Sleeping With My Boss: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (A Dirty Office Romance) (61 page)

CHAPTER
FIVE

Ryan

The
next morning I
woke to someone pounding on the door yelling, "Mrs. Powell, open up! This
is the New York City police and we're here to serve you with an eviction
notice!"

When I got up, I
found Eva curled on the living room sofa with a cup of coffee sipping it as she
ignored the yelling coming from the other side of the door. We'd spent the
previous day calling around trying to get ahold of the corner's report, but no
one seemed to have any idea where that report was. Eva called in some favors
from her friends in high places, and was able to get one of them to try and
track it down. I wanted to take it to a Navy doctor and have them interpret it
for me.

The pounding
continued. I looked at Eva and she shrugged, so I walked over to the front door
and opened it.

"Where is Eva
Powell?" the officer asked.

"I'm right
here, officer," Eva said raising a perfectly manicured hand and waving it
as if she were volunteering to answer a question in class. "No need to
shout."

"Mrs. Powell,
you've been warned that you had a limited number of days to pack up and move
out," the officer said as he shifted nervously. "Today is move out
day. Are you ready to leave or do we need to call in the sheriff's office and
have officers do the moving for you?"

"No, I'm
ready," she said. "I just wanted to spend my last morning in the one
room in the place that made me happy."

"Mrs. Powell,
I suggest you go put on some clothing and gather your things," the officer
said as he walked over and handed Eva the paperwork he held in his hand.
"It's time to get going."

"Ah well, it
is indeed," Eva sighed. "I've always loved this place. It's a shame
that I don't get to stay here."

"What on
earth is going on?" I asked looking between Eva and the officer. "Why
is she being evicted?"

"And you
are?"

"Ryan Powell,
I'm Alan Powell's son," I said taking the papers out of Eva's hands and
unfolding them. As I read the sheet detailing the numerous attempts to remove
the Powell's from the premises, I realized that this had been going on for over
a year. "Eva, what is this all about?"

"I have no
idea," she said as she sipped from the china cup. "Alan told me he'd
taken care of everything after the first notice, so I didn't worry about it
until the collectors came calling every few days trying to get information from
me."

"But Dad had
plenty of money, I don't get it," I said as I read the notice again. There
was nothing in it that said anything about what had happened, only that my father
had failed to pay the mortgage for almost fifteen months and that the bank was
now foreclosing on the apartment and turning it over to the building owners to
re-sell. This seemed wrong. It seemed to fast, and why hadn't my father
launched an investigation into what had happened? "Eva, who was in charge
of the mortgage on this place?"

"Do I look
like an address book to you?" she asked impatiently. "I have no idea
how your father ran that part of the finances."

"Do you have
any idea of how he ran any part of the finances?" I muttered under my
breath. "Of course not."

"All right,
well, it looks like they do, in fact have the right to boot us out," I
said as I looked at the officer and shrugged. "So, you'd better go get
your stuff and get ready to check out of the Hotel Powell."

"God, this is
such an inconvenience," she moaned as she set her up down and pulled
herself up off the couch. "I've got too much to do today to be bothered
with packing. I'll just change my clothes and go to my mother's."

"Ma'am, whatever
you leave in the apartment will become the property of the bank," the
officer warned.

"Oh let it.
Who cares?" she said waving her hand at him again. "It's a good
excuse to build an entirely new wardrobe now that I'm a widow."

I looked at the
officer and rolled my eyes as I walked back to the guest bedroom where I tossed
what few things I'd taken out into my duffle bag and headed for the door. I
looked around the place one last time and thought about how much my mother
would have hated this apartment, then I saluted the officer and said, "I
wish you luck with that one," before I exited out the front door and
headed down to the street.

I had an
appointment with the Commander over at the Navy Recruiting Headquarters in two
hours, thanks to Commander Marks calling ahead and scheduling it for me. I
needed to get information about Opie's family so that I could go see them and
let them know that they'd been in his last thoughts. Down on 77
th
, I thought
about hopping on the subway and then decided against it. I needed a chance to
clear my head before I met with the Commander.

Something was
definitely fishy with the apartment and my father's finances. It was completely
unlike him to let something as important as a mortgage slip by. When I was a
kid I could remember him drilling it into my head that it was absolutely
essential that I be a man of my word. If I agreed to do something, then I was
obligated to do it — no matter what the cost. He'd told me over and over again
that a man's word was really all he had in the world, and that once he was
deemed unable to keep his word, a man might as well hang it up.

I shook my head
remember how the lecture was delivered in the early hours before dawn as my
father woke me up to warm up and go running with him. He believed in a healthy
mind and a healthy body, and he became more strident about it after my mother
died. It was as if his determination to keep me fit and healthy was the only
thing that continued to connect us once my mother died. The problem was that
for as much time as he spent working out with me, he never once talked about
anything outside of physical fitness or school. So, I followed his lead and
kept it all inside.

In the process, we
became exceptionally good at keeping secrets and maintaining our masks of
normalcy, but we never found a way to help each other cope with the pain of
loss. When I'd announced, in the middle of my senior year of high school that
I'd be joining the Navy as soon as I graduated, my father shook my hand and said,
"Good choice, son. Now you can become the best of the best — a SEAL."

