In Love With Stark-The Billionaire

Isabella? Oh God. Talk to me, Isabella."

Stark dropped to her side and carefully lifted the side board that had tipped onto her when she'd clipped it failing down the steps.

She didn't move.

Yanking out his cell phone, he placed an emergency call. The connection phased in and out because of the storm, making it difficult got him to relay the necessary information. It soon became clear that it would be impossible to send in a Life Flight helicopter given the current whether condition.

During the endless minutes that followed, she didn't stir.

More frightened than he could ever remember being, he checked for a pulse. When he found it, he could have bawled like a baby.

He spared his half sister, Jennifer, a deadly glare. "Get out," he ordered.

He didn't bother watching to see if she had obeyed, instead returning to the call. Demanding. Pleading. Swearing.

The next half hour, as he waited for EMT to arrive, proved the longest of his life, driving him to very brink of despair. If Claire hadn't been there, her steady, reassuring voice a comforting balm, he'd have totally lost it.

He crouched above Isabella, more helpless than he'd ever been before in his life. The great Jack Stark couldn't buy or bargain or bribe his ways out of this disaster. There was only one thing he could do, something he didn't remember ever having tried before.

He prayed.

Once the emergency personnel arrived, they stabilized Isabella before whisking her out to the ambulance. He lost count of the number of times he told them she was pregnant. Or how many times he told that they were supposed to marry in less than seventy-two hours.

He offered everything he could think of in exchange for their help in saving her. None of it did any good. The event if that night leaked through his fingers on a course all their own, beyond his ability to direct or control.

It wasn't until the paramedics had loaded Isabella into the ambulance that he faced a truth he'd been dodging for weeks. He loved her. He loved her more than life itself. How could he have not recognized it sooner?

Maybe because he'd never experienced such depth of emotion before, not that it mattered now.

During the endless ride to the hospital, he made up for that lapses. He didn't know whether she heard. He could only hope that somehow, someway, his words skipped through to that realm of oblivion where she hid from him.

He'd been blind not to have recognized his feelings sooner, to have believed that what he felt for her could be anything less than love. The first chance he got, he'd correct that oversight. He just needed one more chance.

That was all. Just one.

In a city sprawled beneath a canvas of towering glass and steel, streetlights painted the streets in a warm, artificial glow, and the distant hum of traffic melded with the ambient sounds of laughter and conversation.

It's a lovely morning. Isabella had been on a spot for more than fifteen minutes without any hope of the light turning green. She felt so impatient, anxious, and frustrated.

"What the hell is going on there? She yelled from behind.

"Relax madame. It's an accident!" A chauffeur just in the next lane responded.

"Why is this taking so much time? She said as she pulled her head out of her car to have a better view of whatever was going on ahead, just a few meters away.

She felt the rotation of people's heads toward her. Like hundreds of eyes on her with a look depicting that she just acted weird and impatient.

"They're working on it. In a few minutes, we will be out of this," the same chauffeur responded.

She couldn't just afford a smile in return for that. She is so pissed at everything. A range of anger has taken over every bit of her. She tried every means, tried different therapies on herself, and took a deep breath to keep herself calm, but none of them turned out to be effective.

The only option she knew to solve the underlying problem and make it all go away was getting rid of Stark Juvenile, and she won't be able to do that if she doesn't appear in his office before he embarks on his next trip.

"Oh my God! This is bullshit." She said this as she hit her hand on the wheel. "I can't believe I'm stuck here.

"I need to get myself out of this spot right now. I mean right now!"

She looked around, trying to figure out the possibility. Unfortunately, she couldn't.

" Ehhh! Don't try anything stupid! You can't move your retro out of there." A passerby said this as he walked past her car.

"Thank you." She replied with a gloomy look.

"Shit, this is inexorable. I hope this gets cleared very soon. That spoiled psychotic brate thinks he could always have things his way."

"If it has always worked out for him, this will definitely be a failure for him. Not my ranch. Never!" She said this as she turned off the engine and thought of the next thing to do.

"No way! That is not going to happen." She said this as she adjusted her seat and assumed a resting posture.

A few minutes later, a man in a black suit came out of his car just behind Isabella's and hit the tip of his middle finger on Isabella's windshield.

He did that for a few seconds before Isabella could notice someone standing by her car. She seemed to have given up on leaving the spot any time sooner.

Immediately she noticed, she adjusted the driver's seat, tuned down the volume of the radio, and stretched out her head towards the rearview mirror to get a glimpse of what had really happened when she was off.

The man in the black suit saw all that and her reactions. He was relentlessly pointing at the traffic lights.

