Need (Bad Boys with Billions Book 3)

by Laura Marie Altom

“You’re going to go on one more client visit for me, or next time you refuse a request, my crew will put your fiancée in a body cast. Your client, Mitsy, needs closure, and doesn’t understand why you don’t want to see her anymore. Go out with her one last time to reassure her your abrupt exit from her life is nothing personal. Make her happy, and I’ll consider your bill paid in full.”

  I struggled for my next breath. “I’m . . . not . . . screwing her.”

  “Did I say you had to? Now that you’re engaged, do you think I’d be so disrespectful to your sweet Carol?” When she lifted her foot, I gulped for air.

  “I . . . th-think . . . you . . . don’t give a shit about . . . anything but making money.”

  “I care about lots of things.” She lost her balance and fell to the pillows. I’d hoped she’d be hurt, but her laugh told a different story. “Why else do you think I’d be concerned with your poor Carol’s feelings? Wasn’t it kind of me to help find her daughter?”

  “Bitch!”

  “Come on, Nathan . . .” On her knees, she crawled to me, whispering in my ear, “What if you keep the Bentley, and I throw in a fat cash bonus to sweeten the deal?”

  “Why would you do that?” I was finally able to take a deep breath.

  “Simple. I run a quiet operation. Even one disgruntled client is too many. Do me this favor, and we’ll part friends.”

  “Are you high?” Or maybe I was. Could I be hallucinating all of this? How was she the same woman who only a week earlier had me beaten to the point of hospitalization?

  She laughed. “That’s my boy. Actually, I’m sad things have turned out this way. You could have been my best. I saw a lot of potential in you. Carol’s a lucky woman.” Off the bed, Uma strutted to the door, blowing me a kiss to punctuate her exit. “Take a couple more weeks to heal, enjoy your Thanksgiving, and then I’ll be in touch.”

  When the unit’s door closed, and all that remained of Uma’s visit was the cloying sweetness of her rose perfume, I managed to make it to the john before barfing up my breakfast. What the hell had just happened?

  When I was in third grade, Mom and Dad gave me and my sisters each twenty bucks to spend at the county fair. That was a lot of money to them—to me, it was a small fortune. We’d gone early on an autumn Saturday, and the sunshine carried smells of funnel cakes and fresh straw and popcorn. I’d held that twenty in my hand all day and night, watching as my sisters blew theirs on rides and corn dogs and caramel apples and shiny pink earrings that looked like diamonds.

  We’d just left the petting zoo when a carnie called me over. “Hey, kid! Want to double— maybe even triple—that twenty you’ve been carrying?”

  Little Me had of course been all over this offer. The carnie pulled me aside and said, “I’m getting ready to close up shop for the day, and I need help.”

  “Sure.” I veered his way.

  “Great. Thanks. I need to get rid of all of these or my boss is gonna be pissed.” He held out a fancy wooden case filled with gold and diamond watches. “Look,” he leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper, “these are genuine Rolexes—have you heard of those?”

  “No . . .”

  “Well, they’re worth like ten thousand dollars, but he sells ’em cheaper at the fair, because everybody’s so nice and having fun.” Made sense.

  “I’ve sold like a hundred of these today for a thousand bucks each, but I’ve watched you go by my stall about a dozen times now, and I feel bad that you obviously feel pretty attached to your money, because you don’t have any more. Am I right?”

  I nodded. “Yessir. Mom and Dad gave me this twenty, and said not to spend it all in one place.”

  “Your parents sound pretty damn smart—pardon my French.”

  “They are!” My sisters were supposed to be watching me, but they were by the Ferris wheel, talking to boys.

  “Well, they asked me not to tell you, but they bought three watches from me today, and you know why?”

  “No, sir.” I recall being so surprised that he’d talked to my folks.

  “They did. They were so happy, because they’re going to sell them, and make enough money to send you to college.”

  “Really?” I stood there gaping like a fucking carp.

  “Can you imagine how smart they’d think you were if you bought a watch, too? Then turned around and sold it for a thousand dollars?”

  “That’d be awesome!” But then reality struck, and I touched my chin to my chest. “But you said your watches cost a thousand dollars, and I only have twenty.”

