He takes her hands in his, holding them firmly.
“You can do this, Maria. You can do anything, remember? When you told me I could give up the Farm if I wanted to? Remember what I said?”
She glares at him.
“You said you couldn’t.”
A ghost of a smile crosses the boss’s face.
“But I was wrong and you were right. You. Not me. So I know that you can do this, Maria.”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“I can’t believe you were listening to me ramble on about ziplines and skydiving at my interview,” she mumbles. “Oh God! We’re not going skydiving as well, are we?”
“Maybe another time,” smiles the boss.
“Dios mio! Because I think facing one mind-numbing fear in a day is enough.”
I park the Rover and open the door for the boss and Ms. Alvarez, then lead them through the security entrance.
What? You thought the billionaire was going to get in line with everyone else? Nope. The boss has reserved the Treetop Adventure before opening hours for three people—and that includes yours truly.
Maria is given her helmet, which the boss enjoys making sure is strapped to the right degree of comfort. I go first on the climbing ropes, checking everything is in full working order. I’m not expecting problems, but I have to be ready for them.
There are seven different courses for visitors, ranging from beginner to expert. I’m really wanting to do the expert one because it reminds me of oh-so-happy days at Boot Camp, but I think that would be too much for Ms. Alvarez, although I have no doubt that the boss would be up for it.
He chooses a course of mid-ability difficulty, where we swing from ropes and navigate our way through the trees. The zoo’s rangers are on hand to help, as well.
Maria is doing it all with grim determination. I don’t think she’s looked down once, but when we get to the rope bridge, her skin looks gray and clammy.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she whispers, her lips white and trembling.
“Sure you can,” says the boss, sounding disturbingly like a cheerleader. “You can do anything.”
“Not this,” she says, her whole body shaking.
The rope bridge sways gently as Ms. Alvarez holds on with a Klingon death grip.
“Yes, you, Maria Conchita Alvarez! Don’t tell me a tough chick from the Bronx can’t hack a little vertigo.”
“Fuck off, Anderson,” she hisses, and the boss tries not to laugh.
She closes her eyes, takes two tentative steps on the rope bridge, muttering under her breath the whole time.
“Oh, yeah. Sure, Maria. You can talk the talk at in interview, or at the Comedy Club. Oh yeah, there, you’re a mouthy chick from da Bronx. I’m facing my fears. What pyschobabble bullshit is this? You’re dating a freakin’ billionaire. Can’t you get him to build you a bridge that doesn’t wobble with every step? Holy shit, I nearly fell! Ugh, this is so stupid. And I told him I want to go skydiving. Madre de Dios, I’m going to die before I’ve paid back my student loans. Abuelo will be so mad at me.”
Then she turns to the boss.
“You know what, Devon? If I die doing this, I’m coming back to haunt your ass!”
He gives her a devilish smile.
“I look forward to you haunting my ass, along with a number of other ideas I’d like to try out.”
She blushes bright red and I cringe, hanging back as much as possible so I don’t have to hear anymore.
“It’s okay to be scared,” the petite blonde Ranger who’s escorting us says to me. “Catch up with your friends when you feel ready.”
Fuck, never a break when you need one.
We finally get to the zipline platform and Ms. Alvarez’s knees are knocking together.
“You’re gonna love this,” the Ranger says brightly. “I’ll strap you in for an epic ride across the Bronx River. You’ll love it! They say it’s a once in a lifetime rush, but I promise you’ll want to do it again.”
I glance at the boss’s face and see the tightness around his eyes, and I realize that he’s facing his fears, too. Not about the height, but about letting Maria jump off the platform when all he wants to do is keep her safe in his arms 24/7. Letting her live her life is him facing his biggest fear.
“Just 400 feet. My colleague, Jonathan, is on the other side ready to catch you. Okay?”
Ms. Alvarez nods, her eyes tightly closed. Then without another word, she steps off the ledge, a scream tearing from her lungs.