"It's green already. Move it!" He said it repeatedly.

Immediately, she realized that she was fine but failed to get the message. He stepped backward a bit, observed her for a few seconds, and then threw his hands into the air as he returned to his car and joined the other lane.

"The driver seems fine, but not in her right state of mind." He said this to other people in those cars behind and to passersby who were worried. They are afraid that something bad must have happened to her.

She read his reaction as the man walked back to his car.

Instantly, she asked herself a series of questions because she felt she was definitely missing something: "What is really going on? Did I do anything wrong?"

She didn't figure out the cause of such a reaction from people she had never met before. Then she shrugged and tried to assume her initial posture and tune up the volume of the radio.

The next second, she realized what she had done.

"Oh my God!!"

How long have I been left behind? She saw vehicles already moving in the other lane, and from the rearview mirror, she noticed vehicles behind her were already joining the other lanes.

She felt embarrassed for the scene she had just created.

Before she could get the engine on, all the cars behind her had already joined the other lane and zoomed off.

"I'm sorry...!

Really Sorry..!" She said as she zoomed off the spot.

The motel where Isabella passed the night was just a few kilometers from Stark's office.

Stark Juvenile was a young billionaire who was born in Denver and has all his companies in Denver as well.

He was so passionate and ready to do anything to obtain the ownership of Johnson Ranch, and the only Johnson still on earth is Isabella.

She rejected every offer placed before her by the Starks men. The ranch is located in the heart of Ohio. She sees the ranch as the only thing connecting her to her ancestors.

She is ready to do everything to prevent such a thing from happening. Because of that, she traveled down here to make her decision known to the boss himself.

She felt probably his men aren't delivering her message to their boss, or probably the boss himself is being adamant, affirming what people in and out of Denver had said about him.

Whether they are right or wrong, that wasn't one of her concerns. Isabella only cares about how she will stop him from acquiring what she cherishes most in this world.

She drove into the garage of the tall building. She stepped out of her car and took the elevator to the 20th floor, which happens to be the last floor.

Stark owns the building. Each floor is occupied by different firms, of which he happens to be the largest shareholder.

Roughly, he owns them all.

Still in the elevator, she was joined in the elevator by two security men and one young lady.

Isabella was so sure that she was a staff because she had a tag on the left side of her chest.

The staff stood so close to Isabella.

Isabella adjusted her dress and her stetson, pretending as if everything seemed fine.

At first, she felt they came for her because that is one of the easiest things Stark is capable of because the situation is of no difference to a prey who willingly walked into the den of its predator. There are no differences at all.

After a few seconds of waiting for the show to begin, she assumed they hadn't come for her.

If a wicked person would have that in mind, then that must have been successfully executed before she even stepped foot into the elevator.

"Stark can't wait to set his eyes on me." She said that in her mind.

"You look so beautiful, sexy, and smell good. Keep maintaining your good shape and your skin." The lady said so as she stepped out of the elevator with the other two security men on the 18th floor.

"Thank you!" She giggled.

She was left alone in the elevator, heading to the boss's office.

She felt nervous and needed to try out some therapy on herself.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, took a deep breath, adjusted her clothes, and repacked her hair.

They noticed the elevator stopped, and a door opened. "Today is the day. No going back."

She stretched out her neck to affirm if she's truly in the right place.

She felt the atmosphere was different.

Without taking too much of her time, she stepped out and walked towards the receptionist.

She really loved the interior decorations and was also shocked. She saw people, all in expensive suits, deliberating. She could see them all sitting around the table.

Isabella walked up to the pair of gigantic double wooden doors that led into Juvenile Stark's inner sanctum and paused to gather her self-control and get herself ready for the moment she had been waiting for. She took a deep breath. Steady.

"Yeah. I can do this. No going back." She said to herself,

She remembered how much was at stake. She knew security wouldn't have let her get this far if Stark hadn't approved it. Humorless, dry smiles took over her lips.

Maybe he was as curious to meet the one lady who refused to cave to his demand as she was to meet the one man who never gave up.

The thought helped fortify her, and she thrust open the doors and stepped into Stark's conference room.

Another world appeared. A world surrounded by an infinite band of tinted glass provides a stunning panorama of Denver City.

Heat and humidity shimmered on the far side of the windows, while inside all remained cool, quiet, and rich.

Rich in possessions. Rich in design. Rich with people.

An inlaid conference table stretched before her, the strips of wood that made the surface a kaleidoscope of type and color.

