Jane Harvey-Berrick Saving The Billionaire

by Harvey-Berrick, Jane

FUCK?!

  That fucking bastard! That’s MY fucking line! And how come the fucking world stopped turning and I’m the last to get the memo?

  I stomp back to the staff quarters seriously pissed off.

  “Well?” says Rachel, her hands on her hips, looking all cute and bossy.

  “They’re okay,” I say sullenly.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, what were they doing? Justin? What happened? Tell me? I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “The boss asked Ms. Alvarez to marry him.”

  She takes a deep breath and a huge smile breaks across her face.

  “He did?”

  “Yeah, he was on his knees.”

  “Oh, that’s so romantic!”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  Rachel skewers me with a look.

  “What’s the matter? Why are you so annoyed?”

  I know going in that this will sound pathetic…

  “You finally get around to saying yes, which made me think the world was about to end, and then the boss goes and fucking copies me.”

  Rachel starts to giggle.

  “I can think of worse role models, Justin, but I don’t remember you getting down on your knees.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “You sure about that, baby?”

  She blushes.

  “Not to ask me to marry you.”

  That is true.

  “Are you sulking, Justin?”

  Maybe.

  “Are you pouting, Justin?”

  It has been known.

  “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

  Has the dog got a boner?

  Chapter 22

  Little Miss Sunshine

  THE BOSS IS smiling. That’s gonna hurt.

  I’ve just come back from dropping Maria at work. Jeff Gordon has nothing on me as I cut through the morning rush-hour traffic and slide to a halt outside DMA Tower.

  Maria looked wide-eyed. Well, she always looks like that; I don’t think it was my driving, she’s not that much of a girl. I didn’t even do a handbrake turn, not a donut in sight. I put it down to the fact that she didn’t get much sleep last night.

  I heard the boss prowling around in the early hours, but I figured Maria could handle it. She’s been handling a lot lately. I hope it’s not too much for her. But she’s a helluva lot tougher than she looks. Like Rachel. My Rachel.

  I can’t believe she finally said yes! Wow, married. Again. Forever, this time. I can’t wait to tell Lilly. Shit, I suppose I’ll have to tell Carla.

  My good mood fades when I remember I have to hand in my resignation this morning, despite Rachel trying to persuade me otherwise. I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m going to miss working here.

  I’m momentarily distracted by the thought that it’s weird Anderson isn’t going to work on a week day. It makes me feel like I’m cutting school again. At least I’m suited and booted; the boss is loafing around in old jeans. Weird, Part Deux. But he’s in his office, so I take a deep breath and knock on the door.

  He looks up.

  “Trainer?”

  “Sir, about Van Sant…”

  “Aston? Yes?”

  I take a step inside.

  “He should never have got in. It shouldn’t have happened. I apologize and…” here goes, “I wish to offer my resignation. Forthwith.” I may be a pussy, but I can still do big words.

  He stares at me, then rubs his face tiredly.

  “Take a seat, Trainer,” he says, waving his hand at the spare chair.

  “I’d rather stand, sir.”

  He frowns.

  “Fine. I’m not accepting your resignation.” He pauses. “Was there anything else?”

  My jaw is hanging so far open, the boss can probably see my tonsils.

  “Sir?” I croak, but in a manly way.

  “I don’t accept your resignation. The blackmailer is a situation I created. I don’t blame you for what happened. It was…” he shrugs, “inevitable.”

  “But … your safety has been compromised, and now Ms. Alvarez is … and then there was Van Sant…”

  A look of repressed horror skitters across his face and he faces his laptop again.

  “That happened months ago, Trainer. Why are you bringing this up now?”

  Good question. So I give him an honest answer, if a partial one.

  “It’s … hard to let go.”

  He turns to look at me, understanding on his face.

  “Aston was not a well man, Trainer. I’d known that for a long time. I should have … done more. I do not hold you responsible for what happened here. I value your services, I hope that you will continue your employment here. Ms. Alvarez—Maria—she feels … comfortable … with you on duty.”

