Carter: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

  “It’s alright. I’d rather stay here. I don’t want to spend your money,” she says.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t staying in the gym. Sleeping on the floor,” I say.

  Her eyes lock on mine, cutting me. “What does it matter to you? We aren’t together anymore.”

  I want to say, let’s stop this. Call in our order of sweet and sour chicken and wonton soup to Chang’s and get the hell out of here. I’m ready to take you home, baby girl.

  Instead, I say, “You will take the hotel. And that’s final.”

  She gives me a long look. What choice does she have? I own the gym. She has nowhere to go.

  “Fine. But I can get a cab,” she says.

  Like hell.

  “My driver will take you.” I give her such a hard stare that for once in her life, she doesn’t argue with me.

  We make our way silently through the dark halls. I toss the sweatshirt into the lost and found bin. I walk her to the side door, the one that leads to the street. I press my thumb on the pad. The doors open. We wait together in the outdoor vestibule. A place where we’ve stumbled home on drunken nights and couldn’t wait to get home before we put our hands on each other. A place we’ve kissed, fucked.

  The very same place she got the phone call that her grandmother passed away. I held her as she cried, my back pressed against the stone wall. Her face buried in my chest. My chin resting on the top of her head.

  An awkward, heavy silence sits between us. Part of me wants to grab her. Kiss her. Part of me wants to scream at her, Why are you choosing this? Why are you ending us? Why can’t you be the woman you’d promised me you’d be?

  I stand silently. Keep my distance. My driver pulls up and I give him the instructions. I open her door. She mutters a thank you.

  They pull away.

  My heart goes with them.

  * * *

  Sasha

  I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since the breakup. I’m half expecting him to come to me and say, Just kidding, Sasha, we can just go back to the way things were. But I know how incredibly stupid that is. First off, Carter never jokes about serious matters. Second, I could read it in his eyes when he gave me the ultimatum—commit yourself one hundred percent to being Bachman or get out.

  So I got out. I thought I would be able to handle the lifestyle. Hell, what I really thought was that we’d get married and Carter would let me do things my way forever. We’d break the mold of the Bachman family.

  But it doesn’t work like that. The men dominate, the women submit.

  I’m too strong-willed. And half the reason I walked out was that I was just so pissed Bronson didn’t want me in the first place.

  Jerk.

  It’s getting incredibly awkward at work. I’ve got to find another job.

  Carter and I are polite. But it’s cold. We keep our distances.

  I know it’s not appropriate to continue working at my ex-fiancé’s gym. But I’m just so... at home, here at Barbells. I know the clientele; I love the building.

  Even though it’s over, it’s a comfort to see his face. Hear his voice. His laugh.

  Although I haven’t heard his laugh lately.

  We’ve both been moping about. Not that anyone else can tell. Just us. We’ve gotten excellent at hiding our emotions. Keeping it profesh. And we’ve gotten damn good at not being in the same place at the same time.

  The hotel is nice. He’s paying for a deluxe suite. It’s close by. The sheets are white, crisp, clean. The lobby has coffee and fresh baked cookies every day.

  I miss him.

  I miss home.

  I’ve been looking for two weeks, and I haven’t had any luck finding a place. The city is so damn expensive, I’m going to have to get a shared apartment with a couple of roommates. The idea of living with strangers has my stomach in knots.

  And now it’s the last night of the month.

  We always have a staff pizza party the last night of the month. We won’t be able to ignore one another.

  I would skip it, but I’m making more of an effort to get friendly with the staff. Before the breakup, all my time had been spent with Carter and the Bachmans. And once you’re out with the Bachmans, you’re out. Twenty-four hours after I’d left the Village, all their numbers were blocked on my phone, courtesy of Joshua, the tech guy. I’m sure my thumbprint was erased from the gates. When I see Bachmans in public, they turn the other way. Some give me an apologetic smile first.

  I don’t harbor ill will toward them—I know there are rules in place they must follow.

  I guess I’m lucky I don’t get whacked. Surely I’m seen as a liability. The bratty ex who knows some of our secrets but couldn’t commit.

