The Billionaire's Heart (The Silver Cross Club Book 4) by Bec Linder Read Free Book Online Page A

rich.”
    “You aren’t rich,” he pointed out.
    “That’s different,” I said. “He only knows me because of Regan. Hit him up for some cash, he’s got more than he knows what to do with.”
    “He offered,” Elliott said. “But…” He trailed off, and shrugged.
    “You’re too proud, huh?” I asked. I knew how it was. I was the same way. “Okay, let’s do it. I’ll get you some investors. What else do I need to know?”
    “I’ll direct you to some existing clean water charities so you can see how they’re presenting themselves,” he said. “For now, I’d like you to focus on developing a logo and a general scheme for visual branding. We’ll go from there.”
    “Sure,” I said. “I’ll send you some color palettes by the end of the day.” I tipped my head to one side and considered him. “How come you’re doing this, anyway? There can’t be a lot of money in clean water.”
    “I don’t imagine there will be,” he said.
    I waited for him to continue, but after a few seconds, it was obvious that was all he was going to say. He hadn’t answered my question, but I wasn’t going to push it. “Well, I’ll get to work then,” I said.
    He grunted and turned back to his computer. Okay. Conversation over.
    I wheeled my chair back to my desk and opened my laptop. I didn’t understand Elliott at all. I had spent the weekend reading about clean water and international development, and it wasn’t interesting , necessarily, but it was important . It might even count as meaningful. The sheer number of people who died each year from dirty drinking water had stunned me. Maybe Elliott’s business plan wouldn’t work and his plans would fizzle out, but at least he was actively trying to make the world a better place. It wasn’t what I expected from a rich boy. Carter was kind, well-meaning, and philanthropic, but I couldn’t imagine him devoting himself to something so unglamorous as water filters.
    But Elliott had a fire in him. I barely knew him, but it wasn’t hard to spot. He was on a mission. I wondered what had happened in his life that made him the way he was: odd, focused, intense. He had a dry, subtle humor that I liked, but he also seemed like he was so involved in his work that it was hard for him to remember other people existed.
    I glanced over at him. He was frowning at his computer, hands poised over the keyboard.
    Well, he wouldn’t be annoying company, at least. I would get a lot done, as long as I could keep myself from wasting all my time gazing at him longingly.
    We definitely needed a coffee pot, though. Caffeine fostered creativity. Everybody knew that.
    * * *
    My first week working for Elliott was one of the busiest and most productive times of my life.
    When I showed up on Tuesday morning, brand new coffee pot in my arms, Elliott was already at his desk, and his rumpled shirt and the three cardboard coffee cups beside him told me he’d been there for quite a while. I glanced at my watch. I wasn’t late. I was actually a few minutes early.
    “Burning the midnight oil, Mr. Sloane?” I asked.
    He looked up at me, brow furrowing. “Sadie.” He stared at me for a moment. “Is that—”
    “Yeah, I bought a coffee pot,” I said. “It was cheap, don’t worry. Consider it my investment in the company.”
    “Hmm,” he said. He opened his mouth, and then seemed to reconsider whatever it was he had been about to say. “Please call me Elliott. Mr. Sloane makes me feel ancient.”
    “You’re my boss, though,” I said. “I have to call you by your last name. It’s tradition.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Fuck tradition.”
    The profanity was so unexpected that I burst out laughing. I’d thought Elliott was too buttoned-up to swear like that, but obviously I was wrong. I liked it. Strait-laced men were boring. “Okay, Elliott ,” I said. “Whatever you want.”
    His dedication to his work was infectious. I would have been inclined to slack off a little, maybe take