Archer

ARCHER LONDON SILVER FOX BILLIONAIRES BOOK 1 DAIZY DENNIS DAIZY DENNIS BOOKS CONTENTS Foreword 1. Archer 2. Arabella 3. Archer 4. Arabella 5. Archer 6. Arabella 7. Archer 8. Arabella 9. Archer 10. Arabella 11. Archer 12. Arabella 13. Archer 14. Arabella 15. Archer 16. Arabella 17. Archer 18. Arabella 19. Archer 20. Arabella 21. Archer Afterword About the Author FOREWORD Can a bored but handsome silver fox billionaire find love and passion with a rebellious, tattooed curvy woman who’s not impressed by money or good looks? 1 ARCHER Getting rich took work, hard work, and years. By the time I felt what I’d call secure in my wealth, I realised most of my friends and some lovers had married. I stayed single. Over the years, I’d had a few longer-term relationships, but nothing that I could ever imagine becoming permanent. I just unashamedly threw myself into work. One thing about being rich, which everyone with money knows but those aspiring to wealth don’t voice, is the power. Everyone knows money is what you need to get the big houses, the cars, the amazing travel. That’s what you see in all these aspirational quote posts and videos. You rarely see anything about the sexual attraction money brings. I bet you’ve never seen one motivational post that says you get to fuck who you want. But that comes easy too, if you want it. Whilst I’ve never abused my power, being rich means I’ve had my share of beautiful women. At first it was fun, I can’t deny that, but another thing no one ever tells you is it soon gets very boring. Yeah, I know you really feel my pain, right? I get it. First world problems, but there’s something very lonely and grounding in waking up with someone you have nothing in common with, and can’t talk to. No matter how beautiful the exterior. Now, after a few typical wild adventures and more not so wild regrets, I want something more. I want that someone to talk to, to share my success with, discuss global issues with. A woman who will challenge me to be better, an equal, a partner to grow old with. Kids might be nice. I think I’d be quite a decent dad. I know I’d be nothing like mine, although those memories of my childhood might just motivate me to do better. For that one increasingly important reason, finding a good woman and a family alongside a happy life, I’ve stopped fucking around. Literally. It’s been months since I’d even kissed a woman, even longer since I’ve taken one to bed. I made my decision, worked towards it, even tried to manifest it as I had with my money. Then call it fate, synchronicity, sheer plain good luck. She walked in. My wild, beautiful, bright, unpredictable tattooed Arabella. I knew. My life changed forever. 2 ARABELLA My career hasn’t always run smooth. In this new role, it looked like I might actually be on my way up that slippery career ladder, finally. I’d been with the company for a few months when they gave me their most challenging account to deal with, well, to secure. I genuinely couldn’t work out why the boss trusted me with it. They saw something I didn’t, I guess, and even I wasn’t stubborn enough to turn down the opportunity. I prepped hard, worked through a few sleepless nights and finally felt almost ready to present my case to a room of corporate suits. I’d heard about the boss, Archer, and had worked through my due diligence. Twice. He was a player. I would need to play to his ego. Something I tolerate, but don’t enjoy about the finance institutions, is the game, often played on the edge of legality. Misogyny, backslapping and underhand trading. I’ve never enjoyed playing by those rules, especially the old-school boy’s network, but this time my career depended on it. As long as they didn’t expect me to do anything illegal or immoral, I’d play their game for now. Since I lost my parents, I’ve been on my own. I couldn’t afford to lose this job. I felt the energy of the room shift as Archer walked in. It was terrifying and exhilarating. He held the power. His name was the brand and his business acumen legendary, but even so, I hadn’t expected him to be so charismatic. Naïve in the extreme. He towered over his colleagues. Maybe six feet six tall, and strong with it. Twice my age, dark Mediterranean looks, a hint of sun lines around his eyes. Firm jaw, black hair cropped short, almost chiselled cheekbones. HIs body language a lesson in the serenity that comes with age, wealth and power. You get the idea. He wore it all so well. Totally happy in his space. Confidence is a real turn on for me and he had it in spades. If he’d walked out of the ocean in a pair of swim-trunks, he couldn’t have made a more attractive, mouth-watering entrance. Hot damn, he seemed to have it all. He looked sexy as fuck, but I was there to work. I couldn’t allow this gorgeous guy, rich and powerful as he was, to derail the plan. Not even with his strong shoulders, almost black eyes, and lush, kissable lips. I breathed in his expensive cologne as he leant in to check that my laptop had connected to the network. Tore my eyes from his immaculate key-tapping hands. Square cut short nails. I even envied his manicurist, had to resist the temptation to touch his fingers whilst noting the lack of a wedding ring. My boss, back in my much smaller, more humble office space, had given me a clear and non-negotiable goal. If they didn’t offer the right deal, they’d told me, walk away. We had a couple of other options. I mustn’t get drawn into an inferior deal. However, if I got the right offer, I received a bonus, a big