“Oh wow, I forgot to tell her it picks up speed in the middle,” says the blonde Ranger.
The boss steps off the platform, rushing after Ms. Alvarez.
Chapter 19
The Long Weekend
WHEN I WAS a kid, my neighbor had this dog. It was always in the backyard, never in the house and desperate for attention, but it used to bark at everyone who went near it. Anderson kinda reminds me of that dog.
I’ve definitely seen a different side to him since Maria Alvarez came into the picture. And it scares the fuck out of him. Despite being a rich bastard, he doesn’t really care that much about the money. Sure, he likes to have nice things, and I have to say he has A+ taste in cars, (even though I rarely get to drive the DB9), but all that pales into insignificance next to Maria. He’s finally found something—someone—that is more valuable, that he really cares about losing. I can tell that he’d like to order Maria to stay at Wolf Point and never set foot out of the door. Hell, he’d bubble wrap her and chain her to the bed if he could, and not in a kinky way.
But that’s not going to happen because Maria is determined to live her own life. I really admire her for that. She’s just a kid, but she’s been through a lot and she knows what she wants, and she doesn’t want to live in a 24-carat gold cage. Pam also says that she’s got a real smart head on her shoulders and will be an asset to the business.
She’s already an asset in the boss’s life: two pluses for the price of one.
It’s official: the boss is in love.
We have a word for that in the military: SUSFU—Situation unchanged, still fucked up.
It was a different story on the night of the big reunion. And, by the way, the boss and Ms. Alvarez still haven’t had any make-up sex, which I totally don’t get because that’s the best thing about having an argument. I love arguing with Rachel because when we make up, all bets are off, and there’s that thing she does with her … well … yeah.
So, back to the boss.
He didn’t know if the woman of his dreams was going to stay an apparition, or whether she’d swallow her better judgment and let Mr. Control-Freak-with-unmentionable-tendencies back into her life.
He was so tense, I wished I had my helmet ready for the moment he snapped. It was like driving a one-handed bomb disposal expert to neutralize an IED … except this bomb was in the backseat, twitching.
And while I’m thinking about it, why do limeys—sorry, Brits, as we’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder—why do Brits call their bomb disposal guys ATOs? I mean, come on! Ammunition Technical Officer? Sounds like some desk jockey who hands out the rounds of ammo, not the guy with balls the size of watermelons who takes the lonely walk to neutralize a bomb?
Yeah, I’m going off track again. It was thinking about that R-rated make-up sex with Rachel. Puts a man off his game. And once I pulled a muscle in my … yeah, moving on.
So, I’m driving the boss and wondering if I should have his doctor on speed-dial. I’m thinking that if the boss’s anxiety levels stay this high, his blood pressure will be joining the mile-high club and he’ll be chewing on his $400 manicure. I’m a New Man, I know about these things.
Well, that evening, the boss’s story had a happy ending. It was hard to believe that the man I’d driven out, Mr. Ticking-time-bomb, was the same one who sat with his sleeping woman in his arms during the ride back. He looked like he’d found a small slice of heaven. Yeah, I get that.
Now, if I could just
figure out where Landon is.
I still haven’t brought up what I know about Landon with the boss. That’s not like me, but it’s not dissimilar to taking a step into a minefield: I know there are IEDs everywhere, I just don’t know which step is going to end with me being blown to pieces.
The following evening, I have the pleasure of driving the boss to pick up Ms. Alvarez from her apartment for a second date.
He’s in there for all of two minutes before rushing back to the car, holding Maria’s hand as she hurries to keep up.
She’s got a look on her face like she’s trying not to laugh at him. I love that look. Shit! What’s with all this ‘love’ crap? I’m turning into a fucking cheerleader.
For once my sense of sarcasm is safely in control. He’s happy, she’s happy: if there was any more joy going around, the world would spin off its axis.
