The Billionaire's Delinquent Bride

Sofia's POV

My friends in America think I have the best brother in the world because he paid for a private charter plane to bring adult cream pies to one of my parties.

But he's Machiavelli and Lucifer's bastard love child. So for the good of mankind, I'm going to murder him. Then ask Dad for understanding and forgiveness. It's too much to wait for the silver Mercedes to come to a complete stop.

Or for my chauffeur/bodyguard to open the door. Seething, I jump out and march into the glossy skyscraper that houses the Golden Gate Group's headquarters in downtown Paris.

I walk through the vast lobby, the clacking of my Chanel heels like a metronome on the marble floor. My entourage follows. They're my mom's spies, but I tolerate them and pretend I don't know what they're really up to because they can be useful.

Look at Exhibit One Ms. Katherine serves as my assistant when she isn't reporting my every move to my mom. She's rushing forward to hit the button for the executive elevator car to make sure that the doors are open and ready for me to step right in.

I'm not an executive at my family's giant multinational conglomerate, but I get to use the special glossy black elevator anyway because my doting dad, who's chairman of the Golden Gate Group, gave me access. It's too bad Charles hasn't received the memo.

But I'm going to make very sure he gets it in the next few minutes. The elevator doors shut, and Ms. Katherine hits the button for the thirty-ninth floor, where my brother's office is located.

My temper is boiling, but I try not to scowl. What Charles did was infuriating, but it's not worth getting wrinkles for. No. Instead of having fury create lines on my face, I'm going to unload on my older brother.

He deserves nothing less. How dare he. The second the elevator stops and the door opens, I walk out. Ms. Katherine follows, along with two bodyguards. Ms. Lucia, the most senior of Charles four executive assistants, starts to rise from her desk.

She's also the most conservatively dressed, in a black skirt suit with pantyhose and heels. She even has pearls in her ears. Her face is covered in multiple shades of nude makeup, which, unfortunately, makes her appear oddly colorless.

"Ms. Ben," she says, her tone very circumspect. "Mr. Ben isn't available " I raise a hand. "Don't. I know he doesn't have an appointment." I have my own eyes and ears at the headquarters.

Although I have no managerial power at the company, I have something better ready access to my father. He indulges me and lets me have what I want, as long as it's within reason.

But "within reason" is pretty wide when it comes to my requests. Everyone at Golden Gate knows this, and they suck up to me some overtly, some subtly. And I use it to my advantage. I need, to survive cases like this.

Ms. Lucia bites her lip but doesn't try very hard to stop me. Getting in my way wouldn't end well for her. I open the double doors to Charles corner office. It's enormous, the décor tasteful, with bright, neutral colors. Two entire walls are made of glass.

They overlook the Seine River and the sprawling city that houses almost twenty percent of the country's population. It's a massively urban landscape, complete with bustling crowds, snarling traffic, and distant hills.

But one thing mars the vista a gigantic black-and-white billboard featuring a hot underwear model whose face is so gorgeous it's gotta be Photoshopped. Too bad for Charles, it's a male model...with a huge bulge, you can't miss.

Too bad it doesn't glow neon pink in the dark. That'd serve my brother right, especially since he loves to work late. Charles looks up from a black leather folio, a small frown on his face. Unlike me, he doesn't care much about getting wrinkles. But then, he's male and married to a perfect merger wife.

He doesn't need to keep his face pretty anymore. He just has to be fit enough to look decent in the bespoke Italian suits he loves more than his spouse. "Sofia," he says, his voice cool. "You don't have an appointment." I point a finger accusingly.

"I don't need an appointment to see my family! Especially when that family happens to be an irritating older brother who ruined my shopping! Do you know how humiliating it is to have all your cards declined?" "Hmm..." He makes a show of consideration. "No. It's never happened to me. Coffee?" My blood pressure skyrockets.

I wonder if I can throw him against one of his giant windows hard enough to break it and drop him thirty-nine stories. But the glass looks thick. So probably not, assuming my anger would give me the strength to toss my much larger older brother around in the first place.

The only option left is punching holes in his head with my spiky stilettos. Or better yet, poison the specialty snacks in the break room next door. Ms. Helen ordered them just for him, but I know a few things that would give him epic diarrhea.

"I don't want coffee!" I say. "I want to know why you froze my accounts!" He leaves the chair and comes around the desk then gestures at one of the couches in the seating area. Since I'm feeling pissed, I take his favorite armchair and cross my legs.

He raises an eyebrow but sits down on the couch to my left. One arm draped along the back of his seat, he regards me coolly. "You didn't go to the restaurant as I asked." I pause for a second, wondering what he's talking about.

Then I remember Ms. Katherine relaying a message about meeting Dossier #32 for a freakin' Matsun Date. I told her there was no way I was going on that particular type of blind date. Matsun Date is what you do when you're serious about considering the other person as a spouse.

"You froze my cards over that?" I stare at Charles in shock. "Yes. I told you, Father and Mother want me to have you married by the end of the year. I'm going to do whatever it takes. I already had Ms. Helen order a dress and reserve a venue for you. All you need to do is show up with a groom."

