Attentions spans have been on the decline for decades.

I think that's something you would have liked to know, Dad.

Where, in the early 2000's, the attention span of the brain was factored at 12 seconds, it has now decreased to a mere 8, making it one second lower than that of an average goldfish.

I suppose, when Juliette says that Jenna has the attention span of a goldfish, she's not entirely wrong. 

It's day two of the conference and if it weren't for all the wonderful things that I'm learning, I would have gone home. Hotel rooms have perfected the art of boring you when you're alone.

Dr. Fredrich Johnson – one of the most renowned and well-loved neurosurgeons, by the way, who is the head of neurosurgery at the Royal Hospital of Andrusia – looked at a form that I filled in yesterday, during the conference and told me 'Your brain should be examined as to how a doctor has such an elegant hand'.

It made me think of you, because you used to say exactly that.

Enough anecdotes for now.

I need to get to the conference.

"Did you put something against the door like I asked you to?"

I sigh deeply as I glance sideways at the chair that I placed against my hotel room door overnight because my sister forced me to. It sits there, sadly, almost questioning me as to why I separated it from its brethren.

"That chair, pushed up against the door, is the only reason that I'm still alive and well, talking to you right now." I lower myself to my phone, so that my sister can hear me on the other end.

She makes a barely satisfied grunt.

I slip on my dark blue, ballet flats.

"Did you also put the chain on the door?"

Glaring at my phone doesn't incinerate it, so, I reply. "The fact that you would even ask me that after having been brought up by Audric Lexington, who would put iron bars on the balcony doors of hotel rooms if he could, is absolutely disappointing."

My sister, who is rarely satisfied, grunts again.

"What's wrong?" she asks me, gently. "I know you're upset about something."

I exhale deeply.

She waits.

"The people here, at this conference – they're all so ... smart. They seem to know all the cutting-edge tech that's going on in the world and the answers to all the questions and I don't know – I just feel like such a faker." I sigh. "I feel like I'm always moments away from getting exposed as the dumbest person here."

There's a momentary silence, which I chalk up to the fact that my sister is listening to me from thousands of miles away in my home country.

"You know that you should read that Tech magazine you get every month, right? It might help."

My palms pressed flat against the table in my room, I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head. There's immeasurable truth to what she says.

It's probably not what I want to hear.

This is probably my fault for wanting someone to talk me up to my own self.

"Look," Aubrey continues, "You're good at what you do, which is probably why you are able to run a company at twenty-four. You will always have things to learn and you won't learn them if you don't even try. But that doesn't stop you from being capable of doing big things, exactly like you're doing now. Only one person from the whole of Andrusia was sent for this conference and that's you. It counts for a lot."

The lump in my throat tightens and I hold my breath to keep the tears from coming.

A silence passes between the two of us.

"Are the elevator users in the hotel polite?" she asks me, changing the subject, knowing my hatred towards people who don't showcase elevator etiquette.

"For now," I tell her, dismally.

On most days, I want to stab people who speak to me early in the morning with a blunt spork. Today, however, when Aubrey's name flashed across my screen, I just had to hear her voice.

The main reason I answered the call, however, is because, if I hadn't, the Eastport Marriott Hotel would have been paid an unwelcome visit by the local police department, summoned by one Aubrey Lexington of Andrusia, in search of her sister, who would have almost definitely died during the night due to an acute lack of a piece of furniture pushed against her door.

So, here, I stand, in silence, biting my tongue and suppressing the undying urge to cry, and because I don't want to talk, counting the seconds until I can return to my early morning vow of silence.

"Mmm," I hear.

It's a musical foretelling of the end of our sunrise conversation.

Aubrey tells me, "Show everyone at that conference what a real graphic designer can do," and I immediately feel like the scum of the earth for not wanting to talk to my sister, who is my biggest cheerleader.

I laugh. "I'll try."

"Aren't you going to be a little late?" she asks me.

I tap my phone and look at the time.

"Shit, yes. I'll call you later."

"Alright. Bye."

Picking my phone off the table, I shoulder my laptop bag and run to the door, only to be stopped by an obstacle of my own making.

With a huff, I push the chair further into the room and step outside, whereafter, I walk as fast as I can, without breaking into a run, towards the elevators.

"Please let an elevator be there," I tell the heavens.

As I round the corner to the elevator lobby, I'm panting, but I don't catch my breath, because the doors to one of the elevators are in the midst of closing.

"Hold the elevator, please!" I pretty much yell, as I hurtle towards it.

The elevator doors open as I stumble in.

"Thank you," I say, breathlessly to my elevator-mate – who is obviously well-versed in elevator etiquette – not even bothering to look at them, because my bag is slipping off my shoulder.

Settling the strap back to its rightful place, I turn to lean against the cool, metal wall of the elevator.

Finally, I'm able to catch my breath and the elevator doors close and it begin moving.

That's also when it stops.

W E L C O M E

Welcome to the latest edition of "The Billionaire" series.

If you wish to read the others, you can find them on my profile;

1. The Billionaire's Wedding Planner - completed

2. The Billionaire's Seductress - completed

3. The Billionaire's Playmate - completed

They are all standalone novels and can be read as such.

This is the fourth installment in the series.

I hope you have fun on the adventures of Aurora and Elliot.

I also hope you enjoyed the first sneak peak. The rest will follow in due time.

D I S C L A I M E R

Before you read, please understand that I am human.

I am not a professional writer and by all judgments, this is the first draft of this book.

You may not agree with these characters, but they are human as well. They make mistakes; they frustrate you; they anger you.

You may not agree with this story, but it is a figment of my imagination. It is fictitious; it is imperfect.

You may not like this story, but I do. It is a labour of my love; it is my work, but no matter how much I may like it, you have every right not to.

It is the way of the world.

If you dislike the story or the characters, please feel free to click off, but do remember that someone just like you put effort into the arrangement of the words you are about to read.
It took time and effort.

So, please refrain from leaving demeaning, non-constructive comments.

Words are powerful.

E N C O U R A G E M E N T

In my time on this website, I have had many people ask me how I am motivated to write.

There are people who have told me that they want to write, but they have no idea how to start or where to start from.

There are people who want to know how I keep writing long stories when they manage only short stories.

One word or a hundred, you are a true writer.

Don't let fear shut you down, let it wake you up.

Don't write for me or for Wattpad.

Write for yourself.

Entertain yourself.

Your stories will come.

Short stories are just as enjoyable and important as novels.

Never think you can't do it.

Happy Writing!