Read Online Billionaire Romance: Darque Initiation (A Darque Billionaire Romance Book 1) by Diana Steele - Free Book Online
Authors: Diana Steele
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Chapter 1
Bastien Darque was a man of no secrets—a completely transparent, good American entrepreneur, or at least that was the aim of Senator Mallory Darque’s new agenda. Her bid for the presidency had to be uncontested and without any political scandal. It would be the perfectly timed campaign, since her early opponents were dropping like flies, bowing out because of racial slurs, old associations, controversial viewpoints…and of course, the occasional out of wedlock sexual escapade that Americans simply couldn’t fathom from their executive branch.
Convincing the public that Bastien Darque, her son, was a safe and politically correct White House hopeful, was going to be like dressing the devil up for Easter Sunday. The thirty-two-year-old media mogul bad-boy was used to buying companies, selling stock just in the nick of time, out-scheming international competitors, and yes—having his pick of the loveliest women the world over.
It was no big news that Bastien was a magnet for feminine wiles with his youthful but chiseled face, dark eyes, and short curly hair that instantly painted him as a strong Latino presence, and typically the most charismatic man in the room. Whether he showed up dressed in Armani or worse a smart casual sweater, the man looked valuable, figures and currencies aside, and was physically imposing standing six foot three. He was the man everybody wanted on their team. And the fast-thinking, take action kind of man every woman wanted inside her exploratory committee, among other things.
Of course, getting Bastien’s attention wasn’t the easiest of tasks. Despite his friendly smiles given to the camera, he rarely showed any interest in his mother’s political life, and found the entire idea of evaluating and cleaning a ‘digital footprint’ ludicrous. How in the world could they ‘clean up’ the image of a man who clearly didn’t care?
Bastien Darque stood silent, as his staff members did most of the talking in meeting with the Haschell Public Relations firm in Washington D.C., in Foxhall Crescent.
In order for Senator Mallory to sneak by all the falling politicians and win the nomination, she would have to make damn sure that Bastien—obviously untamable—was virtually invisible to the mainstream world, besides his smart business dealings, which could be spun to be in her favor.
“The next step is to make sure that no mention of you is left on any public forum that hasn’t been approved,” said Carter Abrams, the project manager. “All we really need is one leak, just one, and the press will become a bloodhound for more information.”
The firm was large all right, easily the largest in the city and with an impressive base, complete with the newest designs in architectural austerity. The walls were glass, giving the place an open, transparent feeling, as if letting the world know that there were no secrets, not when they cleaned up the mess.
Finally, something caught the torpid Bastien Darque’s attention, and for a man of such power to suddenly shift his head in one direction, it easily caused a sea of executives to do the same.
“Who is that?” he said, tilting his head towards a young dark-haired woman walking past the glass wall to her see-through cubicle.
“Uh…that’s actually one of our new interns,” Abrams said, trying to recollect who the shadow woman was himself and just barely remembering. “Her name, I believe, is Arabella Stone.”
“Hmmm,” he said, his eyes finally lighting up and giving a damn about the scene he was stuck in. “Arabella, a quaint name.”
Everything about the woman was quaint. Twenty-one years old and just having graduated American University, she had that aura about her. Idealistic. Smart. Maybe a little clumsy, but only because she didn’t take short steps, nor did she have that look, or that voice, of worldly wise cynicism.
He didn’t say it, but his eyes told the story. Arabella was the most beautiful woman he
Bastien Darque was a man of no secrets—a completely transparent, good American entrepreneur, or at least that was the aim of Senator Mallory Darque’s new agenda. Her bid for the presidency had to be uncontested and without any political scandal. It would be the perfectly timed campaign, since her early opponents were dropping like flies, bowing out because of racial slurs, old associations, controversial viewpoints…and of course, the occasional out of wedlock sexual escapade that Americans simply couldn’t fathom from their executive branch.
Convincing the public that Bastien Darque, her son, was a safe and politically correct White House hopeful, was going to be like dressing the devil up for Easter Sunday. The thirty-two-year-old media mogul bad-boy was used to buying companies, selling stock just in the nick of time, out-scheming international competitors, and yes—having his pick of the loveliest women the world over.
It was no big news that Bastien was a magnet for feminine wiles with his youthful but chiseled face, dark eyes, and short curly hair that instantly painted him as a strong Latino presence, and typically the most charismatic man in the room. Whether he showed up dressed in Armani or worse a smart casual sweater, the man looked valuable, figures and currencies aside, and was physically imposing standing six foot three. He was the man everybody wanted on their team. And the fast-thinking, take action kind of man every woman wanted inside her exploratory committee, among other things.
Of course, getting Bastien’s attention wasn’t the easiest of tasks. Despite his friendly smiles given to the camera, he rarely showed any interest in his mother’s political life, and found the entire idea of evaluating and cleaning a ‘digital footprint’ ludicrous. How in the world could they ‘clean up’ the image of a man who clearly didn’t care?
Bastien Darque stood silent, as his staff members did most of the talking in meeting with the Haschell Public Relations firm in Washington D.C., in Foxhall Crescent.
In order for Senator Mallory to sneak by all the falling politicians and win the nomination, she would have to make damn sure that Bastien—obviously untamable—was virtually invisible to the mainstream world, besides his smart business dealings, which could be spun to be in her favor.
“The next step is to make sure that no mention of you is left on any public forum that hasn’t been approved,” said Carter Abrams, the project manager. “All we really need is one leak, just one, and the press will become a bloodhound for more information.”
The firm was large all right, easily the largest in the city and with an impressive base, complete with the newest designs in architectural austerity. The walls were glass, giving the place an open, transparent feeling, as if letting the world know that there were no secrets, not when they cleaned up the mess.
Finally, something caught the torpid Bastien Darque’s attention, and for a man of such power to suddenly shift his head in one direction, it easily caused a sea of executives to do the same.
“Who is that?” he said, tilting his head towards a young dark-haired woman walking past the glass wall to her see-through cubicle.
“Uh…that’s actually one of our new interns,” Abrams said, trying to recollect who the shadow woman was himself and just barely remembering. “Her name, I believe, is Arabella Stone.”
“Hmmm,” he said, his eyes finally lighting up and giving a damn about the scene he was stuck in. “Arabella, a quaint name.”
Everything about the woman was quaint. Twenty-one years old and just having graduated American University, she had that aura about her. Idealistic. Smart. Maybe a little clumsy, but only because she didn’t take short steps, nor did she have that look, or that voice, of worldly wise cynicism.
He didn’t say it, but his eyes told the story. Arabella was the most beautiful woman he
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