TRAINWRECK 1: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Inspired by a True Event

by Nelle L'Amour

  “Saarah, do you have a pen?” he asked as he zipped his fly over his still swollen cock. He had regained his strength and now once again was that powerful, intimidating Adonis.

  My eyes searched the small living room and spotted one on the desk where I kept my old, ready-to-shut-down-forever computer. My knees weak, I retrieved it. Beneath my dress, our hot melded juices rolled down my inner thighs.

  Now fully recovered, Ari plucked the pen from me and dug his hand into a jeans pocket. My eyes grew wide. What he pulled out was a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Pasting it against the wall, he scribbled something on it. He turned around, and with the bill in his hand, gazed at me intensely with his piercing blue eyes.

  “I want you to have this. In case of an emergency. My cell phone number is written on it. If you ever need me, I want you to call me. But promise you won’t give out the number to anyone. I safeguard my privacy.”

  I nodded and let him slip the hundred-dollar bill into my hand.

  “I have to go. Ben will be home soon. It’s a school night.”

  He strutted to the door and swung it open. My heart was a sinking ship, knowing that this was goodbye again. Holding the door open with his foot, he leaned against the doorway.

  “Come here, princess,” he ordered, motioning with his finger.

  Fighting back tears, I slowly padded over to him. He hooked his arm around my waist, drawing me next to him, chest against chest. He smacked a hot kiss on my lips and then flashed that dazzling, dimpled smile.

  “Saarah, I must say you are definitely an expert when it comes to toys.”

  And with that, he jogged down the stairs.

  I closed the door behind me and slid down against it into a crouching position. I stared at his hundred-dollar bill, not knowing if I should be insulted by it or flattered. All at once, I felt like a spurned lover, an orphan, and a whore. Was I nothing but a girl toy to him? Something, not someone, he’d grow tired of that could be passed on or simply thrown away? One minute he made me feel loved; the next minute he made me feel used. The jumble of emotions was overwhelming. Folding my arms across my shins, I buried my head between my knees and wept for everything that was uncertain in my complicated life.

  Ari

  When I got back to my empty apartment, I was buzzed. Drunk with my princess, Sarah Greene. I was glad I’d gone over to her place to make amends, and that vibrator sure went over big. In more ways than one. I already missed her and there was a big part of me (no pun intended) that wished she would call me on my cell phone. She was the only woman I’d given it to aside from my mother, my sister, and my top female executives.

  After I dropped my weekender bag off in my bedroom, I headed to the kitchen to grab a beer and fix myself a quick bite to eat. I’d barely eaten all day. On my way, the intercom buzzed. It was the doorman, letting me know that my sister and Ben were on their way up. I wasn’t expecting them back so soon. Maybe they left the Hamptons early or didn’t have a problem with traffic.

  When the elevator door parted, Ben came flying out and I swung him in the air.

  “Hey, bud! Did you have a good trip back?”

  “Yeah. Aunt Gwen stopped at a Dairy Queen and bought me ice cream!”

  “Cool.” My eyes met Gwen’s. “Thanks for bringing him back.”

  “No, problem.” She propped up Ben’s roller bag on the marble floor. “He slept most of the way home.”

  Her voice was as cold as ice, her face tight. Whatever barrier Sarah had created between us was in full force. My twin sister was not one to step down and neither was I. We were two peas from the same stubborn pod.

  I toyed with the idea of telling her that I’d just come from Sarah’s place just to piss her off. It was strange how the dynamics between us were the same as when we were kids, but she didn’t give me a chance.

  “Ari, I’ve got to go. I have an early day in court tomorrow.”

  She eyed me suspiciously, perhaps distrustful of the sparkle in my eyes.

  “Please think about what we talked about last night. She’s no good for you. If you don’t end it, I will.”

  Her cold, threatening tone sent a chill down my spine.

  “What’s Aunt Gwen talking about,” asked Ben, still in my arms.

  I put him down. “Nothing you need to know about.” I gave him an affectionate pat on his bottom. “Why don’t you go to your room, put your clothes away, and get into your pajamas and we’ll make macaroni and cheese together.”