The craftsman had employed every variety of wood imaginable, from deep masculine mahogany to the blush white of red oak, then to the plummy tones of cherry and lots more.

Isabella sensed a design present, but she didn't have the opportunity to examine the table, not with the several dozen people seated around the circumstance, their papers littering the surface.

At her advertisement, all eyes swiveled to clash with her, and she took a moment to sweep her gaze over each person in an attempt to identify who was Stark Juvenile, the young billionaire, about average height.

For an instant, she focused on the person seated at the head of the table before dismissing him.

Afterward, she noticed a man standing to one side of the room, leaning against a sideboard with a steaming coffee cup in hand.

She focused her attention on him, trying so hard to compare that person to Stark Juvenile, whom she occasionally saw on television and in many magazines, and the pain in her ass.

Business executive was written all over him, from the tip of his Versace shoe to the black Armani suit stretched across his impressive, broad shoulders.

He topped her by a full nine or ten inches, every one of his sculpted inches packed with lean, solid muscle.

She tilted her head back and peered out from beneath the brim of her stetson.

His height forced her to look a long way up to meet his gaze, which put her at an instant disadvantage.

Deep-set obsidian eyes stared at her from one of the most striking positions she'd ever seen. Lean and golden, with high, sharp cheekbones, the blood of his Native American ancestors had left an indelible stamp on that impressive bone structure. His hair was black and longer than conventional.

She was surprised to find herself in the position of considering whether the man over there was Stark or not.

She felt really bad and disdained.

He returned her look with an open once-over that felt less offensive than something more discreet.

He lifted a sooty eyebrow. "Lost your way?"

"On the contrary, she just found it. She approached him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course, Isabella Johnson," he answered promptly. "Age, twenty-six. Born May 25. One hundred twenty pounds. The sole heir of Johnson.

A hard smile flitted across his mouth. "I believed that was why you stepped into this building without any notice concerning your visitation. But it's my pleasure to have the sole heir of Johnson Ranch right here."

"You own the ranch that I'm ready to do anything to acquire," he added.

His swift summation of the facts threw her off stride, which was no doubt the purpose of his recital. She recovered with all due speed, getting straight to the point.

"Your four henchmen just visited me. I'm returning the favor." She said as she spared a glance at the suits and ties grouped around the conference table, who were listening with avid curiosity.

She jerked her head in their direction. "You want to do this in public? Or would you rather we settle out the difference in private?"

Without taking his gaze from her, he issued a single word: "Out."

There was a dignified scramble after that, one that would have left her laughing if the circumstances had been different.

The instant the door closed behind the final underlying, she squared off against him.

She had spent the entire trip to Denver planning what she would say, and she concluded to give him chapter and verse in a single, direct volley.

"You have approached me about selling my ranch to you. Let me put it this way: Your henchmen did many things that I had lost count of."

"I have been civil with them each time they have turned up at my doorstep." She paused. Exchange gases for a while and then continued.

"I have told them "no" as clearly and politely as I know how. But it has gotten to the point where I can't turn around without tripping over them.

"It is going to stop, and you are going to make that stop." She spoke bluntly, pretending not to have any sense of intimacy.

To her dismay, the only change in his expression was a deepening intensity in the way he watched her and a slight smile that added immense appeal to an all-too-attractive face.

The distraction cost her. It took her a split second to remember where she'd left off in her script and get back on point.

"Anyway," she continued doggedly.

"I have come to tell you in person that I am not selling, in the hope that you will finally get the message and leave me alone." She said that and then continued.

"I don't care what you do; I don't care how many thugs you send; I am not leaving my ranch. I hope you will get that straight."

At the end of her recital, Stark returned his coffee cup to the sideboard and faced her. She could tell from his expression that she wouldn't like his response.

Before he could speak, a discreet buzz emanated from a nearby phone.

With a brief apology, he took the call. "No interruptions," he said without preamble. He listened for an instant before grimacing, then glanced at her and said, "This will only take a minute."

"Do you want me to wait outside?" She hated making the offer, but common courtesy had been bred into her bones.

He shook his head before addressing the caller.

"Hello, Kate. What can I do for my least favorite sister?"

Isabella could hear the furious blast from across the room and wince. Someone wasn't happy.

"Sorry. Half-sister. Is that better?" It was not because the angry diatribe continued until he cut it off. "Unless I'm mistaken, you have called to ask me a favor. Instead of bringing up old history, I suggest you get to it." He said it huskily.

She listened at length, and she shivered at the cold bitterness of his expression. "Is that how he really felt toward his sister? I didn't understand it."

"So what if she is his half-sibling?