The Billionaire's Command (The Silver Cross Club) (20 page)

He shook his head. “I started working as a dishwasher when I was still in high school, and worked my way up. I love it, but it’s hard to be an alcoholic in the restaurant industry. Everyone goes out drinking after the restaurant closes for the night, and it’s easy to give in to temptation.”

I nodded. It was the same way at the club: most of the dancers hung out at the bar after closing and drank until dawn. I’d turned them down so many times that they had stopped asking me, but if I liked alcohol more than I did… Well, I could see how it would be hard to say no.

“I have an uncle who’s an alcoholic,” Yolanda said, and I looked at her in surprise. I hadn’t known that. “He’s been sober for twenty years now. I could get you in touch with him, if you’d like some moral support.”

“I would really appreciate it,” he said, and smiled at her.

She smiled back, and I watched them for a moment as they sat there and beamed at each other across the dining table, and decided I was going to do everything in my power to encourage this fascinating development. Yolanda could use a little romance in her life.

“Wait a second,” Yolanda said. “Turner. And you said finance—the Turner Group?”

Will grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

Yolanda whistled low and said, “Sash, hold on to this guy.”

“What, why?” I asked. “He’s kind of a jerk.”

“He’s rich as Croesus,” Yolanda said. “You’ll be set for life.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

Yolanda waved a dismissive hand. “Ancient Greek guy. Not important.” She turned to Will and said, “I really don’t think she knows who your brother is.”

“I’m getting that impression,” Will said.

“I know who he is,” I said, annoyed that they were talking about me like I wasn’t there. “He told me. He’s a rich businessman, so what?”

“The Turner Group is one of the biggest private equity firms in the world,” Yolanda said. “He’s beyond rich. The company is worth billions.”

A quick glance at Will’s face told me that Yolanda wasn’t exaggerating. I sat there, fork frozen in midair, considering her words. Well, that was why he hadn’t balked at paying me a quarter of a million for one month of moderately kinky sex. “He’s still a jerk. I don’t really care how rich he is.” I looked at Will and said, “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said. “I agree that Alex can be insufferable at times.”

I looked down at my plate.
Insufferable
maybe wasn’t the word I would have chosen.

“The point is, you’re on the gravy train,” Yolanda said. “Take full advantage.”

“Are you encouraging her to use my brother for his money?” Will asked, smiling like he thought Yolanda was amusing instead of incredibly crass and inappropriate.

“Sure,” Yolanda said. “Why not? He’s got enough of it, doesn’t he?”

They started talking about the ethical obligations of investment banks, or something, and I stopped paying attention. I didn’t care about money unless it was in my bank account. I picked at my dinner and wondered why I
wasn’t
trying to milk Turner for everything he was worth. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to make him fall in love with me. And then I would be set for life, like Yolanda said—wouldn’t I? All of my problems would be solved.

But he would never fall in love with Sasha, and I didn’t want to be Sassy for him anymore. I couldn’t.

Something in my heart wouldn’t let me.

I hated having feelings. It was a waste of time and energy, and it clouded my judgment.

If I had any sense, I would fall for someone like Will, who had his own demons but seemed to be coping with them, who was kind and mild-mannered and careful with his hands. You could build a life with a man like that.

But Turner lit a fire in my belly, and I didn’t want to move away from that heat.

I just had to wait it out, that was all. Three more weeks, and then I would be free of Turner forever. And free of New York; free of any reminders of him. I would be home with my family, where I belonged.

I just had to keep my head above water until then.

Well, easier said than done.

Alex

I hailed a cab outside Sasha’s apartment, cursing myself, Will, Sasha, and goddamn Bywater and Reginald Martin for good measure. My life was a goddamn mess, at least for the next forty-eight hours, and Sasha’s smart mouth hadn’t helped. Kissing her had helped even less, because now I couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if I’d thrown all caution to the wind and fucked her on her bed, Will and Yolanda and even the buyout be damned.

She always seemed to get the best of me. I went into every interaction feeling utterly sure of myself: Alex Turner, ladykiller, force of nature. And then by the end, she was usually yelling at me.

The only woman who I tolerated yelling at me was my mother.

And yet.

Sasha was such a goddamn pain in my ass.

“Broadway and Liberty,” I told the cabbie, and he peeled away from the curb.

I didn’t even attempt to take out my phone and get any work done. I needed a few minutes of quiet to gather my scattered thoughts. It had been a long and aggravating day, and it wasn’t over yet. I’d spent so many hours dealing with Will that I was desperately behind on the work I needed to complete before Friday, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

Not that I begrudged Will the time. I was proud of him: first for admitting that he had a problem, and second for seeking treatment, and for maintaining good spirits throughout. And when my father had called me that afternoon, and told me that Will was getting discharged and insisted on being squirreled away somewhere until the buyout was complete, I didn’t hesitate before I told him I would handle it.

I rubbed one hand over my face. I should have found somewhere else for him to stay.

Sasha drove me insane. I’d been making bad decisions since the first moment I saw her, when she tripped on the sidewalk and skinned her knees. I should have walked away and left her there—none of my business, and she was an adult, or at least passed for one in polite society—but I didn’t, and I’d been paying for it ever since.

I was almost thirty, and it was time for me to stop thinking with my dick.

The cab crept downtown, stymied by rush hour. Traffic was my least favorite part of living in New York. I took out my phone and texted my dad:
Will’s with a friend. All’s well.
Then I made a note to call him later. My father had only recently acquired his first smartphone, and he routinely sent me text messages like
email
and
call Alex
, so I couldn’t be sure that anything I texted him would in fact be received and read.