  It’s become clear to me that I need to make some new friends. And someone working at this place must have a lead on an apartment. So, I’ll stomach the awkwardness between Carter and me and go.

  I enter the break room. It’s set up as it always is for staff meetings, but there’s a few less pizzas than usual. Lines of soda. Junk food. I like that about Carter—he might be a health nut, but he knows when to let loose.

  I recognize the pizza boxes—he’s ordered from my favorite place, Michelangelo’s. I read the sticker on the top box. It’s Hawaiian chicken. My all-time favorite. I peek in the box and the sight of the chicken and melty cheese, dotted with barbeque sauce and grilled pineapple has my mouth watering. I haven’t been eating much and suddenly, I’m starving. My stomach growls.

  “Hungry?”

  I look up at Carter. He fills the doorway. His muscles bulge beneath his tight black shirt. It’s the shirt that makes him look so ridiculously hot, it has all the women giggling and whispering when he wears it to teach class.

  His eyes smile softly beneath his disheveled blond hair, giving him an adorable look to compliment his rock-hard body.

  My pussy tightens. My heart heaves in my chest.

  I can’t believe he’s no longer mine. I feel as if the wind has been knocked from me.

  I put the tip of my tongue to the roof of my mouth—a trick I once read in a magazine that helps you stop yourself from crying. I break his gaze, no longer able to stare into those green eyes—it hurts too damn much. Instead, I look around. I clear my throat and ask, “Where’s everyone else?”

  He shrugs. “They’re all at a Monster Truck Rally in Poughkeepsie.”

  My brows raise. “We weren’t invited?”

  He looks at his sneakers. “I think we turned them down too many times. They’ve stopped inviting us to stuff.”

  We. Us.

  “Right,” I say.

  “They forgot to tell me they were going tonight, until after I’d already ordered the pizza. They took most of it with them, but I told them to leave the Hawaiian.”

  His gaze rests on mine. He looks about as lost as I feel.

  “Well, let’s eat. We’re still staff, and I’m hungry.” I take a paper plate from the table he’s set up and hold it out to him.

  A peace offering.

  He hesitates. He takes the plate.

  We prepare our food in silence. Awkwardly leaning over one another. Would you like a drink? Yes, please. Napkin? Sure.

  We sit down at the big round table. It seats eight. We are as far apart from one another as we can get. The room is quiet. Too quiet.

  “Hang on. I think I know what we need.” He leaves the room.

  While he’s gone, I go to the sound system. I plug in my phone. I put on his favorite station, Techno Mix. Why not? He’s gotten me the pizza.

  I feel a little hope well in my heart—maybe we can be friends.

  I sit down, waiting for him to return.

  He comes back into the room. He’s holding a fifth of rum.

  “No way. You had that in the back?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Toby gave it to me when he left last week. A little thank you for being a great boss present.”

  I smile and say, “You are a great boss.”

  He
gives me a look, hesitates, then half smiles and opens the stopper, pouring some into my glass of cola.

  I take a sip. It’s sweet and it burns on the way down. It hits my empty stomach and I take another, bigger gulp. A moment later, I feel relaxed, floaty. “Thank you.”

  I take a bite of the pizza. It’s delicious. Sweet and spicy. I wash it down with more of my drink. I giggle.

  “What?” he asks between bites.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I giggle again.

  He chuckles.

  I laugh. I drink some more.

  We eat. We gossip about the staff. Who’s dating who. Who’s hooking up behind our backs with members. Who teaches the worst classes. We stuff our faces with pizza. He refills our drinks.

  For the first time in weeks, things feel comfortable between us.

  I move my plate over a few spaces. I slide into a seat closer to him. I say, “This is nice.”

  “The food?” he asks.

  “No. You know, this.” I gesture at the space between us. “Hanging out. Being friends.”

  His smile fades. His sparkling eyes go cold.

  My heart sinks. The color drains from my cheeks.

  I’m a fool.