  I breathe deeply. Now Van Sant is no longer a threat, I can feel a micron of sympathy for him. He looked so broken.

  And I know how easy it is for that thin veneer of self to be fractured. I’ve seen it happen. None of us know how far we can be pushed, how much can be taken from us, before we snap—the elastic shield that protects the core of a person. I’ve been through some shit I never want to see again or think about, but that doesn’t mean I know how close I came to losing my mind. How far could I be pushed? Do I know? Does Anderson? Do any of us?

  I told Maria once that Anderson was a good man. Why do I still think that after everything I’ve seen and heard? Easy. Psychology 101: because I’ve seen the face of evil—and it’s not Anderson.

  “Will you stay, Trainer?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  And his gaze flicks back to his computer screen.

  Over and fucking out.

  I walk away dazed and confused.

  Rachel is waiting for me.

  “Well? What is it, Justin?”

  “He wouldn’t accept my resignation…” I mumble, scratching the back of my head with my thumb.

  Rachel smiles.

  “Of course he wouldn’t.”

  “But…”

  “He values you, Justin. Like I do. Well, not exactly like I do,” she smiles. “At least I hope not!”

  “But…”

  “So, whatever you say, you’re staying.”

  “Is anyone going to let me finish a senten…”

  “No, I’m not, Future Husband.”

  She kisses me, effectively putting an end to my arguments, the verbal ones anyway. The mental ones continue to torture me.

  I think about her words throughout the day. Why would Anderson want me to stay after I’ve fucked up? I wonder briefly if it’s because I know so much about him and all his dirty little secrets. But that’s not it. Anderson would hand me my balls on a plate before he let that happen, but what worries me more is that Rachel would help him. No, the only answer that I can come up with is that Anderson blames himself more than he blames me. He said it in his office: he was the one who let Van Sant into his life. But I should have kept him out.

  I shake my head hard enough to rearrange my brain cells. Hell, if I don’t stop this self-flagellation, it’ll be me screaming about my demons in the middle of the night.

  Been there, done that, ain’t going back.

  And I start to breathe easier.

  I head to DMA Tower to pick up Maria and call Mason for an update on the way. There’s not much to report. But I don’t believe for a second that the blackmailer has given up: I can smell it, like a sixth sense. Or maybe that’s one of the five.

  Anderson is also proceeding with his purchase of the next door apartment building. Frank, the doorman who has a thing for Rachel, gets to keep his job and has added driving duties to his questionable expertise. Just so long as he keeps his hairy eyeballs to himself.

  Maria’s brothers love the fact that it has a swimming pool in the basement and its own private cinema. The o
ld man admitted that the steps at their old apartment were getting too much for him and he was worried about drugs being sold semi-openly in the streets. But I’d say he’s putting a brave face on it for Maria’s sake—the guy has ‘Bronx’ running through his veins.

  But the building next door will definitely be safer. Apart from anything else, it’ll be secured with a state-of-the-art security system. Nah, probably just retinal scanning. The Ancient Etruscans used the intestines of animals to predict the future. I reckon Anderson might go for that. And I can guarantee it’ll be the only condo in New York with that level of protection.

  While I’m waiting, I head to my office to catch up on some paperwork.

  Rachel texts me, and her message makes me smile. Either that or my face just got a cramp. I still can’t believe she’s going to marry me. I don’t need anything big or fancy: read the book, saw the movie, never again. My ex was dressed in enough white lace to make curtains for a retirement village, and her relatives drank themselves into a blind stupor. The after-dinner speeches turned into an after-dinner free-for-all.

  Marines 3: Bitch’s relatives 0.

  And then I wonder if Rachel would like a big wedding. I don’t think so, but women and weddings are a strange and mysterious alchemy. Shit, I’ll probably have to be nice to Rachel’s sister.

  Howard stumbles into my office—literally falls on his ass—and lies there, blinking up at my ceiling, interrupting my musings on whether or not there’s a word that describes homicide of a sister-in-law.

