Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2)

by Nelle L'Amour

  “Hey, I helped.”

  “So did I,” quickly interjects Ari.

  “Me too!” chimes in a melodic accented voice—Kamau, who’s visiting from Africa, Ben’s same-aged best friend.

  A frown curls on my little girl’s rosebud lips as she crosses her arms across her tiny chest. “But I picked the most!”

  I silently laugh. Just like her father, Ben, and me, she’s fiercely competitive. Ari and I must have a dominant gene when it comes to that personality trait.

  Ben, who adores his little sister, rolls his eyes with a shrug. “Whatever. Happy Birthday, Mom. Maybe I’ll let you win at Combat Wombats later.”

  At the mention of the video game that’s sold millions, he marches up to me and gives me a kiss.

  “Yeah, right!” I laugh out loud. Ben and I still play video games together and I never let him win if I can help it. He wants to be a game designer one day, and in fact, we’re already developing one together. I have a hunch it’s going to be a breakout success.

  Yet another melodic voice captures my attention. My mother’s.

  Wearing her favorite smock over loose-fitting pants and a large floppy straw hat, she’s been painting outdoors. With a bright smile, she strides my way and gives me a big hug.

  “Happy Birthday, sweetheart!”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  I’m thirty today. It’s a special birthday and made even more special by the fact that I have my mother here to help me celebrate. She’s now passed the magic mark and has been in remission for five years. Totally cancer free, thanks to my beloved Ari. She’s as beautiful as ever, with hardly a wrinkle, and her hair has grown long and wild again though she’s chosen to keep it silver.

  I feel so blessed to have this amazing, beautiful family. Later today, the rest of the gang will be here to help me celebrate my special day—Gwen and her husband, Ari’s mother, Fernando and his spouse, Andre, Olga, and Vadim, and last but not least, meshuganah Mrs. Blumberg, my kids’ “third Grandma.” Luisa’s serving an extravagant Provençal dinner that she’s been preparing all week. Our beloved housekeeper-cum-nanny has been taking French cordon bleu cooking lessons, and they’ve really paid off. There’s a reason I’m a few pounds heavier.

  A lot has changed over the past five years. I no longer work for Ike’s Tikes. Though I could have risen up the corporate ladder to the very top, I wanted to be able to spend quality time with my family. So, I left soon after giving birth to Rose to become an independent consultant and toy designer. Fernando, who parted ways too, is my partner. We’ve been super successful, developing and selling socially responsible toy concepts to toy companies all over the world. Ike’s Tikes is our number one client. Ike will always have a special place in my heart because he saw the potential in me and made my dream come true.

  Ari, like me, wanted to spend more time with our family and ended up selling his company to a huge pharmaceutical conglomerate for over two billion dollars. The cancer drug he developed netted him a fortune and has been instrumental in the battle against cancer around the world. So many survivors like my mother can be grateful to him. Instead of being a high-powered CEO, he’s now an adjunct professor at Columbia University’s Business School. He’s loving every minute of teaching and inspiring talented young men and women to make a difference in the world. When he’s not teaching or spending time with us, he’s crusading for American health care reform and overseeing his Meds Without Borders charitable foundation.

  Sometimes, it’s hard to imagine that a little over five years ago I was a total trainwreck. An utter disaster. Until I met Ari. My life, or should I say our life, is now so perfect. We split our time between our Park Avenue apartment, our house in the Hamptons, and this wonderful farmhouse. And soon our life will be even richer. And I don’t mean moneywise. Come September, we’re adopting a baby girl from China. We both wanted another addition to our family; we tried for several years, but I wasn’t able to conceive. Secondary infertility. But that didn’t stop us. While working for Ike, I had made numerous trips to China where we manufactured most of our toys. My visits opened my eyes. I fell in love with the Chinese people but was appalled by the working conditions and especially the plight of women there. Thanks to my urging, Ike, who shared my value of social responsibility, moved his business to factories that promised to pay fair wages, and simultaneously relocated some of the work back to the States. Many of his company’s toys are now proudly “Made in America.”

  While in China, I also learned about the fate of so many Chinese infants, especially baby girls. Because of a one-child only law, many had been abandoned and had to live in rundown orphanages. While the law had been appealed, the orphanages were still filled with abandoned female babies. It broke my heart when I visited one. If I could, I would take all of the undernourished and unloved children home. So when Ari asked me what I wanted for my thirtieth birthday, I told him I wanted to adopt a baby from China. With the soft spot he shared in his big heart for neglected children, he couldn’t have been more excited about the idea. I didn’t think I could I love him any more than I did, but at that moment I was so bursting with love I could have exploded.