  The atmosphere in the room completely changes. The light, fun evening is gone. I feel a chill. A little shudder runs through me as his jaw clenches and he stands from his chair.

  He stares me down. “We’ll never be friends.”

  I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me. I can’t breathe.

  He grabs his cup. He turns, leaving the room. On the way out, he yanks my phone cord from the speaker, cutting the music.

  I count to ten slowly in my mind. When I’m sure he’s gone, I burst into tears.

  Chapter Three

  Carter

  The rum settles in my stomach, making me feel ill.

  She wants to be friends.

  We will never be friends.

  She was to be my wife. My everything.

  I suddenly realize I can no longer be anywhere near her.

  This isn’t healthy. We are supposed to be over, yet we see one another every day at work. I’m paying for her hotel. Having my driver chauffeur her about town. I’m ordering her favorite pizza.

  My mind is strong. My heart weak.

  If I can’t be with her, I can’t be around her.

  It’s that simple.

  I sit at my desk. I run my hands through my hair.

  She has to go.

  Tomorrow, I will tell her.

  I’ll give her two weeks to continue working at Barbells while she finds a job. Then she’s out. After we have our conversation, I’ll head to the airport.

  I haven’t taken a vacation in years. Why not now?

  I flip open my laptop. Put in my password, Sasha11. The eleven is because every so often over the past two years, my computer demands I pick a new password. Wanting to keep Sasha, I just kept changing the number after her name.

  I still don’t have the heart to erase her.

  I type in sun, sand, waves. Pictures of gorgeous white sand beaches pop up. I click on one with aqua waters that recede to a deep turquoise.

  Mexico. Perfect.

  I’ve always wanted to visit Cabo. I’ll drink her away.

  Maybe I’ll even make it out of my room and down to the beach. Come back to the city with a tan.

  Then I’ll return to work. She’ll be gone.

  And I’ll move on with my life.

  I’ll be a bachelor for a while. Then I’ll start dating. I’ll find the woman I’m supposed to be with. One that wants me for who I really am.

  A man in a brotherhood of doms.

  There are plenty of fish in the sea, my mind tells me.

  My gut replies, But there’s only one Sasha.

  My fingers begin to type frantically. It’s as if my body has taken over, carrying out my plan for me. Minutes later, I have a first-class flight and a hotel. I triple check the information I’d typed in, careful to be sure I’d booked under my pseudonym, ‘Steven Mitchell.’ I don’t think Bronson would understand if I fucked up and broke our rule of never traveling under the name Bachman, or our birth names—the ones that were erased when we joined—because I was tipsy off drinking rum with my ex. I could take one of our family’s private jets but I’m in the mood for anonymity—losing myself in the crowded airport, bustling amongst strangers.

  That’s done; now, to wrap up the business side of things. I send a text and receive back confirmation that my driver will be at the gym at noon to collect me for my one o’clock departure. We know a guy at LaGuardia—I’ll fly through clearance.

  I get my assistant manager to confirm filling in while I’m gone. Give him the number of the burner phone I’ll be taking with me in case he needs me.

  I call Bronson—the man never sleeps. I tell him what’s up, get him to okay my absence. He gives me condolences on my breakup. He sounds sincere.

  I call John. He’s encouraging. Tells me not to worry about a thing, he’ll cover for me at work, take care of my tasks. Tells me to get laid.

  Never once says Sasha’s name.

  I leave the office. She’s gone.

  Good. Now I can lock up and get the hell out of here. I’ll go home, pack a bag, and try to get some rest. Then I’ll come back to work. Break the news to her royal highness, that she’s no longer able to be my freeloading friend, and hit the airport. Cabo, here I come.

  The rum mixed with the relief of having a plan to move forward with my life allows me a few hours of sleep.

  It’s morning and I’m well rested. Bag in hand, I walk through the Village, headed to Barbells. The air is chilly, getting cold. I think of the hot sun warming my skin, curing my ills. I feel a smile spread across my face. I whistle as I walk. It’s going to be a good day.