"And I told you that the man isn't my type, and I don't want your assistant planning my wedding! You weren't listening, were you?"

Sofia's POV

Still not listening, Charles starts to tick off points on his fingers. "He's well educated, trilingual, in charge of......."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. And if we get married, 'our combined family holdings' market cap will increase by twelve percent.' And that's a conservative estimate, according to the analysis you've done," I say bitterly, cutting him off so he won't waste time listing up the inconsequential advantages of marrying the man. His looks, height, GPA, how many degrees he has, his stock portfolio positions, real estate holdings...

And, of course, the most important point: his family's market capitalization. And the fact that the company's in charge of a very popular cosmetics brand. Charles spreads his hands.

"You could've picked last week's guy. That would've resulted in a fifteen percent increase."

"No," I say firmly. Amazingly, he can keep track of details like that. All the dossiers look the same to me: rich, educated, and have something to add to the Golden Gate Group's bottom line. He sighs.

"We gave you a hundred dossiers. How hard can it be to choose one?" "Extremely, since I don't like any of them."

"They're the most sought-after, most eligible bachelors in the country! We created the list two years ago, and forty-four of them have been snatched up since. That should tell you something about Mother's discerning taste in men. If you keep being so stubborn, there won't be anyone left to choose from."

"Good! Then I'll be able to pick my own!" Charles gives me a pitying look. "Remember how that worked out for you last time? He gave you up for two hundred million dollar."

Humiliation sears my face. Two hundred million dollars isn't even real money. But eight years ago, an ex-boyfriend accepted that amount that pocket change to dump me. Mom called it a service to my future.

I have to agree that if I'd married that cheap jerk, my life would've been miserable. But that doesn't mean I'm okay with Charles rubbing it in my face. Or my parents trying to force their picks on me.

"It isn't like you never made a mistake," I shoot back. "At least mine took half a billion dollars." He states it matter-of-factly, but it only pisses me off more.

What the hell does he think this is? A competition to see who has the shittier ex? If so, fine! My ex is worse than his. That asshole fled the country after discarding me like garbage.

A smart move on his part, because if I ever see him again, I'm going to have Mr. Clifford run him over, then back up and do it again. My family has the best lawyers in the country.

My chauffeur-slash-bodyguard would get off with a minor slap on the wrist, and I'd have the pleasure of turning that lower intestinal orifice into a human pancake.

"And unlike you, I learned my lesson," Charles adds. "Which is why I married my wife." And thanks to that merger marriage, our combined market cap increased by twenty percent. But to me, that isn't the most important thing.

"Uh-huh. And are you happy now?" I ask. Charles looks at me like he doesn't understand the question. Finally, he says, "We have a son." "That isn't what I asked."

"We have a son," he says again. "What more do I need?" "Love? Maybe a little devotion to each other? I mean, do you even like her?" Pity fleets across his face. And the fact that he feels sorry for me for wanting love makes me madder and just a little bit sad.

I flick a hand in the direction of the doors, on the other side of which Ms. Helen is undoubtedly working diligently at her desk.

"Or is Ms. Helen buying yet another anniversary gift for her?" "Ms. Helen has exceptional taste and pays meticulous attention to detail." He explains it to me like he's talking to a five-year-old who doesn't understand why everyone can't get a piece of candy.

Of course, she has all those qualities and more. Otherwise, she wouldn't have lasted so long working for my brother. "Dad picks out Mom's gifts himself." "Because his assistant is too old-fashioned to know what's trendy," to Charles says.

My teeth grind with frustration. It's just like my brother to be obtuse on this matter, but I know he's doing it on purpose. He didn't study economics at the University of Chicago and then get into Harvard Business School by being stupid.

"You know that isn't true," I say. "There's nothing wrong with Mr. Patrick's taste." "No. What's true is that you want to benefit from being a member of this family without living up to any of the responsibilities." I bristle.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not causing some huge rift or political infighting by trying to challenge you for control of the company. Why? Because I know you're better suited for that sort of thing. And instead of being a concert pianist like I wanted, I've accepted that working like that wouldn't be okay. So I'm heading up the Ivy Foundation."

"Leading one of our family's charitable organizations is fine, but you have other responsibilities as well."

"I don't just run it, I created it. And it's a good fit. Being a pianist myself, I can discover talent faster than anyone else around here. And I'm not drawing a salary." He gives me a look.

"Do you think this is about saving a few pennies?" Okay, he has a point. My salary wouldn't even be a rounding error to the family in the grand scheme of things.

And I didn't ask to be paid because I don't need the money and I'd rather have it go toward more scholarships.

I get plenty through the huge trust my late grandparents set up for the family's personal use. I don't control it, but then, I've never had a reason to care about controlling it...until now.

"We can hire someone to lead the foundation, but we can't hire someone to marry in your stead," Charles says.

"Then just accept that I'm not going to get married without love and give up." "You can easily fall in love with one of the fifty-six who are left." His tone says I should be thrilled that he's given me a perfect solution.