  “Huh, that plaster looks kind of Bosonic. Cool.”

  “Laying down on the job again, Howard?”

  He sits up and blinks as if he’s surprised to see me sitting at my desk in my office on a work day.

  “Hey, Mr. T. Nice suit.”

  “Something you wanted to tell me, Howard?”

  “Oh sure. The Halon suppression system has been installed. We’ll be coordinating an isolated test over the weekend. Mr. Mason has vetted the technical team and there haven’t been any alerts. I’ll need access limited for the other dudes—halo-carbons are 38% denser than air—unauthorized personnel could be accidentally asphyxiated. That would be a bummer.”

  “Yes, it would. I’ll see to it, Howard.”

  “Thanks, Mr. T.”

  “Make it so.”

  He blinks again, smiles, and gives me a Vulcan salute.

  I think I made his day.

  Maria calls me to say that she’s leaving at six.

  Since she came into the boss’s life, we’ve all been leaving the office a helluva lot earlier. I could get used to that.

  Traffic is light and we arrive at Wolf Point a couple of minutes before 6:15PM. The light is soft and still bright, and nearby cafés are filling up with people stopping for a coffee or a beer on their way home. The season for sitting outdoors is short in New York, so we make the most of it. Okay, damn it, I admit it. I’m so fucking happy I think I just heard birds singing and butterflies frolicking.

  What the hell is happening to me?

  When the boss sees Maria, he’s smiling so much he could be auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. I need sunglasses.

  Chapter 23

  Near Dark

  THE NEXT DAY, Anderson informs me that Maria is going with him to see his sex therapist after work. I don’t know if that’s brave or plumbing the depths of sanity. Then a third option occurs to me: she’s cracked under the strain of dating Anderson. I guess it’ll work out. The boss knows that anyone who dates him has to be half-baked.

  In fact, working for Anderson should come with a health warning.

  Amazingly, Maria doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Maybe she’s gotten enough practice dealing with weirdo fuckers by dating Anderson.

  Next time I get to spend the weekend with Lilly, I’ll show her some moves, in case any elementary kids give her grief. Can’t start preparing for that shit too soon, in my opinion. Is eight too young to start taking her to the gun range? Her mom will hate it, and knowing Princess Lilly, she’ll probably shoot the shit out of her Barbie dolls with a BB gun if she’s anything like her old man. Not that I have Barbie dolls. I’m more a GI Joe kinda guy. Was. Was a GI Joe kinda guy. When I was a kid.

  So, moving on…

  I’ve got the evening off with nothing to do but remind Rachel why she’s agreed to marry me. And all the things I plan to do to her. Decisions, decisions.

  “Hi honey, I’m home,” I call out, pulling off my tie as I stroll into the staff quarters. “Something smells good, baby.”

  “Lasagna and garlic bread. Salad on the side.”

  Damn, I love this woman.

  “You have ten minutes to take a shower.”

  I have a much better idea about how I can spend ten minutes. I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss the nape of her neck.

  “Justin! Aren’t you going to shower?”

  “No, I’ve been thinking about you all day, Mrs. Trainer, and I think we should get in as much sinning as possible before you’re legally mine.”

  She pushes away from me slightly.

  “About that, Justin…”

  I look at her warily.

  “Second thoughts?”

  She smooths my shirt over my chest and smiles.

  “No, silly. I was just wondering when we’re going to tell Mr. Anderson. And Maria.”

  I shrug.

  “Is it any of their business?”

  “I’m sure Mr. Anderson will want to know.”

  “Yeah? I’m sure he won’t give a shit.”

  “Hmm, well, perhaps we’ll leave it for now.”

  “Whatever you say, baby.”

  “Besides, I think Mr. Anderson and Maria are still in the honeymoon phase, so to speak.”

  “I know I’m going to regret asking, but what do you mean?”

  “Well, I was checking the stock in Mr. Anderson’s bar when I saw them coming out of the bedroom with his toy that...”

  “Stop right there, baby. I really don’t want to know.”