  I walk into my gym. It’s buzzing like crazy. Tons of happy, healthy people mill about. Sweating, laughing, pumping iron. My assistant manager running around, eager to please and already enjoying taking my place. Pride wells in my chest. I’ve done a decent job here. I deserve a little break.

  I’ve told the girl up front to send Sasha to me as soon as she’s in. I’m waiting in the office. I’m leaning back on the desk, trying to look casual.

  My heart races.

  The walls of my office are closing in on me. Trapping me in a cage of memories. I’m ready to get the hell out of here.

  Maybe I’ll move up my driver. Have a few drinks at the airport while I wait for my flight. Liquid lunch.

  There’s a soft knock at the door.

  I clear my throat. “Come in.”

  The door opens.

  My heart rate slows. It’s Leslie. The woman who works at the front desk. “Sasha just called. She’s going to be late. I thought you’d want to know.” She gives me a long look with her blue eyes. Her cheeks pinken. I’ve found her to be a bit shy in my presence.

  “Thank you.”

  She gives me a nod and leaves. She closes the door behind her.

  I can’t wait in here, I’ll go crazy. I leave the office, mill about the gym. The spin class is going strong. Every single elliptical and treadmill is occupied.

  I stop by the front desk. I’ve recently hired two staff members. I should get to know them before I go. Leslie, and her friend, Tiffany.

  Tiffany has red hair, freckles, and is super outgoing. I hired her because I knew she’d be great at phone calls and greeting members. She’s got an easy, fun way about her that gives a solid first impression. She’s on the phone now, and I listen to her as she explains our membership dues to a customer.

  She’s personal and helpful and by the end of the call, she’s signed the client. I made the right choice.

  She hangs up the phone and looks to me. “Hey, Mr. Bachman! We just got another member.”

  “I heard. Great work. And you can call me Carter. Everyone else does,” I say.

  “Oh—okay. I wasn’t sure so I was just playing it safe.” She gives me a smile.
r />   I smile back. “How are you liking it so far? Everyone treating you well?” I ask.

  “I love it here! The only problem is everyone is so fit.” She sticks out her stomach, patting it. “I turned down a doughnut this morning for the first time in a year!”

  I chuckle.

  She begins to tell me a story of her first attempt at a barre class. We give all our employees free memberships—that’s how I got half of my workers in the first place. Tiffany is not one of those looking for a free gym. She hasn’t worked out a day in her life. She’s comical and before I know it, she has me laughing. Really laughing. And it feels good. She reminds me of a friend I had in high school. I lean on the desk and ask her what her next attempt to exercise will be.

  She says, maybe walking to the doughnut shop to get the cream-filled she missed out on this morning. I laugh.

  I sense someone eyeing me. I glance over my shoulder. It’s Sasha.

  Her eyes are shooting daggers at Tiffany.

  I know what’s coming. I’ve seen it before.

  Only this time, she’s going to be way out of line.

  I’m not hers to claim.

  Sasha sidles up to the desk. “Getting to know the boss?” She peers down at Tiffany’s nametag, acting as if she wasn’t the one who had filled out the new hire paperwork—she knows Tiffany’s name perfectly well. “Tiffany, is it?” She pronounces the name with a hint of disdain. She’s only warming up.

  Sasha has a devilish jealous streak and I’m not about to let my friendliest new employee bear the brunt of it. “Sasha,” I warn.

  Tiffany surprises me by firing back, “And you are?”

  I hide a chuckle.

  Anger washes over Sasha’s face. She opens her mouth to say something nasty, no doubt. Before she can speak, my fingers circle her upper arm. “Tiffany, you’ll have to excuse us. I’ve been waiting for Sasha to come in. We have a sensitive matter to discuss.”

  Tiffany’s pleasant demeanor returns. Tiffany gives Sasha a little wave as I drag Sasha away. Tiffany calls out, “So nice to meet you!”

  When we are out of earshot of the front desk, I hiss into Sasha’s ear, “What. Was that?”

  She tugs her arm to free it but I don’t loosen my grip. I open the office door. I pull her into the room. I dump her in the chair that sits across from my desk. I close the door, locking it.