Hacked For Love & The Dom's Songbird: A Billionaire Romance Collection

by Michelle Love

Stop thinking about him, she told herself now. It’s been a month. You’ll never see him again. She dragged her attention back to the meeting. They were brainstorming ideas for the next year’s stories and so far, Noosh hadn’t heard a thing.

  She blinked and focused on what Allison was saying. “Something I was thinking about was the next generation of New York’s crime families. A lot of them are eschewing the old life and branching out on their own with legitimate businesses. I’ve heard the reaction from the old timers has been…mixed, to say the least. I’d like to focus in on three or four of the heirs who have broken free.”

  “Any ideas on who and how?” Seth, one of the station’s head honchos, looked interested.

  Allison nodded, her grey eyes serious. “A four-part series. I interview each of them, ask them the hard questions about how they feel about their family mob connections and why they chose to break free. Hang on, I have a list here.” She dug around in her notebook. “Richard Viera, Dominick Octavo, Christofalo Montecito, and Helena De Vito. Those are the names I came up with through very basic research.”

  Seth nodded, and Noosh wrote down the names, glad of something else to concentrate on. “I like your thinking, Ally,” Seth said and nodded at Noosh. “You’ll work together with Allison on this?”

  Noosh smiled gratefully. “Love to.”

  Allison winked at her. “And then, we can’t ignore that it’s election year next year. With any luck, we’ll get the candidates in for an interview.”

  “Will they want to be associated with such a cutting-edge show as yours?” Felix, a snide show runner who loathed Allison and her talent, interjected, but Seth waved his hand.

  “We’ll get the ones who have enough guts, the ones who willingly go on Colbert. They’re the ones we want. Harper, Seagram, Papps – they’re the ones we want – or don’t want, in the case of some of them.”

  “Destry Papps would be a get.” Allison conceded, and Noosh’s heart sank. God, no. She knew instantly she’d be calling in sick the day Destry came into the station. She found that her fingernails were digging into her palm, leaving deep welts, and flexed her fingers.

  After the meeting, she hunkered back down in her cubicle and worked her way through the paperwork, immersing herself in admin work. It was only when Allison came by her desk that she looked at the clock and realized it was past eight p.m.

  “Hey, kiddo, time you went home. But before you do, I’ve been thinking. You know, this mob-heir thing – this could be the thing you take the lead on, and I’ll tell you why it could be interesting. You’re not from New York or even the States. Your perspective as an outsider could be the thing that makes them open up to you. What do you say?”

  Noosh gaped at her boss. To be asked to lead such a huge story was incredible. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes,” Allison grinned, then her smile faded. “Noosh, you deserve this, and there’s something else... I don’t know what happened to you at that club, but I know something did, and I feel bad. I encouraged you to go, and whatever happened – “

  “Whatever happened, happened,” Noosh interrupted her. “It’s not your fault.”

  There was a long silence. “Who was he?”

  Noosh struggled for a moment to find the words, and decided the truth was the only way to go. “The most incredible man I’ve ever met. And the most damaged. Not a good combination.”

  Allison patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ve known men like that. They’re instantly addictive, like sugar or heroin, but so, so bad for you.”

  Noosh nodded but looked away from her boss’s gaze. “I agree.”

  “Anyway, sweetheart, go home and we’ll talk more about this in the morning. The mob stories, I mean, although you know you can talk to me about anything.”

  Noosh smiled at her. “I know. Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  On the subway home, Noosh indulged in another fantasy about her mysterious lover, imagining him turning up at her apartment door, begging for her forgiveness. Would she make him beg? Noosh smirked to herself. Probably not – one look at those green eyes of his and she would cave. Pathetic, she told herself, but still visualized pulling him into her apartment, tearing off his clothes and fucking him until they were both exhausted.

  At home, she took a long soak in the bathtub, indulging the fantasy some more, her hand between her legs, caressing her clit, imagining it was his tongue on her. She shivered through a mellow orgasm before pushing thoughts of him away.

  Maybe some people were just meant to be experienced once in a lifetime, she told herself, as she pulled the comforter over her shoulders and settled down to watch the television.