"Charles, I'm not marrying a portfolio."

And I'm especially not marrying a clone of my brother.

Every single one of the hundred dossiers is just like him raised in the most expensive and exclusive neighborhoods, properly educated in private schools and, most importantly, drilled since childhood to put work above everything else.

Those men talk about shares, market caps, and dividends. To them, a wife is a means to a financially beneficial merger and acquisition...and then a proper heir to take over the empire when the time comes.

Birthdays and anniversaries are something their assistants keep track of and buy gifts for. If the wife is exceptionally lucky, she might get dinner with her husband. I don't want that. I want what my friends have.

Ivy's husband Tony never looked at her portfolio because she didn't have one. He married her because he loved her more than his own life.

Evie's husband Nate married her because he'd been in love with her for the longest time since she started working as his assistant.

Then there are Katherine and Williams...Jennifer and Edgar... Even my parents are in love. Dad makes time for Mom.

He lets her know she matters. Why should I have to settle for less, just because I happened to be born into a wealthy family? Charles sighs.

"If you want to reject the men Mother and Father have chosen, prove yourself." Wariness creeps over me.

My brother hates to lose. So there's going to be a major trap in this seemingly innocent dare. But there's no challenge I can't rise to.

And since I'd love nothing more than to show him I don't need one of those dossier men in my life, I keep my voice calm and confident.

"How?" "Survive on only what you can make. No falling back on the family connections or your friends. If you can prove that you're capable of that level of independence, sure, I'll back you when Father and Mother come after you with another list of bachelors."

Based on the cool confidence on his face, he's convinced I'm going to fail. But he isn't making an empty promise. My brother is many things, but he keeps his word.

He'll side with me if I can show him I don't need the family money to live. I smirk. "Piece of cake."

"You say that now, but wait until you have to downsize. You'll never be able to maintain your lifestyle on your own." A corner of his mouth quirks as his eyes flick toward my purse.

"Your bag costs more than what Ms. Helen makes in a month." I stand up, my gorgeous Dior clutched in my hand.

"Then maybe you should pay her better," I say, feeling sorry for Ms. Helen that my brother is such a cheapo.

"I'll email you when I have a job and the amazing independence you think I can't manage." Charles gives me a toothy smile.

"I wait with bated breath." I exit the office, my head held high. Ms. Helen stands up behind her desk. I shoot her a pitying look.

It must suck to have to buy all those expensive and pretty things for my brother's wife, but not be able to buy anything for herself. Ms. Helen goes slightly pale, and she clasps her hands together. Are they shaking?

Her eyes dart away. Why is she reacting like I'm about to push her off a cliff? Mr. Clifford is holding the doors open for the elevator. We all step inside. I gesture Ms. Katherine closer.

She steps forward until she's standing half a step behind me, with her body angled so she can whisper into my ear discreetly. "What's wrong with Ms. Helen?" "I think she suspects she's in trouble."

"This isn't the first time I've barged into Charles's office. He knows who to blame." I.e., me. And then Dad for indulging and spoiling me not that there's anything wrong with that.

"But you gave her that look." I turn my head. "What 'look'?" "Then I feel bad for you look. You always have it when somebody's in trouble with the chairman."

Ms. Katherine's being extra circumspect, but what she's trying to tell me is that I use that look whenever I have Dad demote or fire somebody.

I've only done it a handful of times when I caught somebody stealing or being grossly negligent. Besides, I have never suggested to Dad how he should handle any particular matter.

I leave that part entirely up to him because he knows best how to manage the people who work at the company. It's just that Dad quietly does what I think he should do.

"Ms. Helen has nothing to worry about. I was feeling bad for her for an entirely different reason."

Ms. Katherine's phone buzzes. She checks a message, then puts it away. All my other assistants' phones start going off as well. The elevator arrives at the lobby, and I march out first.

"Ms. Katherine, can you make me a list of all job openings I can apply for with my skill set? Nothing from the Golden Gate Group or its affiliates, though."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Ben, but I don't work for you anymore." Ms. Katherine's voice is tight and uncomfortable. If a voice could squirm... I stop, turning to face her.

"What are you talking about?" "I received a message from HR. I'm to report to the admin pool." Shit. My stomach sinks. That was quick. Petty jerk.

"What about your assignment? To spill mean, report to my mom about what I'm doing?" "I suppose that's over as well." Her shoulders are high and tense.

She looks confused and upset. Probably dreading what this is about. Since she knows I'm not angry with her, she might be thinking it's my mom who's unhappy with her performance.

And annoying my mom is never a good thing if you want to have a long and fruitful career at the company.

But I know for a fact it isn't Mom who did this. It's Charles. He's trying to ensure I have nobody around to help me. Asshole. I smile at Ms. Katherine.

"Well then. I wish you luck. Hope you have a good assignment." "Thank you, Ms. Ben." She bows and leaves. I turn to Mr. Clifford.

"How about you? Do you have to leave too?"