Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (9 page)

Managing somehow to pull myself together, I returned to my mother’s room. She was back to sketching but now looked weary. “What did Dr. Chernoff want?” she asked.

“Oh, he just wanted to tell me you’re doing great and will be out of here very soon.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the grant situation.

A smile danced on my mother’s lips, but her eyes seemed to be in a faraway place. “My darling, unlike love, cancer can be cured.”

Her bittersweet words moved me. I wondered if she was thinking about my father, whom she’d never stopped loving, no matter how much he’d hurt her. Her smile faded and gave way to fatigue. She needed her rest. It was time for me to leave.

I hugged her for the third time. “Bye, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, my sweet girl. Remember what I said about being a warrior.”

I assured her I would. As I pivoted on my heel and headed toward the door, she called out to me. I wheeled around. She winked at me.

“And darling, one last thing. I want to meet him.”

From her lips to God’s ears. My love for my mom couldn’t be measured.
Oh, please God, help me make her better.

Ari

I
studied the photos spread out on my desk. I had brought someone into the city to follow Sarah and her new boyfriend. While the PI my sister was using to track down Cassandra’s whereabouts hadn’t come up with a thing, mine had hit the jackpot in less than twenty-four hours. That’s because she was the best there is. A former top Secret Intelligence officer in the Soviet Union. Olga Palovksy. Vadim’s wife. They were now staying together at the pied-a-terre I owned not far from my apartment, which I sometimes used for a quick fuck and out-of-town guests. While Olga stayed close on Fernando’s trail, Vadim continued to shadow Ben. Ben, who adored my Hulk-like employee, was thrilled to have him shuttle him back and forth to school. Little did he know that Vadim never left the schoolyard, watching vigilantly for any sign of my evil ex.

My skin heating, I narrowed my eyes at the photos. At first shocked by them, I was now teetering between confusion and rage. The latter was winning. Why the fuck would Sarah play this game of masquerade with me? Did she deliberately want to hurt me? What the hell was she trying to prove? I rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of it all and figure out my next move.

“Well, hello, darling. Nice new digs you have. You must be doing
very
well.”

The too familiar breathy voice stopped me cold in my thoughts. With a knot of dread in my stomach, I looked up. Cassandra, dressed to the nines, stood at the doorway to my office. Posing as if she were still a high-fashion model on a shoot for
Vogue.
With a fling of her head, she brushed a hand through her long, lustrous hair as she slithered toward me with her monstrous designer bag slung over her arm.

“How the hell did you get up here?” I barked at her, my blood curdling.

Twirling her long strand of pearls, she smirked. “Honestly, Ari darling, is that any way to make me feel warm and welcomed?”

“You’re not welcomed here,” I bit back. “Leave or I’ll call security.” Andre was unfortunately on a short lunch break as was my secretary, Miss Thatcher.

Her serpentine eyes burnt into mine. A terrifying thought jolted my mind. She could be armed and dangerous. Eyeing the letter opener I’d used to open the envelope of photos, I tried to stay calm and collected. “What do you want, Cassandra?”

“A case of Dermadoo would be nice for starters. It’s so hard to find.”

“No problem. A case will be waiting for you at reception.”

“Wonderful.” She smiled smugly but didn’t budge. “But that’s not all.”

Gritting my teeth, I narrowed my eyes at her. “Tell me what else you want.”

“I want you to stop seeing that little slut.”

Rage was pouring through my veins, but I needed to placate her. “Don’t worry. It’s over between us.” It pained me to say the words whether they were true or not. My eyes shot to the photograph of Sarah I kept on my desk and then met Cassandra’s venomous ones. A poisonous smile snaked across her face.

“Excellent. I knew you’d come to your senses.”

“Are we done here?” Each word was a sharp staccato.

She fluttered her eyes, but her seductiveness was lost on me. I just wanted her to get the hell out of my office and get the fuck out of my life.

She smirked. “Just one more itsy bitsy little thing.”

“What?” I flung the word at her.

In a breath, the expression on her face went from coy and calculating to cold and ruthless. A chill washed over me as she hissed out the next words.

“I want access to Ben.”

That was it. She had pushed the wrong button. Fury filled every crevice of my being. She was never going to see my son. No, never…even over my dead body.

“Get the hell out of here, you sick bitch.” Impulsively, I grabbed the sharp letter opener. I swear I might have plunged it into her heart just the way she had plunged a knife into me had not Andre barged into the office. Without wasting a second, my strapping bodyguard wrapped his brawny arms around Cassandra, holding her captive.

“Let go of me, you barbarian,” she screamed, writhing futilely to set herself free.

“You okay, Mr. Golden?” asked Andre.

“I’m more than fine. Just get her the fuck out of here.”

With a sharp turn of her head, Cassandra’s murderous gaze met mine. I didn’t let her unnerve me.

“Andre will escort you out of the building. If I
ever
see you here again or if you step within ten feet of
my
son, you’ll pay the price.”

She spat at me and then laughed. “You’re the one who’s going to be sorry.”

“Is that a threat?”

She smiled wickedly. “No, it’s a warning.”

And then they disappeared, leaving me alone to contemplate her words. A shiver skittered down my spine as I went back to studying the photos on my desk. To say my life was a complicated mess was the understatement of the century. I was a fucking trainwreck.

