Top Love: Millionaire Love, #1

Top love

Billionaire Love 1

Ellen Lane

© Copyright 2019 by Ellen Lane - All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - The Contest

Chapter 2 – Elias Johnson

Chapter 3 – New Intentions

Chapter 4 – The Departure

Chapter 5 – Good Fundations

Other Books

Chapter 1 - The Contest

It was magnificent.

As he stared at the immense building, with its vaulted ceilings and domed roofs, the spirals cresting its eaves and the clean lines of the mirrored entryway, Elias found profound pleasure in what he had accomplished.

Of course, at that very moment, he should have been at the opening ceremony. He was supposed to be giving some speech about the ushering in of a new era – and how this extension to the Louvre was proof of a further developing city and the peak of an artistic epoch.

But in all truthfulness, Elias would rather not. He wasn’t good at giving speeches. He preferred staying behind the scenes, which became harder and harder the more he designed. It wasn’t, Elias constantly reminded himself as if he had asked to be thrust into the spotlight. All he had ever really wanted was to see his buildings come to life.

After the first time that one of his designs had been chosen, he was hooked. There was nothing like watching a picture you had in your mind become corporeal – as it was built from the very foundations into twisting masses of iron, glass, and steel that towered far above your head.

He’d been seventeen – and lucky enough to be apprenticed to Renard Trevois – one of the foremost architects of the time. The man had taken one look at the building that Elias had worked on for the past ten years of his life and had ripped the plans apart, declaring them rubbish. Instead of emulating Renard’s style, as the man taught him, Elias went in a vastly different direction.

One that his mentor didn’t approve of.

And so, he’d struck out on his own. After redrawing his plans and effectively trashing his mentor’s workshop in a fit of virile young rage, he’d taken his ideas straight to the European Board of Architecture itself – where a part of him fully expected to be laughed out of the room. There were years-established architects all over the world who never met with the men of the council, and Elias had just marched in, full of vim and vigor.

To his shock, they hadn’t immediately rejected him. Of course, he had interrupted another meeting and so that had caused a stir, but once things had calmed down, the head of the organization himself, Jaques Crousard, had asked to see examples of his work.

And the rest was history.

It was Crousard who had ensured that Elias’ first design be showcased at the New School of Art in Paris, and after that, his next work was quickly snapped up by a hotel owner in Tokyo. After what seemed like a lifetime of being under Trevois’ thumb, Elias finally earned his freedom when he defied the man – exceeding everyone’s expectations.

His father told him that he had an elephant’s bullocks and his mother thought him a tad crazy, but they were both as proud as respectable British parents could be of their son who, at age thirty-three, was literally and figuratively on top of the world.

The hotel in Tokyo had opened up a plethora of new opportunities for him, and Elias wanted to take them all. Unfortunately, he had to pick and choose, or risk stretching himself too thin.

And thus, his greatest adventure had begun.

What Elias hadn’t counted on was that his penchant for design would catapult him into the limelight. He had come from a reasonably well-off family, so fame and fortune had never been his endgame. However, when you were responsible for some of the most recognizable buildings in the world, such a thing was inevitable.

Even years later, he still wasn’t used to the fame. 

All he really wanted was to be alone at his drawing table in his office, but society necessitated a little something more. Of course, more than anything, he adored being able to personally work on the buildings he designed – to be right in the thick of things along with builders and contractors.

One of the most unique things about him, as an architect, people stated, was his willingness to get his hands dirty – to put on a hard hat and get up to his elbows in the mud. Elias had never liked to lie idle and didn’t think that his profession should be an excuse to do so. However, the glitz and glamour that had come to accompany his name only made him want to withdraw all the more. Parties could be nice, banquets tolerable...but every eligible woman between the ages of sixteen and sixty chasing after him in an attempt to tie him down? Advertisers wanting to put his face on everything from deodorant to Rolex watch billboards? He was constantly avoiding his phone.

While he felt as if he was constantly running to escape the unwanted attention, Michael, his doctor and one of his best friends, found it all very amusing. The reason that everyone wanted to plaster his face all over the world, Michael attested, was because it was a pretty attractive one, and he should take that as a compliment.

Now, standing in the center of the Louvre entryway, he was faced with his own image reflected back at him over three hundred times and, as always, he was unimpressed. Elias was taller than the average man, that was for sure. At close to six and a half feet, he had to stoop to get into a number of doorways – something he made sure never happened in the buildings he designed. Raven-haired and blue eyed, he supposed he was the picture of the typical Englishman. He currently had a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin that he hadn’t bothered to shave, and his hair was badly in need of a trim.

He always had a sharp dress sense – even as a child, his mother attested. Unless he was going to work on a building site, he wore immaculately pressed slacks – altered for his height of course – a crisp button up and tie with a dark blazer. He was, as Michael often teased him, every British debutante’s dream.