  “Justin Trainer! Are you a prude?”

  I stare at her in disbelief.

  “Hell no! I’ve worked for the King of Kink for more than a year. Kind of opens a man’s eyes. I just don’t want a blow by blow description.”

  I can’t believe I just said that, and I cringe.

  Rachel starts laughing.

  “No blowing of any sort, I promise.”

  “Aw, baby.”

  DINNER IS FANTASTIC, but then again everything Rachel does is fantastic. I’m a lucky dog.

  I settle down in front of the TV in her bedroom with a can of Coke and wait for Rachel to come and get some quality lovin’. We don’t get as much time together as either of us would like. Frankly, I could spend 24/7 with this woman and never get enough.

  “Justin, do you know what Mr. Anderson’s plans are for the rest of the week?”

  Rachel walks into the room with her schedule.

  “We’re in Chicago all day tomorrow and won’t be back till early evening. Other than that, a regular week. I think Maria is planning a movie marathon evening tonight.”

  Rachel’s eyebrows nearly hit the stratosphere.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, the boss is totally pussy-whipped.”

  And the thought makes me feel all warm inside.

  Rachel stares at me and I realize I’ve had another foot in mouth moment.

  “Um, you know, without the actual whipping…”

  She smirks. Damn woman’s been playing me.

  I launch myself at her and grapple her around the waist. I carry her into the bedroom and soon, we’re a tangle of arms and legs, and I owe her another white blouse. Well, hell! They should make them of tougher stuff, those buttons fly off everywhere.

  I’m heading for second base, when my damn cell rings.

  It’s my ex’s ring tone.

  Technically, it’s ‘O Fortuna’ from Carmina Burana, but I always think of it as the music from The Omen. It brings back
memories of our wedding night.

  “Carla?”

  “Justin, it’s … it’s Lilly!”

  Immediately, my heart rate triples.

  “What’s happened?”

  I can see Rachel’s concerned expression and I know it must mirror mine.

  “We’re in the Emergency Room now. They think it might be appendicitis.” There’s a stifled sob. “They’re talking about operating.”

  Oh, God. Not Lilly. Not my Princess.

  Carla’s voice is strained.

  “Jay, I’m so scared.”

  “I’ll be right there, Carla. Whatever she needs. You understand? Whatever she needs. I’m leaving now. Call me on the way if anything … if there’s anything I need to know.”

  “I will.”

  And she hangs up.

  I’ve been involved in lot of crazy shit in my life. I’ve been in firefights on three continents; I’ve driven tanks over land peppered with IEDs. When Rachel was held at gunpoint, I was shit scared, but at least it was a situation I was trained to deal with. But this … hearing my baby is sick…

  Rachel is standing at the door.

  “I’ve got your coat,” she says. “Drive carefully. I’ll tell Lance and Mr. Anderson.”

  Unable to speak, I merely nod at her. She tries to smile reassuringly, but her lips freeze half way. She kisses me on the cheek and I’m out the door.

  The elevator is so fucking slow, I want to scream.

  When I screech out of the parking garage, the traffic is thinner now, but it’s slow enough to have me grinding my teeth. I’m vaguely aware that I’m gripping the steering wheel so tightly, my hands are cramping. Once I’m on the expressway and hitting 100mph, it helps. Some. All I can think about is that my baby’s sick; they want to slice up my baby.

  It’s after midnight by the time I reach the hospital. Some dick in a uniform tries to tell me I can’t leave my car in the no-parking zone. The glare I give has him stepping back. I want to hit him really badly—not because of him, but because I want to feel something other than nauseating fear. Instead, I toss him my keys, ignoring his shout that the hospital doesn’t do valet parking. They can tow it for all I care.

  The ER receptionist gives me a professional smile. She’s seen the look I have in my eyes before. I don’t know how she does her job. How can she see that every fucking day and not make her want to stab out her own eyeballs? And suddenly I realize something: that’s how Anderson feels every time he looks in the mirror. He only sees his own ugliness—and Maria shows him beauty.