TRAINWRECK 2: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Inspired by a True Event

by Nelle L'Amour

  Fortified and confident, at least when it came to my assignment, I returned to my desk following lunch. Secretly hoping that Ari had called again, I checked my messages. Not one. Just a single message from Catherine’s masseuse confirming her Friday appointment. My heart sank. I quickly hung up the phone at the sound of her voice.

  “Your desk looks much better.” She smirked, pleased all the flowers were gone. “Can I assume you came up with some fresh boys’ toy ideas?”

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  “Good. I assume they’re on my desk?”

  “Um, uh, I have them here,” I stammered.

  With a roll of her eyes and a sharp snap of her fingers, she ordered me into her office. I grabbed the file with my toy concepts and followed her inside.

  “Take a seat,” she said as she stood before her gold leaf mirror, brushing her shimmering waist-length black hair. Catching sight of her reflection, I noticed how much she resembled the bestselling Poutz dolls she created, pouty lips and all. She narrowed her eyes. “Let me hear what you came up with.”

  All the confidence I had just minutes ago flew out the door as I did what my intimidating boss asked, lowering myself to the chair I sat in earlier. She said nothing as I explained the six concepts, except “next” after each one. When I was done, she sat down at her desk and glared at me.

  “Well, Sarah, to be honest, I’m a little disappointed that you could only come up with six ideas. Thankfully, there’s one I like—Fancy Pantz. I’ve always thought there should be a complete line of boys’ fashion dolls. Little boys need to learn how to dress well at an early age. Maybe we could name each of the dolls after a famous fashion designer…hmm…Yves, Calvin, Alexander, and Oscar.

  As depressed as I felt, I had to bite down on my lip to hold back my laughter. Fernando threw that one in as joke.

  She dismissed me from her office. As I headed toward the door, she called out to me. “Sarah, subsequent to our little tête-à-tête this morning, I can assume you will not be testing out any of these concepts on my son, correct?”

  Her son! The child whose life she almost ended! More times than once! Rage pulsed through my bloodstream. It took all my willpower not to shove the file down her throat. I stomped out the door, slamming it behind me. By the time I reached my desk, my rage had dissolved into grief. I was never going to see Ari—or Ben—again.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon heavy-hearted, typing up the toy concepts and doing the rest of the bitch’s ridiculous tasks, which had multiplied and now included tracking down a rare pair of Chanel earrings that she wanted for an upcoming gala. As I searched online for them, one eye stayed riveted on the phone. I wanted him to call. I desperately wanted to hear his voice, hear my name roll off his tongue, spoken like none other. The only call I got was from Catherine’s facialist, letting me know that she had an opening on Friday. My breath caught in my throat as I hung up the phone. The hatred I felt for this woman was suffocating me.

  At exactly six p.m. Catherine flew out of her office, her Chanel briefcase in one hand, her enormous purse in the other. She never left her office one minute later than six.

  “I expect you’ll be working late tonight with all the assignments I’ve given you,” she hissed. “And don’t forget to set up that meeting with Mr. Allyn. It’s extremely important.” She stomped off before I could say or do anything I regretted. I wanted to strangle her for hurting Ari and Ben and for making my life so unbearable.

  The truth was I’d already gotten most of her stuff done. But there was no way I was going to leave any time before nine p.m. If I left now, my gut told me that Ari would be waiting for me downstairs on the street; though he hadn’t called me again, he wasn’t the kind of man who would take no for an answer. As much as I longed to see him, I couldn’t face him. It would be too easy to fall right back into his arms. I closed my eyes, remembering how good it felt to be in them.

  I took in a large gulp of air and reopened my eyes, forcing the memory to the back of my mind. Now that the psycho bitch was gone, the first thing I did was call my mother. She was happy to hear from me and told me that she was eating dinner. I encouraged her to eat everything and order an extra dessert.

  “Honey, you sound tired,” she said.

  “I didn’t sleep well last night, and I have a lot going on at work.” I wasn’t going to get her involved with my complicated love life and make her worry.

  “Well, don’t stay too late at work. You’re young and beautiful and must live life to the fullest. Remember, tomorrow is not promised to anyone.”