The boss barely acknowledges my presence as if he’s forgotten I’m here: his eyeballs are only for Ms. Alvarez. And suddenly I’m really hoping he remembers that this car doesn’t drive itself because watching my boss get it on with Miss Cute-and-Flirty is not my idea of fun. Call me old fashioned.
“Is there something you’d like to do this evening?” he says.
Did I just have an auditory hallucination? He asked her what she wanted to do? Stop the fucking press.
Like I can’t guess. Like she can’t guess. Hell, it’s so fucking obvious he wants to work through the Karma Sutra starting from page one to the end, (and including all the appendices), that he may as well have me drive them to the nearest pay-by-the-hour motel.
But then she shocks my socks off.
“I want to go salsa dancing.”
Hark, the sound of tumbleweed rolling across the back seat of the Rover.
“Salsa?”
“Yep, that’s what I want.”
To give the boss his due, he only blinks twice before he agrees.
“Really?”
“You said you wanted to go dancing, Maria. The choice is yours. Just tell Trainer where to go.”
Salsa Con Fuego isn’t quite the dive I was expecting, but Ms. Alvarez bypasses the restaurant and leads us to another room where Latin music is blasting out.
I exchange a glance with the boss, and he pulls her toward the bar to buy drinks before I go check out the room.
I don’t like it. There are too many people and too many cozy alcoves where anyone could be hiding. The only reason I’m not yanking the boss out is that no one could predict his presence here. On the other hand, if someone was tailing us … no, I’m sure not, I would have noticed. And I sweep the SUV for tracking devices twice a day, other than my own, of course.
We should be okay here for a couple of hours, even if the music is as loud as a Taliban RPG barrage.
I find a table in the back that’s fairly private and text the boss. He makes his way to the table and hands me a bottle of water. Gee, that just warms my heart. Then Ms. Alvarez winks at me and drags Anderson onto the packed dance floor.
He’s not bad, definitely got some moves, but I can see that he’s having trouble relaxing. I don’t know if it’s the number of people pressing around him or the fact that he’s so far out of his comfort zone, he’s practically orbiting Mars.
I get asked to dance three times—twice by a couple of hot Latinas who definitely look like they could give a guy a good time, and once by a skinny kid in spray-on jeans who hasn’t yet had his gaydar tuned. Kudos for asking, kid, but I’m not your type.
The evening hasn’t been the clusterfuck it could have been, but when the club closes, I’m half expecting things go downhill PDQ.
“Are you coming back to Wolf Point?” the boss asks, although it sounds more like an order.
You know, what’s great about women like Ms. Alvarez and Rachel? They’re real good at letting us guys think we’re the ones in charge. I know that Rachel calls the shots, and she knows that I know that she knows that she calls the shots, but she’ll let me have that guy-pride thing and pretend I’m in charge. She’s thoughtful like that. Ms. Alvarez is the same. Maybe that’s why I like her.
But she lobs it right over his head.
“Maybe I already have plans.”
Fifteen-love to Ms. Alvarez.
I begin to relax as the boss manages to have what passes for a normal conversation for him, until he says,
“Your neighbor wants you naked, Maria.”
Yep, that’s my boss, who really only opens his mouth to change feet.
Next thing I know, he’s threatening to kick the creepy fucker’s ass until she gets some better neighbors. I have no problem with that, but it means he’s given away the closely guarded secret that’s he’s bought the condo next door to Wolf Point for her family. A secret he was trying to keep from Ms. Alvarez until he’d, you know, asked her if she’d like that.
Double fault.
“That’s not likely in the foreseeable, is it?!”
“It could be…”
There’s a long pause while Maria puts it all together.
“Devon, what did you do now?”
“I’ve bought the apartment building next door to Wolf Point. Your family can come and live there when you move in with me. It’ll be much safer than where they are now.”
The boss speaks confidently, but I sink lower in my seat.
Because Maria is pissed. Really pissed.
“Whaaaat?”
Dogs in Scarsdale probably heard that screech.