  Noosh never knew what woke her. Whether it was the sound of the television, which was still on, or the sense of someone being in the room with her. Noosh opened her eyes and froze. A dark figure was standing next to her sofa bed. She barely had time to try and make out his or her features before whoever it was shot her, the flash of the muzzle lighting up the room as he pumped three bullets into Noosh’s belly, the sound muffled by a silencer.

  Noosh gasped, stunned. The pain hit her full force she knew one thing for sure as she lay bleeding out.

  Destry had found her.

  Chapter Five

  Six months later…

  The physiotherapist gave her a long stare. “Noosh, you’re pushing yourself too hard. I told you this would take time.”

  Noosh, balancing herself between the bars, shook her head. “Doc, it’s been too long. I’m going stir-crazy in this hospital. I want to go back to work.”

  The doctor, a tired-looking woman in her thirties named Beth, rolled her eyes. “And don’t think I don’t know you’ve been working from your room. Rest is anathema to you, isn’t it?”

  “I had plenty of rest when I was brought in.” Noosh propelled herself painfully along the treadmill. One good thing about having a bullet in the spine, it sure helped your upper body strength when you tried to learn to walk again, she thought, as she puffed her way along the walkway.

  “For the record, a coma isn’t rest, Noosh. Come on, that’s it for today.” Beth helped Noosh back into her chair. Noosh gave a frustrated sigh.

  “Come on, Beth, do a girl a solid and let me out of here.”

  Beth couldn’t help but grin. “Just so you know, that expression coming from your English mouth sounds weird. And, okay then.”

  Noosh was already geared up for an argument, so Beth’s agreement took her by surprise. “Really?”

  “Really.” Beth nevertheless insisted on wheeling Noosh back to her room. “Tomorrow, and I mean it. Get some sleep tonight, and if your stats are good in the morning, you can go home. I’m not happy about you being alone, though.”

  “I won’t be alone, for the most part.”

  Noosh’s parents had been flown over by the radio station after Noosh had been shot, but when it had been clear their daughter would survive, they’d had to return to their lives in London, albeit Skyping Noosh every day. Allison, shaken to her core by the attempted murder, had sworn to them that she would take care of Noosh, and had insisted Noosh move in with her in her Upper East Side apartment.

  “With security,” she’d emphasized when Noosh protested, and Noosh couldn’t argue. The man – she presumed it was a man – who had shot her was still out there, and the police had no leads. Noosh hadn’t told them of her suspicions – that Senator Destry Papps, candidate for the office of the President of the United States, was the one who had shot her mercilessly. Who the hell would believe that? Her mother and father had looked at her with pain in their eyes, and she knew they guessed the same. Would Destry try again?

  Noosh hoped against hope that by not revealing him now, he would understand she wouldn’t go the press about him at all, but she knew that was a naïve hope. So the promise of being secure, at least at home, was appealing.

  Allison had been to see her every day, and Noosh knew from the topics of conversation on her radio show tha
t the shooting had affected her usually unflappable boss to the core. Allison had persuaded the station to run an anti-firearms campaign, and by sharing Noosh’s – or rather, ‘Sarah’s’ – story with her listeners, Allison had managed to both bring awareness to the subject and, Noosh hoped, to broadcast to the assailant that she was now going to be protected.

  Noosh knew Destry had heard the program because the day after, a huge bouquet of red roses had arrived for her with the card just saying “Sarah…” on it. Funny how threatening just that one word could be, she mused as she’d dumped the flowers into the trash can.

  Allison insisted on coming personally to pick her up from the hospital after Noosh was discharged, and she settled Noosh into the back seat of the limousine, fussing around her, making Noosh grin. “You really have gone full-on Momma-Bear, haven’t you?”

  “Quiet, child,” Allison said, hiding her grin. “Now, your mom and dad packed all your things and sent them to me, so I took the liberty of unpacking some non-personal stuff, just to make your room feel like home.”

  Noosh sighed. It had taken her months to find the apartment in Queens, and having to let it go was annoying. But you’re alive, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and buck up. Noosh smiled her thanks at Allison and changed the subject.