  “But see? That’s why I need your help. You’d actually be doing me a favor if you bought one, and then I’d be doing you a favor when you turn around and sell it. We’ll both be rich—all because you’re a smart little guy, just like your cool dad.”

  I handed over my precious twenty faster than my sisters had slipped those boys their tongues. And then I ran all the way to where my parents were watching a country band wail about a busted heart and truck.

  “Mom! Dad!” I’d zigzagged through the crowd to find them sitting on metal folding chairs. “Look! I got a watch, too. Just like you guys! Only mine only cost twenty bucks. It’s a Ro-something, and worth a thousand.”

  “I told you that was too much money to give him,” Mom said to my dad. “And now, the poor little guy went and got scammed.” To me, she said, “Where are your sisters? They’re both grounded for letting you be taken advantage of this way. That watch is worthless. It probably doesn’t even run.”

  “What’s ‘scammed’?” I asked, sensing I’d done something wrong.

  “It’s when someone plays you for a fool, son.” My dad shook his head and made his hands into fists. “I’ve got a mind to beat the holy hell out of whoever did this to you. Can you take me to him?”

  I tried, but the carnie was gone . . . along with my twenty.

  I remember feeling so ashamed. Kind of the same way I did now.

  Of course, Uma was playing me, but to what end? What was her con, her scam? How was I going to come out of it on the other end? This was for sure a case of an offer being too good to be true. But if I didn’t go along with it, then what? She’d already proven herself capable of not only violence, but the kind of deeply twisted perversion she’d used on Carol. The thought that I’d been to blame left me retching all over again.

  The nurse Carol had hired came running into the bathroom. “Mr. Black? Are you okay?”

  Hugging the john, I looked up to find her—a short, grandmotherly sort who wore purple scrubs and lime-green Crocs.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Uma didn’t just hold all my cards, but the whole fucking deck.

  Carol

  “Christ, Carol . . . we’ve known each other for how many years, and you never told me you have a daughter?”

  “No offense, but my daughter was none of your business.” I pulled out a chair at Liam’s office table. Low-hanging clouds blocked the view and reminded me of my dreary mood. Not only was I worried about Nathan, but on the drive in, I’d been stuck behind a school bus, which reminded me of my epic fail in meeting Fern.

  “Okay . . .” He took his tablet from his desk to join me. “Is Nathan a safe subject? You said you needed the jet because he was too sick to fly commercial?”

  “Yeah. He was in a fight.” I gave Liam the short version.

  “Damn. That sucks.”

  Yep. I knew the two most important men in my life weren’t best buds, but I wished for the courage to demand they work it out with bro hugs so Liam could offer Nathan a job, and that Nathan wouldn’t be too stubborn to take it.

  “Well, it’s about time you got back.”

  “I was only gone a week.”

  “A long-ass week.” He returned to his desk for his coffee. “Ella’s got swollen feet and ankles. I want to get her shoes that don’t hurt, but don’t know where to start.”

  “Ever heard of a shoe store?” I didn’t mean to snap, but I had way bigger issues on my plate. “Sorry.
I’m just worried about Nathan.” I opened my laptop to pull up the files for Liam’s pet Great Ideas project.

  “Why? Dude’s going to be fine.”

  “Really, Liam? He’s got four broken ribs and that’s all you can say?”

  “What do you want me to say? I hate that he got hurt, but it’s not my problem.”

  Before I said something I’d regret, I clamped my hand over my mouth.

  “Back to Ella, are there like certain brands that are made for pregnant ladies?”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “You were pregnant.”

  “And a broke teenager who had to get my prenatal vitamins from a free clinic.”

  “Oh.”

  That’s it? The guy learns my darkest secret, and all he can say is, oh? Jerk. Ella could have him. “Let’s finish this.”

  “I’m sorry. Don’t get pissy.”

  “Pissy? Just stop. While I was in Oregon, I looked through quite a few of these, and culled out my favorites. I sent you the file. Did you open it?”

  “No. You know I like going through these myself.”

  “I also know you’re due to meet with Nagari Global in the conference room in twenty-five minutes, which is why you need help.”