“You’re making a decision just like that? About my life? About my brothers? About Abuelo? And when the hell did I agree to move in with you, because I’m drawing a blank. You’ve bought the whole damn building? Why the hell would you do that, Devon? What’s wrong with you?”
I could write her a list.
“But I thought…”
“Did you, Dev? Did you think?! Because it sure the hell doesn’t sound like it to me!”
Thirty-love to Ms. Alvarez.
The boss is getting hammered. I’m thinking of having commemorative t-shirts printed.
“Trainer,” she yells, “I’ve changed my mind! Take me home!”
“Maria! Just … just give it a chance! It’s a great condo. The boys would love it there, and the public schools in the area are great or there are some private school options if they prefer. Joachim could attend whatever college in Manhattan he wanted, I’ll help him with tuition.”
Her eyes bulge and swivel at the same time, which is somewhat disturbing.
“Devon, just stop! For God’s sake!” She takes a calming breath. “I know you mean well, I know that. But you can’t just barge into all our lives like that. The boys go to good schools, ones where all their friends are. And Joachim is doing well at community college—it’s giving him the stability he needs. And Abuelo, he’s lived in the Bronx his whole life. He’s 87, Dev, starting over in Manhattan without any of his old buddies, he’d hate it.”
He grabs her hands.
“Maria, just … just take a look. Your grandfather isn’t getting any younger. I’ve seen how he struggles to climb the stairs to your apartment. You said yourself the elevators only works 10% of the time. We could adapt the condo for any future disabilities. He could have a driver to take him to the Bronx to see his friends every day. We can make this work, I know we can. Please, just … will you just take a look? Your grandfather loved it.”
Three…
Two…
One…
“Are you freakin’ kidding me right now?!” she screeches. “You already talked to Abuelo? Who the hell do you think you are?!”
Good question.
I pull up outside Wolf Point act like the Pinball Wizard. Retro pop culture reference.
“Wait here, Trainer,” says the boss.
Yup, already worked that out. You hired me for my brains, not my snappy suits, bossman.
She storms out of the car and starts off down the street, before she swings around to jab him in the chest with her fingers.
He tries to talk her down—double fault.
“It’s wrong, Devon! You’re wrong. It’s so wrong I can’t even believe you don’t know it’s wrong. What’s wrong with you?”
Forty-love to Ms. Alvarez.
“I don’t think I’m wrong.”
“That’s because you’re a jerk!”
Game, set and match to Ms. Alvarez.
It could go either way. Inside, I’m begging Ms. Alvarez to put the poor bastard out of his misery—mostly because I have a couple of scenes planned out with Miss Moneypenny, one of which may involve fun with food, and I do not want Beethoven’s Pathétique playing in the background if that dumb jerk fucks up again, no matter how apt a musical segue it is for the boss.
I can’t help thinking that Ms. Alvarez needs a vacation named after her because of everything she’s had to put up with. Well, the boss is rich: he should be able to swing that. Maybe a That’s love … and it sucks day. I can imagine the Hallmark cards now.
Eventually she agrees to go inside, and my torture—and his—is ended, at least temporarily.
Wait … maybe … could be … yep … thinking it is … the boss is happy.
Doesn’t it just make you feel warm all over?
I park quickly and hurry upstairs because I have every intention of making Rachel feel warm all over with the least amount of time between me exiting the vehicle and entering, well, the apartment, for starters.
“Justin!”
Rachel’s voice is strained and immediately my hand reaches for the Smith & Wesson.
“Carla just left a message: Lilly isn’t well. I was just about to call you.”
“What? What’s happened? Why the fuck didn’t she call my cell?”
“I don’t know, but yelling at me isn’t going to help. Nor will yelling at her. She thinks Lilly has some sort of severe gastroenteritis. They’ve taken her to the emergency room.”
I feel like every drop of blood has drained out of my body. Not Lilly. Not my Princess.
I pull out my cell and call my ex.
“Carla, how is she?”
Jane Harvey-Berrick Saving The Billionaire Page 15