  “How are the interviews going?” Noosh had missed the preparation and setting up of the Mobster Heirs series, and was sorry to have been out of action for it. From what Allison told her, it had been an eye-opening experience.

  “Good so far, but we have one hold-out…at least, we did. Christofalo Montecito called the day after our firearms campaign - and your story - got coverage on the national news. Said he wanted to help out with that, and if he could, he would give us the interview we want.”

  “That’s good news. What’s his story?”

  “Hard to say. We know he’s broken away from his family’s business, but what he’s been doing, what he plans to do, is a mystery. Try researching someone who doesn’t want to be found. There are no photos, no gossip about the man at all. Unheard of these days, but the man’s a ghost.”

  Noosh was surprised. “That is unheard of.”

  Allison grinned at her. “I know what you’re thinking – that you can find something on the internet even if an old coot like me can’t, but…there’s nothing. The man’s a private guy. So, him coming in to see us…”

  Noosh groaned. “Tell me I can be there! I’ve missed out on everything, Ally.”

  Allison sighed. “Alright, you can be there, but – and I mean this – you are not to do anything but watch and say hello to the man.”

  Noosh grumbled but agreed. “When is he coming in?”

  “Thursday…and as part of the deal, until then, you rest.”

  “Fine.”

  “Grumpuss.”

  “Shut up.”

  Christo walked out of his bathroom to find Bartie waiting in his kitchen, helping himself to Christo’s coffee. He smiled at his friend. “How do I look?”

  Bertie looked him up and down, snickering. “Ugly as sin, but smart enough.”

  “Thanks, dude.” Christo laughed. He knew he looked good in the navy sweater and dark jeans, but he was nervous as hell. Bertie studied him.

  “Dude, relax. This will be a breeze. All you have to do is talk about your new business.”

  Christo rolled his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

  Bertie grinned, unrepentant. “You got me. Look, just stick to the truth – it’s easier to remember. Mr. Montecito, did you ever knowingly participate in illegal activities?”

  “No.”

  “But you knew your father’s business was linked to organized crime?”

  Christo sighed. “Yes.”

  “Don’t sigh. Just say yes. Look, buddy, of course they’re going to ask you the hard questions. You knew this and agreed to the interview anyway.”

  Christo nodded. “I listened to the other interviews.” He began to smile. “Helena really met her match, huh?”

  Bertie clutched his heart dramatically. “Do not speak ill of the lovely Helena.”

  Christo laughed. “Bert, you know what would actually make your fantasy real? Asking Helena out. Come on.”

  He grabbed his keys and Bertie followed him out of the apartment. “That,” Bertie said sniffily, “would involve me speaking to her, which I am not.”

  “Because she beat you at squash?”

  Bertie grumbled under his breath and Christo snickered. “Dude, let it go. Trust me, Helena is a pussy cat.”

  “God, you’ve fucked her, haven’t you?” As they got into Christo’s car, Bertie sounded half-angry, half-admiring. Christo shook his head.

  “No, I promise you I haven’t. Not Helena, not knowing how you feel about her. I’m glad I didn’t sink that low.”

  Bertie clapped his friend’s shoulder. “Good boy.” Bertie sat back as Christo pulled the car out into traffic. Christo had always insisted on driving himself, even when he worked for his father, and Bertie watched the streets flow by. After a while, he turned to his friend.

  “So…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You still obsessing over the club girl?”

  Christo shot him a look. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “But you’re still hung up?”

  Christo sighed, then nodded. “I can’t get her out of my head, Bert. She was so lovely, and I treated her like crap. I would be damn lucky to find a girl like that, and I blew it. All I think about is finding her and apologizing.”

  “One of your twelve steps?”

  Christo grinned despite himself. “You’re such a douche bag.”

  “True dat.”

  They drove in companionable silence for a while, then Bertie cleared his throat. “How about putting a private detective on the case? See if he can find her?”

  Christo rolled his eyes. “Yes, dude, because invading her privacy just so I can feel better is the way to go.”

  “Fair point. Thought about going back to the club?”