Sarah

E
xiting the hospital, I had a lot on my mind. How was I going to pay for my mother’s cancer treatments? How was I going to fend off Catherine and keep my job? And how was I going to win Ari back? I had no answers. My mind was spinning out of control. At least I hadn’t heard a peep from Catherine, who was far from pleased that I’d taken the day off.

As I headed back to 30th Street Station, I had the uncomfortable feeling I was being followed. I looked over my shoulder, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and decided I was being paranoid. My stressful worries were messing with my head. Nonetheless, I picked up my pace. Rounding the corner onto Market Street, I suddenly felt myself being shoved from behind and, with a shriek, found myself tumbling to the pavement. Roaring pain ripped through my palms and my knees as I hit the ground. It all happened so fast.

On my next harsh breath, someone was gripping me by the neck and pinning me to the ground. Dazed, I gazed up at my assailant. He was a greasy, pimply-faced thug with bad teeth.

“Bitch!” he growled, pulling out a pocket knife. My eyes grew wide as he flicked open the blade and pointed it at my chest.

“What do you want?” My voice shook.

“Back off, you little cunt.”

He lowered the knife closer to my heart. I wanted to scream, but my vocal chords were frozen.

Still holding the blade two inches above me, he grabbed my messenger bag and dumped the contents onto the pavement. He snatched my wallet and my cell phone, and with a bang of my head to the concrete, he ran off.

I lay there stunned, my head ringing.

“Honey, are you okay?” The words whirled around in my head. After blinking my eyes several times, things came back into focus. A buxom African American woman was crouching beside me. I sat up slowly and rubbed my sore head with one hand. My other hand was a bloody mess; my skirt was torn, and I ached all over. I looked down at my stinging knee. There was a huge gash on it, and blood was dripping down to my ankle.

The kindly woman helped me gather the contents of my bag. My sketchpad…little book of sayings…keys…and some pens and pencils. And the bag of Mrs. Blumberg’s
rugelach,
which I’d forgotten to give to my mom. Tears stung my eyes.

“Do you want me to take you to the emergency room?” asked the woman.

I shook my head. “Do you have a cell phone I can borrow?” I asked, my voice shaky and desperate.

She whipped out an iPhone from her large purse and handed it to me. I googled two words and handed her back the phone. Tears were streaming down my face.

“Honey, are you sure you’re okay?”

The expression on her face was one of genuine concern. After my vicious assault, it was reassuring there were still good Samaritans in this world. Philadelphia was still, after all, the “City of Brotherly Love.”

I nodded. “Could you please tell me how to get to Center City?”

“That’s a couple of miles downtown,” she replied. “My car’s parked across the street, and I’m headed that way. Can I give you a ride?”

I was touched by this stranger’s kindness. With my head throbbing and body aching, I accepted her offer. She also handed me a tissue so that I could clean up my bloody hand and knee. The wounds bled right through it.

Ten painful minutes later, the woman dropped me off in front of an imposing glass-and-steel tower. I thanked her for the lift, and after insisting she accept Mrs. Blumberg’s homemade pastries as a small token of my appreciation, l let myself out of her SUV.

Barely able to push the revolving doors, I dragged myself into the building. Shaking, I was vaguely aware of people staring at me. Some gaped while others cupped a hand to their mouths. I must have looked beyond terrible…frightening. A bloody, disheveled, torn-up mess. I staggered up to the alphabetically listed tenant board. My eyes scrolled down the listings until they landed on the “G” section. Golden International—36th floor.

The elevator ride to his office felt like an eternity. Why did he have to be the last stop? I tried to hide in a corner, but couldn’t avoid the horrified faces of people who boarded along the way. I felt faint.

At last, the elevator reached my destination. The doors slid open, and I stumbled into a sky-high palace of sparkling glass, shiny marble, and sleek black leather. Several suits were seated in the lobby, but were too engrossed in magazines or their digital devices to notice me. I staggered up to the receptionist’s desk, a streamlined console behind which “Golden International” in gold and black letters blazed on the stark white wall.

The receptionist, an attractive blonde in her late twenties, wearing earphones, took one look at me and gasped. I thought she would call security had I not managed the words, “I need to see Mr. Golden.”

“Do you have an appointment with him?” she asked suspiciously, her fingers reaching for the phone.

I swiped at my tears with my dirty palm, the one that wasn’t bleeding. “Please tell him that Sarah Greene is here,” I begged.
Please.

She pressed three buttons on the phone. I prayed it was the extension of Ari’s assistant and not security.

“There’s a Ms. Greene to see Mr. Golden,” she said. “He may wish to bring security with him.”

I cringed. Never in my whole life had I felt so mortified and demoralized. My hip roared with pain, and the scrapes on my limbs stung like fire. I glanced down at my torn up knee; it was still bleeding like crazy. My entire calf was now a bloody mess.

Two familiar long legs marched into the lobby. He was perfectly groomed, as always, in an expensive light gray suit, crisp white shirt, and silver tie. My burning, teary eyes met his.

“Jesus Christ.” He sprinted over to me.

My body began to convulse with sobs. Anguish, raw and ruthless, shook me.

Just as I thought I might collapse, he swept me into his arms and carried me away, holding me tight like a child.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and buried my tear-soaked face into his shoulder. My body heaved against his taut chest. His intoxicating, manly scent rushed into my nose, assuring me that I was safe again in his strong arms.

I had no idea where he was taking me until his voice, firm and authoritative, said, “Miss Thatcher, no phone calls please.” His office.