  My mother’s words of wisdom stabbed at my heart. I loved her so much. If I couldn’t figure out a way to pay for her cancer treatments, her tomorrows might be limited. My eyes grew watery. I inhaled a deep breath to keep myself from crying. My mother needed me to be strong.

  “’Night, Mom. I love you. See you on Friday.”

  “I love you too. From here to the moon. Good night, honey.”

  CLICK.

  After hanging up the phone, I took another deep breath and forced myself to review Catherine’s ever growing To Do list. I still needed to finish color-coding her files—something I dreaded doing—and set that meeting with Frederick Allyn of Allen & Allyn. Not familiar with Allen & Allyn, I googled the name. It was a large Park Avenue law firm that prided itself on winning hard-to-win cases. I wondered what the meeting was about as I dialed the number.

  I easily got through to Mr. Allyn’s office. Most people in high places worked past six. His assistant said he had a cancellation at four tomorrow and could see Ms. Sinclair then.

  Another thing I could check off. I spent the next three hours color-coding her files. The tedious busywork at least kept my mind off Ari. Nine o’clock rolled around. I was exhausted and bleary-eyed. Grabbing my messenger bag and skateboard from under my desk, I shut down my computer and decided to call it a night. Just the janitorial staff was around as I passed one empty cubicle after another on my way out. As I often stayed late, they knew me well and bid me a cheery goodnight. When I got to the elevator bank, my breath hitched. I had company. Ike Abrams was waiting there. My pulse quickened, but the big smile that broke out on his face at the sight of me put me at ease.

  “Ah, Ms. Greene, working late, I see.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied with a small smile.

  He winked at me. “I have my eye on you. I think you have potential to move up in this company.”

  A big ear-to-ear grin spread across my face. His words were the first ray of sunshine in this otherwise dismal, dismal day.

  “Thank you,” I replied, silently wishing that a promotion would happen sooner than later to free me of Catherine. And before the scheming bitch figured out a way to get me fired. Wishful thinking. I’d only been at the company for a little over a month, and it would take a lot longer for me to prove myself, especially with Catherine suppressing my talent. My moment of elation reverted to gloom.

  An elevator arrived shortly and the doors slid open. Ike let me in first. We descended to the lobby quickly in silence. Ike walked me to the entrance to the building.

  “Goodnight, Ms. Greene. Be careful on that board of yours.”

  I forced another small smile. “I will. Goodnight.”

  After Ike departed, I peered through the glass exit doors for any sign of Ari. There was none. I’m sure he was home tucking Ben into bed. I should have felt relieved, but instead emptiness loomed deep in the pit of my stomach.

  I wasn’t looking forward to skateboarding home. I was tired. Depressed. And hungry. But I hungered only for him. I could feel him on my lips and taste him on my tongue. In a deep funk, I zipped up Sixth Avenue, but at least there were far fewer pedestrians, cars, and taxis to weave around at this hour than at rush hour. After stopping at Mr. Costanzo’s pizza joint for a quick slice of pizza that I barely ate, I made it to my brownstone. Carrying my skateboard under my arm, I trudged up the three steep flights of stairs to my apartment. Having easy access to both the front door
and the door to my apartment, I was grateful that, for once, my keys felt sorry for me.

  Once inside my apartment, I immediately fed Jo-Jo and then played my messages. I longed to hear a message from Ari. Hear his soft, velvety voice. Nada. He had, for sure, read my book of sayings on the train. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Damn him! He was taunting me. Or maybe I was just taunting myself and he was over me. My heart sank further. The only message I had was from my mother’s oncologist, Dr. Chernoff, asking me to call him as soon as possible to discuss my her situation. I sighed. I just didn’t need more doom and gloom in my life.

  As I slogged to the bathroom to take a shower, the phone rang. My spirits perked up. It had to be him! Don’t go there! a voice in my head shouted. I froze. But, wait! What if it was my mother and something was wrong? With that disquieting thought, I hurried to the phone and managed to answer it before it went to my voicemail.

  “Sarah,” the voice sobbed.

  I recognized the hysterical voice instantly. It was my best friend, Lauren.

  My pulse quickened. “Lauren, what’s going on?”