  Christo shook his head. “No. Look, can we change the subject?”

  “Of course, brother.”

  Ten minutes later they were pulling into the parking lot of the radio station, and Christo hesitated. Bertie waited until Christo nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  They were greeted by a bubbly blonde intern, Liam, who was flirtatious and fun and made them relax a little. “Now, once you have your studio i.d., take the elevator to the third floor and follow the hallway around to Studio C. Noosh will look after you from there. You can’t miss her – gorgeous, sexy, and going hell for leather in a wheelchair at the moment.”

  Christo and Bertie rode the elevator, and Christo blew out his cheeks. Bertie grinned at him. “Not too late to back out.”

  Christo shook his head. “I’m good.”

  They followed the hallway as directed and finally came to the door of Studio C. Christo, his mouth dry, stopped at the water cooler outside of the studio as Bertie knocked on the door, opening it to speak to the woman inside.

  “Hey, are you Noosh? Hi, I’m Bertie, Mr. Montecito’s assistant.”

  Christo heard a soft voice. “Oh, hey, nice to meet you, I’m Noosh Taylor. Come on in, Ally’s just setting up. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  “Oh, hey, do you need a hand?”

  “No, it’s okay, I’m just getting used to this thing. I don’t really need it, but Ally insists. Won’t be a moment.”

  There was something familiar about the voice, and Christo stepped into the room just as the woman turned away from him. No. No way. His heart began to beat faster as he recognized the soft wavy hair falling down her back, the caramel skin, the curvy body, now sitting in a wheelchair. How? Why?

  He made an involuntary noise, and she looked up. Her face paled as she stared back at him with a mixture of horror and shock.

  It was her. It was his sweet girl.

  Chapter Six

  Noosh stared at him, her heart poundin
g painfully against her ribs. After a moment, she remembered where she was and cleared her throat. Unsmiling, she nodded to him and turned back to Bertie. “Ally will be out in a second. Can I get either of you some coffee?”

  “Please, don’t trouble yourself,” Christo Montecito said in that deep, sensual voice of his, and Noosh felt her belly quiver with desire. No. Nope, this wasn’t happening. She looked away from that intense green-eyed stare, the curiosity in them. She knew he was wondering about her wheelchair and felt a wash of embarrassment. She leveraged herself out of the chair, wobbling, and both Bertie and Christo stepped forward to help her. She waved them away, her face burning. “I’m fine.”

  Ally opened the door at that particular moment – damn it – and made a frustrated noise. “Again, Noosh? What was our deal?”

  Noosh’s face flamed even redder. “I was just practicing. Anyway, our guests are here.”

  Ally immediately switched into her professional mode. “Bertie, how nice to see you again.”

  Bertie winked at her. “You too, Ally, looking good. Can I introduce my friend, Christofalo Montecito?”

  Ally shook Christo’s hand and Noosh could see her boss sizing him up. She risked another glance at the man. If it were possible, he was even more beautiful than she remembered, and he looked better, healthier than when she’d met him in the club. His olive skin was smooth, his beard neatly trimmed, his dark curls freshly washed and brushed neatly. Noosh longed to run her fingers through them.

  Stop it. You’re hardly in any condition to think about sex. She realized Ally was speaking to her and dragged her attention back to her boss. Ally was hiding a smile, obviously having noticed her preoccupation. “Sorry, Ally, I missed that.”

  “You’ll be sitting in on this interview today, Noosh.”

  Oh, god damn it. She could barely stand the tension between them as it was, and to have to sit by him for the next couple of hours…

  Even worse, once they got in the small studio, Ally managed to sit Noosh beside Christo, where she could feel his body heat, breath in his scent of fresh linen and spice. It drove her senses wild and she struggled to maintain her composure. Just before the interview began, Christo looked around at her, and she met his gaze, feeling something shift in the air. She could see he was nervous, and weirdly, she sensed he was looking to her for confidence. She gave him a small smile and a nod, and she saw his shoulders relax. It was such a small moment, but it made her feel… How did she feel? Flattered? Happy? She couldn’t tell.