I remember being
surprised that he hadn't tried to talk me into joining the Marines instead, but
that was quickly replaced by the feeling of gratitude I'd learned from my
mother. Although he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, my father had shown
his love the best way he knew how, by letting me be my own man.

At Lexington and
53
rd
, I
hopped on the E train and road it all the way to 23
rd
 
where I backtracked down 8
th
 
Avenue to 24
th
 
Street. I entered the Navy Recruiting
Headquarters and reported to the receptionist at the front who sent me up to
the twelfth floor for my meeting with the Commander.

I felt
self-conscious carrying everything I owned with me, but I knew that I had no
other choice until I visited my father's office and found out what had happened
to him. I asked the young brunette secretary with the tight sweater in
Commander Donnelly's office if I could stash my bag behind her desk while I met
with her boss. She smiled and told me it was no problem, and I knew that if I
asked her out, she'd say yes. The problem was that I was technically homeless
and there was no way I could think about women until I found a place to live
while I straightened out my father's affairs.

Fifteen minutes
later, she showed me into the office. I stood at attention in front of the
Commander's desk until he said, "At ease, sailor," and gestured for
me to sit down in one of the chairs across from his desk.

"So,
Commander Marks says you want to meet with Ensign Morgan's parents. Is that
correct, Lieutenant Powell?" he asked.

"Yes,
sir," I nodded. "I'd like to go see them and convey my deepest
sympathies and give them a message from their son."

"Do you think
that's wise, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Yes, sir,"
I nodded. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at
all," he said as he rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward.
"I'm just wondering if it's a little too much for you to be expected to
deal with your father's death as well as the death of your team member.

"Not at all,
sir," I shook my head. "I am absolutely capable of handling both,
sir."

"This isn't
about whether or not you're capable, of course you're capable. You're a
SEAL," he said without hesitation, then his voice turned softer and he
added, "The question is whether or not you should be doing both."

"Sir, I feel
confident that I can manage both tasks without any significant problems,"
I said as I met his gaze. "I'm concerned about Ensign Morgan's parents.
And I want to give them his last words."

"That's all
well and good, Lieutenant, but what kind of assistance do you need to help deal
with your father's death?" he pushed.

"I'm fine,
sir," I said as I looked him in the eye knowing that while I wasn't
technically lying to him, I was evading his questions. "Really, I am. I
spent the night with my stepmother and later today I'm going to meet with my
father's business partner."

"Alright,
Lieutenant, I'll let you off with that explanation," he warned. He'd been
doing his job long enough that he knew bullshit when he smelled it, but he let
it pass. I think it was because he knew that SEALs were team players, and when
a team was needed, they did not hesitate to speak up and ask for one. I nodded
as I rose from my chair and stood at attention again. Commander Donnelly
continued, "But if you need anything, anything at all, you are to call me
at my private number. And I want you to report in once a week. Do you
understand, sailor?"

"Hoo-yah,
sir," I said as I saluted him and then did a point turn and marched out of
the office.

I quickly grabbed
my bag and gave the pretty secretary my number before realizing that, even if I
wanted to, I didn't no longer had a home in the city. I smiled and, knowing
that I would be ghosting her, made a mental note apologize later.

#

I
slung my duffle bag over
my shoulder and walked down 7
th
 
Avenue to
the TriCorp building on 7
th
 
and 19
th
 
Street. It rose up out of the sidewalk a tower
of green glass and steel that reflected the world neighborhood around it but
gave nothing away as to its interior contents. It had been designed by an
architect specializing in biomedical research and had been intended as the
first in a series of buildings that would be erected around the city
representing the marriage of biology and community.

The first time my
father had brought me to see it, I'd gone home and told my mother that it was a
giant that was going to eat the whole block. My father had reprimanded me
saying that this was a lie, but my mother had calmed him down with her smile
and an explanation that I was studying Grimm's Fairy Tales in school, so it was
natural that I'd be associating the things in my world with the things I was
studying in school. As always, she made it sound like I was a genius for making
the connections.

In reality, I'd
had nightmares about the building for weeks after our visit, and after that, my
mother had found excuses for me not to have to visit when my father suggested I
accompany him to the office. After a while, he stopped asking.

I hadn't been in
my father's office in almost fifteen years, so I wasn't surprised when no one
recognized me as Alan Powell's son. I let the receptionist know I had an
appointment with Julian Baines, and she buzzed me in and told me to go to the
sixteenth floor and check in with Ruth. She cast a suspicious eye on my duffle
bag, so I said, "Just home from a SEAL mission, and need to check
in," and her eyes widened and I saw the look turn to interest. Some people
can be so predictable.

Unfortunately,
Julian Baines was not one of those people. He and my father had been friends in
high school and started TriCorp after my father had returned from Vietnam.
Julian had secured an educational draft deferment and had spent the war years
earning multiple degrees in business and management. My father had taken
advantage of the G.I. Bill when he returned and had gone back to college. It
had taken him seven years to earn his PhD in biochemistry, and by the time he
was done, he and Julian had developed the basic business model for TriCorp.

They spent two
years talking to investors before they finally hit pay dirt and landed a pool
of investors who fronted the money for their first project. In the end, the
artificial intelligence research my father had designed had failed, but it
spawned a host of other projects that were viable and incredibly profitable.
So, my father put the AI development on the back burner and focused on
generating enough capital to allow him to return to his first passion.