat there for a moment, her palms scraped and stinging. Pedestrians walking by shot her looks of pity or disgust. She quickly pulled the collar of her trench coat up to hide her face, scrambled to her feet, and ran.

She ducked into a cheap, dingy coffee shop on the corner. The air smelled like burnt beans. She ordered the cheapest black coffee just to have something warm to hold against her freezing, shaking fingers.

She sat in the darkest booth in the back. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She looked at the names of the wealthy heirs and family friends who used to constantly beg for her attention.

She dialed the number of her ex-boyfriend, Clemens Patrick. He answered on the third ring, his tone impatient and dismissive.

The second Ami mentioned needing a cash flow bridge, Clemens cut her off. He claimed his family trust fund had just been frozen and quickly hung up the phone.

Ami swallowed the lump in her throat. She refused to give up. She dialed five more numbers. Every single one of them either rejected her call or sent her straight to voicemail.

Outside the dirty window, the sky turned gray and a cold drizzle began to fall. Ami's heart sank to the absolute bottom of her chest. The cold reality of the world hit her hard.

Suddenly, her phone screen lit up. It was a text message from an unknown number.

Ami opened it. Her blood ran cold. It was a photo of her mother, Else Odom, walking down the street, secretly followed by three large men in black jackets.

Ami clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the scream from ripping out of her throat. Her fingers shook violently as she dialed her mother's number.

The phone rang for a long time. Finally, Else answered. Her voice sounded incredibly tired and aged, lacking its usual sharp edge.

"Mom, where are you?" Ami gasped.

"They're here, Ami," Else said, her voice trembling. "The loan sharks. They've surrounded the perimeter of the Long Island estate."

"Call the police! I'm calling 911 right now!" Ami cried, tears finally spilling over her lashes.

"No," Else let out a bitter, broken laugh. "These people have umbrellas in the police department and in politics. The cops won't come."

Else suddenly lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "Listen to me. Go back to your apartment right now. Get your passport. I've already arranged a ticket for you to Switzerland."

"No! I am not leaving you!" Ami shouted into the phone, ignoring the stares of the people in the coffee shop. "I am not leaving you alone in New York to face the federal charges and the mob!"

Else choked back a sob. "I made a mistake, Ami. A terrible investment decision years ago. That's what caused this hostile takeover."

Ami's mind raced. She remembered the news reports over the past few weeks. Cleveland Industrial was being shorted by a mysterious shell company.

Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. She realized this wasn't just bad business. This was a premeditated, malicious slaughter. Normal borrowing would never fill this bottomless pit.

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass erupted through the phone speaker, followed by a man's angry, violent shout.

Else screamed. The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in Ami's ear like a flatline.

Ami shot up from the booth. Her knee slammed into the table, knocking over her coffee cup. The scalding black liquid spilled all over the back of her hand, but she didn't even feel the burn.

She sprinted out of the coffee shop and into the freezing rain. She stood on the edge of the curb, frantically waving her arms to hail a cab.

A yellow taxi screeched to a halt. She threw open the door, jumped into the back seat, and shouted the address of her family's Long Island estate to the driver.

Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely unlock her tablet. She opened the browser and frantically searched for any information on Jerad Kidd's private schedule.

Every article, every press release showed a flawless, impenetrable public itinerary. There was no official way to get near him.

Desperation clawed at her throat. Then, a name flashed in her mind. Silas Chandler. He was one of her students, a rich kid who constantly bragged about hanging out in Jerad's outer social circles.

She dialed Silas's number. When he answered, she didn't politely ask. She used his failing final grade as leverage, half-threatening and half-begging him to find out where Jerad was tonight.

Silas hesitated for a long, agonizing minute. Finally, he gave in. He told her Jerad was going to an underground street racing track in Queens tonight.

Ami lowered the tablet. She stared out the window at the blurry, rain-streaked highway. The panic in her eyes slowly hardened into something cold and absolute. She was going to risk her life tonight.