  “Yay!” shouted Ben, grabbing his suitcase and scooting down the long hall.

  Gwen’s frosty eyes stayed locked on me. “He deserves better. Goodnight, Ari.”

  With that, she turned on her heel, letting herself out and leaving me simmering.

  ###♥###

  I’ll confess. I was good at a lot of things, but cooking wasn’t one of them. My idea of cooking was microwaving a package of frozen mac ’n cheese, but I was lucky because this was one of Ben’s favorite things to eat.

  Sitting at the kitchen island counter facing each other, we devoured our tubs of the super orangey, soupy stuff, which I’m sure was made with fake cheese and had tons of bad additives. But it was so fucking good.

  “Daddy,” said Ben, scraping the bottom of his tin with his fork, “did Aunt Gwen tell you about what happened at the pool yesterday?”

  My stomach twisting, I set down my fork. “No, tell me.”

  Five minutes later, I’d heard the whole goddamn story straight from the horse’s mouth. No details spared. While in ordinary circumstances, this life or death encounter would have gutted me—there was nothing more sacred to me than my son’s life—his explicit narrative sent hot rage shooting through my veins.

  Fucking Gwen. She had lied to me about Sarah sitting there idly just as I thought. Ben had gotten a cramp while swimming in the deep end and his close-by bodyguard Vadim, who watched him like a hawk, had instantly come to his rescue. My princess was a witness to Vadim’s quick reflexes as was Gwen.

  Simmering, I dismissed Ben from the table, telling him to go watch TV and that I’d bring him Twinkies and ice cream. A new Power Rangers episode would likely be playing on Nick. He couldn’t have been happier.

  As I cleaned up, my rage morphed into fear. I had to win Sarah before Gwen got to her. As soon as the last utensil was in the dishwasher, I made a call.

  Sarah

  I woke up the next morning at the crack of dawn. Tuesday. Work. I didn’t need an alarm to get me up. The vibrations between my thighs from last night’s playdate with Ari were enough. I could practically hear the throbbing.

  I went through the steps of my usual workday routine. Feed the cat. Coffee. My birth control pill. A quick jog around the neighborhood. Shower. Get dressed. I threw on a loose-fitting gray Urban Outfitters dress that Lauren has passed down to me because it wasn’t her style, laced up my combat boots, and organized my messenger bag. At the last minute, I slipped Ari’s one hundred dollar bill into my wallet though I still had very mixed feelings about it. Good to go, I grabbed my skateboard. Yes, that’s how I commuted back and forth to my office located between Broadway and West Twenty-Third Street. My skateboard was a fast, economical, and reliable means of transportation.

  It took me a half hour to get downtown, weaving in and out of the early-morning commuters skittering like mice along the city streets. The landmark cast-iron clock outside the iconic Toy Center Building, which dated back to 1909, read seven thirty-five. Perfect. That would give me plenty of time to finish up Catherine’s ridiculous assignments. While I’d gotten most of them done, the bitch didn’t send me a list of the fashion designers she wanted to visit in Milan until ten p.m. And by that hour, I was too emotionally and physically drained by Ari’s mind-fucking plundering to begin it. Fingers crossed I could get it all done by the time she showed up, I thought as I headed into the building with my skateboard clutched under my arm.

  No matter how much I despised working for Catherine, I always got a rush of excitement when I step
ped foot inside the building where I worked. There was a contagious, electrifying energy and I could feel the creative juices flowing. I’d finally landed a job where I belonged. One day, I hoped all my hard work—and talent—would pay off, and I’d be sitting in a corner office like Catherine’s overlooking the Flatiron District and displaying all the toys I’d developed. Stepping into the elevator that was packed like sardines with familiar faces, I dreamt about what the future might bring.

  Ike’s Tikes was located on the twelfth floor. When the elevator doors parted, I wormed my way out of the still packed car and headed to our headquarters. Someone was ahead of me walking in the same direction. I recognized him by his girth and his shiny, thick black wavy hair. It was Ike Abrams, the founder and president of the company. We got to the entrance of the office at about the same time, and I thanked him for holding the door open for me.