  “Okay, but look—” He shoved his tablet toward me. “I’ve gotten over a hundred emails from this guy who has been sending messages to the Great Ideas in-box as if it were a confessional. He can’t spell worth a shit, but something about his creative vibe blows me away. Plus, I like his persistence. All we’ve got on him is an email, but go ahead and contact him, so we can offer him a slot in our next internship group.”

  “Will do . . .” I jotted a note in my agenda to have Luke, the program supervisor, shoot a welcome offer to hogfan72. This made me feel good. If he wanted, the guy’s life was seriously about to change.

  “I missed you.” That night, I dumped my purse and keys on the entry hall table to run to Nathan, who reclined on the sofa. I wanted to climb on top of him for a nice cuddle, but knowing that would hurt, I refrained, settling on a simple kiss.

  “Whoa.” He pulled away. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “What? Why?”

  Behind me, a woman cleared her throat. “Mr. Black, will you need anything else this evening?”

  The nurse. I’d forgotten. At least there was a logical reason for Nathan not wanting to kiss me.

  “Ah, no thanks, Theresa.” Nathan placed a pillow over his swollen fly. “Thanks for your help today, but from here on out, I’m good. Let me get my wallet.”

  “You’re not getting anything.” I gave him a light push down. “And Theresa, please don’t listen to our bad patient. His doctor told him to take it easy for at least three to four weeks, and he’s supposed to do breathing exercises every hour.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The nurse took her purse from the counter and waved on her way to the door. “See you in the morning, Mr. Black. Good night.”

  “’Night,” Nathan said.

  Once the door closed behind her, I groaned. “Thanks for the nudge. That could have gotten awkward.”

  “Sure.”

  “How are you?” I drew the ottoman from the armchair next to the sofa so I could sit beside him.

  “Good.” His wan complexion and the dark circles under his eyes told a different story.

  “How was your day?”

  “Uneventful. Watched a little TV. Tried reading, but holding the book hurt.”

  “I left you my Kindle. Download whatever looks interesting.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled, but I wasn’t buying it. He was miserable.

  I leaned in again, cupping his forearm. “You don’t have to put on an act for me. If you’re hurting, let’s get you back to bed.”

  “Nurse Ratched told me to sit up and cough. And anyway, I’m a thousand times better than I was.”

  “Then what’s bothering you? You look—I don’t know, off. Or worried. You’re not already antsy to find a new job, are you?”

  He pressed his lips as if buying time to find the right words. “I’m good. But listen, we need to talk.”

  My queasy tummy wasn’t buying his reassurance. “Wait—is your funk about our engagement? Having second thoughts?”

  “No. Hell, no.” His direct stare seemed sincere. “Are you?”

  I shook my head, but the part of me wishing to be blissfully happy and announcing our engagement to the world held back. I hadn’t even told my mom or Ella. Why?

  “Well . . . I was thinking. This whole fight thing has me shaken. What would you say to staying in a hotel for a while? Or maybe I could stay at my place, and you could crash with Ella and Liam—lord knows they’ve got the room.”

  “Do you need to see a doctor?” I felt his forehead for fever. “You’re not making sense. You’re in no shape to travel, and besides, no one is going to make it past lobby security. This place is Fort Knox.”

  “I don’t think so. In fact—” He tried sitting up, but sweat beaded his forehead and his complexion turned deadly pale. My heart lurched.

  “Stop. Your pain pills are talking instead of you. We’re not going anywhere, and that’s final.”

  “Please . . . We’ve got to get out of here. You don’t understand. It’s not safe.”

  “That’s it. I’m calling Theresa back to have her get ahold of a doctor who makes house calls.” Before he could protest, I retrieved my phone from my purse. I’d rejoined him, phone in hand poised to find the nurse’s number, when he grabbed my phone and pitched it hard against the wall, shattering it in a dozen pieces. “Nathan! What the hell? What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s dangerous. Bugged.” He clutched his chest and struggled for his next breath. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have sent him packing for what he’d just done, but how could I do that when he clearly wasn’t in his right mind? “Babe, w-we’re both in danger. We have to—”

  “I know, sweetie. I believe you. Let me help you to bed, and I’ll get rid of the bugs, okay?”