I refused to make phone calls from taxi cabs. I detested the idea of a stranger listening in on my conversations.

The cab ground to a stop as we approached the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. I jiggled one leg impatiently. Sitting in traffic was a waste of my time. “I’m getting out here,” I told the driver.

“But sir, it’s very far,” he said. “I will get you there fast.”

“It’s a mile,” I said. “I’ll walk.” I fished two twenties from my wallet and passed them to him, and then levered myself out of the cab and headed down 6th Avenue.

I regretted my decision almost immediately. I shucked my suit jacket by the end of the first block, and sweated through my undershirt not long after. The air had the approximate consistency and temperature of split pea soup. Summer couldn’t end quickly enough for me. After this buyout was finalized, I planned to spend a few days in the Hamptons, enjoying the sea breeze and doing nothing that could be remotely construed as productive. Maybe I would take Sasha with me, to thank her for looking after Will, or to punish her for being such a thorn in my paw. I would enjoy watching her sunbathe naked on the roof deck, or doing the dishes wearing nothing but a pair of high heels.

All that could wait. I had work to do.

When I arrived at the office, I immediately headed for my locker in the basement gym. My sweat-drenched clothes would do nothing but distract and annoy me, and because it was after hours, I didn’t see the need to keep up appearances. I took a quick shower and dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt. Then, feeling a little more human, I went to see my mother.

Her secretary had already gone home for the evening, and I strolled directly into her office. “Hello, Mom.”

She looked up from her computer, smiling, and then frowned as she saw my outfit. “What on earth are you wearing?”

“I just walked here from Soho,” I said. “It’s hot outside.”

“I won’t ask,” she said. “How’s Will?”

“Taken care of,” I said. “I’ll see him tomorrow evening, and I’ll pick him up on Friday once the paperwork’s signed.”

“Good,” she said. “He’ll stay with me and your father for a while, until he’s ready to go back to his apartment. I hope you boys are enjoying all of this cloak-and-dagger nonsense. You do realize, don’t you, that the buyout is hardly in any danger?”

“I don’t totally agree with you about that,” I said, “but I think right now it’s important for Will to feel like he’s contributing in some way, even if just by lying low. And the friend he’s staying with will be good for him. He needs someone to take care of him.”

“Well, I’m glad,” she said. “Just don’t come to me with any stories about wire-tapping or men in white vans. You aren’t
actually
international men of mystery.”

I grinned. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“In that case, I’m going home,” she said. “Your father is very distressed that Will doesn’t want to come home immediately, and I’ll have my work cut out for me calming him down.” She stood up and began shoving papers in her briefcase. “I assume everything with the buyout is still progressing as planned?”

I nodded. “I doubt I’ll go home tonight, but yes, we’ll be ready to sign the papers on Friday.”

“Good,” she said. She came around the desk and reached up to pat my cheek. “You’ve done excellent work with all of this, Alex. Now I can retire in peace, knowing that the company is in good hands.”

“I wouldn’t want to let you down,” I said.

“You never have,” she said. She smiled at me, gave a firm nod, and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Say hello to Dad,” I said.

When she was gone, I went down one flight of stairs to my own office, spread out my files, and got to work. No rest for the wicked.

I worked that night until 3, slept on the sofa in my office for a few hours, woke up and changed into the spare suit I kept at work, and got started on the next set of papers. My mother, bless her, came by with coffee when she arrived, which kept me going until lunch.

But even I couldn’t operate indefinitely on three hours of sleep per night, and I crashed hard in the late afternoon, head down on my desk, and didn’t wake up until my mother came down to check on me.

“Go home,” she said. “Everything’s ready.”

I rubbed my eyes. “But I have to check the records from—”

“Go home,” she said again. “You aren’t missing anything. We’ll sign the papers. They won’t back out. Go home and sleep. I doubt you’ve gotten a full eight hours in at least a week.”

“You’re right,” I said, and sighed. “I just want to be sure—”

“
I’m
sure,” she said. “Alex. Leave. You’re an adult now, but you’re still my son, and what’s the point in having children if you don’t get to boss them around a little?”

“I can’t possibly imagine,” I said dryly, and she laughed at me.

It was a little after 6 when I left the office. Sasha had told me to come by for dinner at 7, but I knew if I went home first, I would succumb to the siren song of my bed and wouldn’t leave again until morning. I decided that I would head directly to Sasha’s, and if I was early, well, she could just fucking deal with it.

I took the subway, which I regretted almost as much as I had regretted the taxi ride the day before. The station was hot and crowded, and I was forced to wedge myself into the packed subway car and cling to an overhead strap while a woman near me decided to stagger backward and step on my toes every time the car shifted instead of actually holding on to a stationary object. When I took over the Turner Group, I decided, I would dedicate a portion of our budget to researching instant teleportation machines.

It was with great relief that I exited the subway at West 4th and walked to Sasha’s apartment.

I still found it somewhat surprising that she had chosen to live in the West Village, which was a fairly low-key neighborhood filled with families and movie stars who wanted to pretend to be anonymous. It was close to the Silver Cross; maybe that was the only reason.

Not that anything about Sasha made much sense to me. I found her baffling, and that annoyed me. Women weren’t meant to be so complicated.

It was 6:30 when I arrived at her front door and rang the doorbell. I knew she would chew me out for being early, and I couldn’t wait. Making Sasha angry had quickly become one of my favorite things in life.

Sure enough, when she came downstairs and saw me through the glass inset in the door, her face settled into a familiar look of irritation.