  “I caught Taylor screwing Muffy Malone.” She could barely get the words out.

  Muffy Malone was her best friend from her swanky Upper East Side private girls’ school.

  “I can’t go on.”

  My heart hammered. This was not the first time Taylor had cheated on her. And this was not the first time my manic depressive friend had an extreme reaction. The first time she caught him, she starved herself for a month and almost had to be institutionalized. The second time, she slit her wrist. Panic gripped me. I pleaded, “Lauren, don’t do anything crazy! I’ll be right there!”

  Holy Jesus! Grabbing my bag and Lauren’s spare set of keys, which I kept in an envelope behind the Josephine Baker portrait, I dashed out of my apartment, flew down the stairs, and raced out of the building. I hailed a cab. Luck was on my side. One pulled up immediately.

  “Fifty-Seventh Street between Park and Lex.”

  The taxi sped off. I held my breath.

  When we got to my destination, I jumped out of the cab.

  “I’ll pay you double the next time I see you,” I told the shocked cab driver, and while he cursed at me, I ran off.

  I sprinted up to Lauren’s building. The doorman recognized me. I composed myself and said, “Apartment 15C. Lauren’s expecting me.”

  With a smile, the uniformed man buzzed her apartment. Shit. There was no answer. My already rapid heartbeat accelerated and my mind raced.

  “I bet she’s listening to her iPod with her earphones and can’t hear the intercom.”

  The doorman chuckled. “Just like my thirteen-year-old daughter.”

  He gave me access to Lauren’s apartment. I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to the elevator. I slammed the UP button—come on, come on—and let out another loud sigh when the doors parted instantly. Darting into it, I hit the fifteenth floor button.

  Thankfully, the elevator made no stops, and I got to Lauren’s floor quickly. I was out of the elevator before the doors fully parted. My heart was beating as fast as a jackrabbit’s as I sprinted down the long hallway to Lauren’s corner apartment. I prayed that she hadn’t slit her wrist again! And that I wasn’t too late.

  When I tore into her apartment, Lauren was in the living room, sitting on her white shag carpet in a pool of vomit. A depleted bottle of white wine was next to her along with an empty container of aspirin. Her normally glorious auburn hair was matted to her head, and tears were streaming down her vomit-coated face. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

  Panic charged through me as I ran to her side. “Oh God, Lauren, what have you done?”

  “I can’t live without Taylor,” she spluttered.

  “Fuck him!” I barked at her. “He’s a total creep! You deserve better.”

  Lauren clutched her stomach and upchucked again. Her eyes rolled back in head.

  “Lauren, we have to get you to a hospital!”

  “No!” she shrieked. “My parents will institutionalize me! Go away!” She began to tremble and sweat.

  Oh, God! What was I going to do? Lauren would never forgive me if she ended up in a mental asylum. And there was this to consider—if Lauren’s attempted suicide got out to the press, she and her family would never live it down. But a far greater worry ate away at me. I would never forgive myself if she died. Never. Think, Sarah, think.

  The answer came to me quickly. Ari. I pulled out my wallet from my big bag and frantically looked for the hundred-dollar bill with his cell phone number scribbled on it. He told me to call him if I ever had an emergency. This was an emergency.

  I found the bill quickly and, without wasting a second, grabbed my cell phone and punched in the number. His phone rang and rang. Pick up, Ari. Please pick up. And then a voice. Cold and stinging.

  “Sarah.” He knew it was me because his phone probably had caller ID.

  “Ari, I need your help. I’m with my friend, Lauren. She’s overdosed on wine and aspirin.” I was speaking a mile a minute.

  His tone took on urgency. “Where are you?”

  I gave him Lauren’s address and apartment number.

  “I’ll be right there. In the meantime, see if she has any Gatorade. If not, make her drink water.” CLICK.

  There was no time to question him. Plus, he sounded knowledgeable. Perhaps, Catherine had overdosed once? Banishing the thought of her after wishing she had, I hurried to Lauren’s refrigerator, and miraculously, among all the Diet Cokes, I found a single bottle of Gatorade.