Unfortunately, Elias couldn’t afford to be bothered with women. Certainly, there were times when he had a physical need – and when such a need occurred, there were any number of women ready and willing to assuage him. But they understood perfectly that he wasn’t looking for commitment – not for marriage, children, or any of the trappings of a domestic lifestyle. As things were, he couldn’t count on which city he’d be in from one week to the next – and he certainly didn’t need anyone other than his parents badgering him about such things.

Aren’t you supposed to be giving some sort of speech? He turned to see Dr. Michael Tate leaning against one of the elegantly mirrored walls, sipping at a draft beer. Apparently, his anonymity had allowed him to do what Elias couldn’t: take advantage of the open bar that marked the occasion. Of course, the moment the man of the hour tried to get a drink, he’d be swamped. But not Mike. Mike was blessed enough to be able to fade into the background.

With a sigh, Elias shoved his hands into his pockets almost churlishly. You didn’t even get me a pint?

Mike merely smirked, shaking his head. What the bloody hell are you doing hiding out here anyway? Isn’t this supposed to be your crowning achievement? Crossing the entryway, the dark-haired man met his friend in the middle, swinging an arm around his neck companionably. I mean, Christ, you designed an expansion to the Louvre. How many people can say they’ve done that?

Right. Elias rolled his eyes, ducking out of his friend’s hold before plucking his beer glass from him. He indulged in the cool, frothy drink, downing perhaps half of it before returning it, much to Michael’s chagrin. I designed it and now I don’t even get to enjoy it.

Bullocks, Michael returned skeptically, his green eyes narrowing. You can go wherever you bloody well please. You’re Elias Johnson.

Exactly, Elias pointed out with a long-suffering sigh. I can’t do anything precisely because I’m Elias Johnson.

His companion merely shrugged, finishing the rest of his beer. So, I suppose that means you won’t be making any speeches today?

Turning from him, Elias strode leisurely out of the entryway and into the main atrium, in which an immense crystal chandelier was hung. From here, he could hear the low murmur of the opening ceremony taking place several rooms beyond and frowned at the sight of the crowds. What I want to do... he punctuated slowly, is to get back on the first plane to London and come back in a year, in the middle of the night. Maybe then I’ll get to appreciate the damn thing.

He raised his head to stare upward at the wide panes of glass that replaced a portion of the roofing, allowing for an unfettered view of the Paris night sky. He remembered standing atop the highest beam before the walls had begun to be covered, and seeing the entirety of the city laid out below him like a sparkling gem.

The world was absolutely beautiful...it was just that people had to keep mucking it up.

Well, what’s stopping you? Michael came up behind him, still toting his empty beer glass. I’m sure they’ll get along fine without you, now that the building’s complete. Obviously, they’ll miss your rousing testimony to your own success, but somehow, I think they’ll survive.

A snort of laughter escaped Elias. Thanks for reminding me why I keep you around.

My pleasure. Michael quipped back with a small smirk. Though you are overdue for a prostate exam. Perhaps we should take care of that before you leave...

Elias shot the cheeky physician a warning look. Overdue or not, he wasn’t letting his friend probe him unless he beat him into submission. He still had bad memories of the first time he’d let this man examine him. For his own health, his arse...Michael had been hell bent on killing him. Come one step closer and I’ll shove something up your arse.

Michael chuckled good-naturedly. So very charming. No wonder you’re beloved the world over.

I was never cut out to be a media darling, Elias returned evenly, his eyes fixed on the newest speaker who had just stepped onto the stage at the other end of the museum. The man was, no doubt, meant to replace him, the poor sap. But why interrupt him just now? It has never been my thing.

Yet you continue to indulge people. Michael followed his companion’s gaze, arching a brow as scattered applause for the new speaker reached them.

So, I can continue designing, yes. Elias asserted, turning to face his companion once more. If I have to grease a few palms to keep on doing what I love, then, so be it. You, of all people, should know that, Mike.

His friend merely sighed, eying his empty beer glass regretfully before he spoke again. So, is that what this ‘contest’ is all about, then?

At the mention of the thing, Elias swallowed a groan. Bloody hell...with all the activity that evening, he’d almost forgotten about the damned contest.

It hadn’t even been his idea really – rather, Mary, his publicist’s. She insisted to him that he needed to be more relatable as an artist – more approachable. When he’d challenged her, suggesting that one of the most interesting things about artists was their aloofness, she hadn’t been impressed. He just needed one stunt, Mary assured him, to endear him to the common folk for a little longer. Once every little while to make sure that people remembered his name.

Personally, Elias was pretty sure he was guaranteed a place in the annals of history by the physical marks he’d left