  He responded with a warm smile. I’d only run into him a few times and I’m sure he had no clue who I was.

  “You’re here early,” he said brightly as we stepped into the colorful reception area that was filled with those award-winning beanbag toys everywhere you looked.

  “Yes, sir. I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Catherine Sinclair.” I debated whether to tell him my name but chose not to since he didn’t ask.

  He smiled again. “Great. She’s one hell of a woman.”

  If he only knew!

  “You’ll learn a lot from her.”

  I mentally rolled my eyes. Yup. In addition to knowing the layout of the Chanel makeup counter at Bergdorf’s by heart, I now knew the name of every major Italian fashion designer.

  Moving past the reception area, Ike and I amicably parted ways, with him going down a different hallway to his office. His side of the U-shaped office was devoted to those who worked on Ike’s Tikes, which was the company’s cash cow. Catherine’s office was in the new development and business affairs area, and was the biggest among them. My desk sat outside it.

  Other than Ike, I was likely the first person here. There was an eerie peacefulness as I marched down the dimly lit hall filled with empty cubicles and offices. In less than two hours, there would be a totally different vibe, the office space filled with dozens of employees working collectively to come up with the next breakout toy.

  When I got to my desk, my mouth fell to the floor. Someone had been here before me. Waiting for me was an elegant crystal vase filled with a dozen of the most perfect long-stemmed red roses I’d ever seen. I knew whom they were from without having to open the small envelope propped against the vase. How the hell did he know where I worked? Duh! Of course. I mentioned it to him and his family at Ben’s birthday dinner the other night.

  “Hay, caramba!”

  I spun around. It was Fernando Suarez, my best friend at work, who, like me, tended to be an early bird. As usual, he was wearing his all-black uniform—tight jeans and an equally tight T-shirt that exposed his pumped up boyish body.

  His dark eyes lit up. “Señorita Sarah found a boyfriend over the weekend?”

  “Hardly,” I snapped back at him.

  While I adored Fernando, a gorgeous gay guy of Filipino-Cuban descent, who worked in the packaging division (those cool Ike’s Tikes’ birth certificate tags were totally his creation), he could often be annoying. Very annoying.

  “Have lunch with me later, mí querida.” He winked. “I want to hear everything.”

  My eyes stayed on him as he sashayed down the corridor toward his cubicle and disappeared. Parking my skateboard under my desk, I sat down and tore open the envelope, which had my name printed on it. My hand was shaking as I read the notecard inside.

  Dear Sarah~

  I enjoyed my long weekend with you. I trust you did too.

  Yours~ Ari

  My heart fluttered, and I felt my face flush. I slipped the note into my top desk drawer, very aware of the vibrations between my inner thighs. I wondered when I would see him again. I got the feeling he was devoted to Ben during the week, something I understood and respected. Yet, I found myself hungering for him.

  Forcing myself to focus on my work, I booted up my computer and checked my emails. The majority of them were from Catherine sent this morning. More ridiculous things to do like picking up her dry cleaning, setting up her waxing appointment, and color-coding her files. Didn’t she have anything better to do first thing in the morning than piling a crapload of chores on me?

  I got to work, resenting every minute. Just as I finished booking her trip to Milan and setting up all the appointments she requested, a familiar clickety-clack sounded in my ears. Shit. Catherine was here. Nine a.m. This was early for her. Her usual ETA was ten. Maybe she had a restful weekend and was in a good mood. If so, later today I could ask her for a raise or persuade her to let me work more extra hours to help me pay for my mother’s treatments.

  “Did you book my Milan trip?” Not even a good morning.

  I looked up from my computer. “Yes, I just got done booking your entire trip. Do you want me to forward you the itinerary?”

  Silence. Not even a thank you. Her serpentine eyes lingered on my roses and mine on her outfit du jour.

  As usual, with her svelte supermodel figure, she was a walking advertisement for Chanel. Today she was wearing a classic Chanel suit—a smart little black and white tweed number with fringed embellishments—and matching “CC” pumps. Layers of faux pearls were strung around her long neck and a bright red “CC” monogrammed headband held back her waist-length raven black hair.