  “Promise?” His eyelids fluttered.

  I kissed his forehead. “Promise.”

  The rock in my throat was the size of a VW Bug. My heart broke for Nathan, but all I could do was make him comfortable, then wait for him to recover.

  That weekend, Nathan and I shared a picnic in bed.

  He’d brought up staying at a hotel at least a dozen more times, but I’d finally resorted to yelling at him that it wasn’t happening, and he stopped. I used Liam’s pricey concierge service to get a new phone.

  For our meal, I’d ordered in from the deli down the street, and loaded my favorite spun-glass serving platter with an obscene amount of cold cuts, cheeses, breads, pickles, olives and spreads.

  Nathan’s pain level had lessened by the day, so I also grabbed a couple of bottles of a local red.

  As usual, rained pattered the windows, shrouding us in a cozy high-rise hideaway.

  He started watching a period piece touted as being a shoo-in Oscar pic, while I traipsed back to the kitchen for plates, napkins, glasses and, as an afterthought, the sack of tea lights remaining from our smoking-hot night of sexting.

  “What are you doing?” he asked over the movie’s opening credits.

  “What’s it look like? It’s dark in here. I figured a few candles would make for a more romantic mood.”

  “Blow them out.”

  “Why?” I’d just lit the third one, but froze at his odd command.

  “Just do it.”

  “Okay . . .” When all that remained of my attempt at a pretty setting was lingering smoke, I noted, “You loved them that one night when we . . . you know . . .” My cheeks blazed just thinking about my naughty striptease.

  “Yeah, well, now I don’t.”

  His curt, cryptic response did nothing for my sagging self-confidence. As a newly engaged woman, I should have been buried in a small mountain of Brides magazines and cake samples. I should have been making bridesmaid selections and looking for the perfec
t wedding venue. Instead of doing any of those things, I sat night after night alongside my glowering fiancé, who had repeatedly assured me he was doing better. But if that was the case, why were we communicating—connecting—less and less?

  I couldn’t remember the last time we’d made love. Granted, due to his poor health, we’d had to make physical concessions, but he didn’t even want me to give him a hand job. I was lucky to even get a kiss, whereas prior to his injuries, we’d done it everywhere from the bed to the counter to the tub. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off me.

  Now, I couldn’t make him touch me.

  Unable to bear a moment’s more heavy silence, I asked, “Want me to make you a sandwich?”

  “No. And do me a favor and get the candles all the way out of the room.”

  “Nathan?” I skimmed his forearm with my fingertips, but he brushed me away. “Now.

  Please.”

  Tears stung my eyes all the way to the kitchen trash. I dumped in the cheery little candles, along with any hopes I’d had for a romantic, pleasure-filled day.

  Two weeks later, two days before Thanksgiving, I was sitting at my desk sorting Liam’s personal correspondence when Ella strolled up.

  “Hello, gorgeous.” She stepped behind me for an ambush hug. Even in her pregnancy, she’d maintained her Boho Chic fashion vibe and somehow always managed to look as if she’d spent her entire day playing hide-and-seek in a sunflower field. Today, she wore a navy maxi-dress layered with a nutmeg crocheted sweater, strand upon strand of amber and turquoise beads, and brown leather boots. I’d have killed for her long, wavy hair. But whenever I wore mine down, I felt oddly out of control. In that moment, I envied everything about her—her style, her easy smile, her adoring husband, her baby bump, and the ring that tied it all together with a sparkling diamond bow. “I’m glad I found you. We have holiday plans to discuss. The decorator promised the dining room’s fresco ceiling will be done by Thanksgiving, and the table arrived from Scotland yesterday—although, at the moment, it’s under plastic in the entry hall. Owen and Nat’s girls have been using it for a Hot Wheels racetrack. You should have seen them last Wednesday night—Owen and Liam helped them lay hundreds of tracks, and they had a road stretching up and down both staircases, using my gorgeous table as a bridge. My decorator almost died when he saw the mess, but everyone was having so much fun, I didn’t have the heart to stop them.”