  “Drink this!” I urged Lauren when I returned to her side. She was still shaking like a leaf and sweating buckets. I put the bottle to her lips, and to my relief, she slowly sipped the contents down. I prayed that Ari would get here soon. In the meantime, I managed to get Lauren cleaned up and into a fresh set of clothes. I noticed, for the first time, that she wasn’t wearing her five-carat engagement ring.

  The intercom buzzed ten minutes later. Ari! Pretending I was Lauren, I told the doorman to send him up. He fell for my impersonation.

  Two minutes later, the doorbell rang. I ran to open it. I was not prepared for my reaction when I met him face to face. I thought my knees would buckle as blood rushed to my head. He held me in his gaze for a brief moment—oh, those beautiful, but unreadable, gemstone eyes—and then sprinted past me to Lauren. Shaking violently, she had begun to hallucinate.

  “Fuck!” he said. “She’s convulsing. We need to get her to a hospital right away.”

  I bit down on my lip.

  “Get me a blanket.”

  Scanning Lauren’s chicly furnished living room, I immediately located one on the couch. I made a dash for it and hurried back to Ari and Lauren.

  While Ari wrapped it around her, he ordered me to grab the bottle of wine and aspirin. “They’ll need to analyze how much she consumed.” Without a word, I did exactly what he asked.

  He scooped Lauren up in his arms, and I followed him out the door. The silence we shared in the elevator was tense. We avoided eye contact. I couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on in his head. As for me, there was a sick, sinking feeling that deepened as the elevator descended.

  When the elevator doors parted, Ari wasted no time, taking long, fast strides with his powerful legs to the entrance of the building, with me keeping pace beside him. The doorman gave us a strange look as we skirted past him. “Too much partying,” I told him. “She’ll be okay.” I only prayed.

  Ari’s Bentley was parked right outside the building. He loaded Lauren, who was now in a semi-conscious state, into the backseat with the blanket around her. Quickly and solemnly, he opened the front passenger door for me and then hopped into the driver’s seat. The car peeled off the curb. More silence.

  Turning left on to Fifty-Ninth Street, the car raced up Park Avenue. Finally, Ari broke the ice, but kept his eyes focused on the road. “I’m taking her to Lenox Hill Hospital. We’re almost there.”

  I told him
about my concern about the negative publicity this incident might generate for Lauren and her family along with the possibility that Lauren’s parents might send her away to some rehab clinic.

  “Don’t worry, Sarah.”

  Coldness coated his voice as he said my name. While the way he usually said it with a sexy lilt made me melt, the unexpected sharpness sent a shiver up my spine as he continued.

  “We’re going to use a private, backdoor entrance and check her in under a different name. No one except you and me will know about this incident. I’ve already taken care of everything.”

  I glanced back at Lauren. She was resting peacefully. Hope coursed through me. Ari had that effect on me. In his presence, I believed everything was possible. Everything would be okay. Even better than just okay. This god-like man was a healer. Oh, how I loved him! But he wasn’t meant to be mine. I fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

  In no time, we reached the private entrance to Lenox Hill Hospital. An emergency team was already there waiting for us with a gurney. The paramedics quickly unloaded Lauren onto the stretcher, took her vitals, and hooked her up to a portable IV. She looked so frail. So vulnerable. So lifeless.

  As they rushed her through the entrance, the dam that was holding back my tears collapsed. A river poured down my cheeks, and I began to sob.

  “Oh, Ari, I’m so scared. What if she dies?”

  Before I could blink, Ari took me into his strong, brawny arms. Too distraught to resist, I buried my tear-soaked face into his soft cotton tee as he caressed my damp, tangled tresses.

  “Shhh,” he whispered in my ear. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  He let me weep in that position for a while. I don’t know how long I’d been there when he said, “Come on. Let’s find out how she’s doing.”

  I let him take my hand in his and lead me up to the fifth floor. The Benjamin M. Golden Pavilion. The wing was named after his father. My guess was that this is where he was treated for cancer, and that the Golden family had built the wing in his memory. The waiting room resembled the lobby of a luxury hotel, filled with expensive Persian rugs, sleek leather seating arrangements, and eye-catching works of art on the walls. Ari sat down on one of the couches while I, deliberately distancing myself from him, sat across the way in an armchair. My sobbing had subsided, but I was still very anxious.