  “Roses?” she said frostily as she passed my desk. “I must be paying you way too much for you to afford them.”

  “Someone sent them to me.” My voice quivered. Nope. Not a good day to ask for a raise.

  She eyed me with contempt. “Really? That’s a surprise.”

  God, she was a bitch. I’d been working for her for a little over a month, and I’d never heard a kind word out of her mouth. Not once.

  “Well, I don’t want you to be smelling the roses all day. We have lots to do.”

  She dug her manicured hand into her black leather Chanel briefcase (God knows how much that cost) and pulled out a two-inch thick folder.

  “Last month’s expenses. I want them done by the end of the day.”

  She slapped the folder down on my desk and marched into her office, slamming the door behind her. Reluctantly, I opened it and scanned the receipts. Yowzer! This woman ate out at expensive restaurants morning, noon, and night. Breakfast at The Four Seasons…Lunch at Le Cirque…Dinner at Nobu. And since when was a thirty dollar tube of Chanel lipstick (for which I schlepped uptown to Bergdorf’s to purchase on my lunch break) an “emergency business expense”? Given the number of receipts in the folder, it was going to take me hours to prepare her expense report. I needed to get going on the tedious job right away. Just as I start arranging the assorted receipts by date, the phone rang.

  “Boys’ toys,” I answered. Catherine never wanted me to give out her name unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “Saarah…do you like your flowers?”

  That voice! I recognized it instantly. My heart raced, and the phone receiver shook in my hand. It was him!

  “Um, uh, they’re very pretty.” Who was I kidding? They were magnificent, and their intoxicating scent was making me dizzy.

  “Good. I have a meeting in the city today. I shall collect you outside your office at six sharp for an early dinner. Ben has school tomorrow.” CLICK.

  Shit! He didn’t even give me the chance to tell him that I might not be able to make dinner because of all the work my tyrannical boss was piling on me. With my mother’s health care crisis, I couldn’t afford to lose my job.

  I immediately got back to work on the expense report, but my mind kept drifting to what I was going to wear on my date with Ari. My drab dress was not going to cut it. Sadly, I couldn’t afford to buy a new one, and there was no time to scoot up to my apartment to
change into one of his pretty sundresses. As my heart pounded, wetness pooled between my legs. My cotton panties were soaked. Well, at least I knew what I was not going to wear.

  I was still on the first week’s worth of expenses when Catherine came charging out of her office. A file marked “Competitive Boys’ Toys” was in her hand.

  “Ike just called an emergency meeting with the design team in the boardroom. He wants me to demonstrate the top-selling boys’ toys.” Her voice sounded panicked as it always did when Ike pulled this kind of stuff. “I need you to come with me. Let’s go.”

  I straightened up. This was not the first time I had to accompany Catherine to a meeting and be her puppet. Maybe she’d had great success creating the bestselling girls’ toyline of all times—Poutz—but she didn’t know the first thing about boys’ toys. As I followed her down the hallway to Ike’s boardroom, I anticipated assembling robots, action figures, and assault vehicles and then demonstrating how they worked while my wretched boss sat back in her chair and fluffed her hair.

  Ike’s boardroom consisted of a long cherry wood table, a dozen black leather swivel chairs, a giant flat screen TV, and framed posters of all of the company’s successful toys. Ike, who was in his early 50’s, and the motley design team which included Fernando, were already seated around the table when Catherine and I entered the room. A dozen popular boys’ toys were scattered on the shiny wood, including a Power Rangers Zord, a Transformers action figure, and a Star Wars battleship. We took the two empty seats next to Ike, who was seated at the head of the table.

  Ike got right down to business. “So, Catherine, can you please show me how little boys play with these toys.”

  My inept boss smirked, looking my way. “My assistant will show you. She’s such a boy at heart.”

  Her patronizing words made me cringe. Okay, I might have been a tomboy growing up, but I wondered if she knew that I could fuck a man’s brains out. And not just any man. A god. An Adonis. Ari’s beautiful face filled my mind and a tingling sensation coursed through my body, intensifying at my crotch.