  “Happy Birthday, my princess,” my wonderful husband calls out to me, bringing me back to the moment and the exciting day ahead.

  “Daddy, why do you call Mommy a princess too?” asks Rose, her chocolate brown eyes wide with wonderment. “She should be the queen.”

  I watch with glee as Ari swings her into his arms. “She is the queen. She rules my heart. But in my heart, she will always be my princess.”

  His warrior princess. My heart is melting.

  “Children,” says my mother, “I think we should give your father a little special time with your mother on her birthday.” She turns to Rose, who’s still in Ari’s arms. “Ma chérie, would you like to paint with me outside?”

  “Yay!” squeals my sweet little girl, squirming out of Ari’s arms. Taking after my mom and me, she’s already a talented artist. Her adorable drawings and paintings fill the walls of all our houses.

  “Come on, my darling,” says my mother, taking her hand. “We’ll paint a picture for your Mommy.”

  As they sprightly head outside, Ben, who’s beginning to suspect what goes on between his father and me, makes an excuse to go to his room to watch some TV with Kamau. I tell him I’ll take him up on his offer and promise to play his favorite video game later.

  It’s just us. Ari and me. I soak in the man I married. My Trainman. He’s just as sinfully beautiful and sexy as the day I first set eyes on him at 30th Street Station. All bronzed and buff. An Adonis. A few fine lines around his eyes have made him even sexier if you ask me.

  Not wasting a second, he takes me in his arms and crashes his lips on mine. And gives me a passionate tongue-driven kiss that sends me orbiting. It lasts for almost an eternity until he breaks away.

  “Princess, I bought some champagne. Should we pop it open now?”

  Tingles dance in my body as his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.

  While Jo-Jo purrs, he nuzzles my neck just below my chin in that spot that gets me every time.

  “Well, Saarah?”

  “Later, my love.”

  ###♥###

  THANK YOU! so much for reading TRAINWRECK. If you loved it, I hope you will consider leaving a review. Even short reviews help others find my books. As a special bonus, please enjoy another one of my steamy and suspenseful books. HAPPY READING! MWAH! ♥

  Gloria’s Secret

  Gloria Long is the beautiful, self-made CEO of Gloria’s Secret, the world’s largest retailer of lingerie. While her global emporium is famed for selling erotic fantasies, Gloria’s emotional scars inhibit her own sexual desires. Her powerful defenses melt when she meets Jaime Zander, the insanely gorgeous advertising guru, who is determined to win not only her account but also her heart by awakening her sexuality both in the boardroom and the bedroom.

  A man who has never heard the word “no,” Jaime takes hi
s creativity to the limit to make Gloria fall apart and fall for him. But major obstacles stand in the way—Gloria’s Secret’s ruthless Chairman, who covets Gloria and is out to destroy Jaime, as well as his manipulative sexpot daughter, who wants both Gloria’s job and her hot, new love.

  Complicating matters further, Gloria harbors a dark, horrific secret, that when exposed, will shatter both her empire and her life. Will she be able to have it all or will the walls come tumbling down?

  GLORIA’S SECRET

  Nelle L’Amour

  Gloria’s Secret

  Copyright © 2013 by Nelle L’Amour

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.

  No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without permission from the author. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the authorized online outlets.

  Nelle L’Amour thanks you for your understanding and support.

  To join my mailing list for new releases, please sign up here:

  http://eepurl.com/N3AXb

  Cover by Streetlight Graphics

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  Proofreading by Kat’s Eye Editing

  To all my wonderful readers. You rock my world.

  “Nothing weighs on us so heavily as a secret.”

  —Jean de La Fontaine

  PROLOGUE

  Fifteen years earlier…

  Darkness shrouds us. We prowl like two cats, my eyes darting left and right, my ears attuned to even the slightest sound.

  I nervously tap my partner in crime’s shoulder. Like me, he’s clad in black sweats and a hoodie, along with black gloves and athletic shoes. Identical black ski masks cover our faces. We blend into the thick opaque air, only the whites of our eyes visible.

  “Kev, I’m scared. Maybe we should back out,” I whisper. My heart’s thudding in my ears, and I can feel sweat beads clustering on my flesh.

  He squeezes my hand. It’s cold and clammy beneath my gloves. “Glorious, we’ve come this far. There’s no turning back.”

  Something scuttles across my shoes. I jump. Kevin beams the flashlight he’s holding onto the floor. Phew! It’s only a mouse.

  The seconds feel like hours. The safe, Kevin assures me, is only steps away. It feels like miles. Kevin swings the flashlight until it lands on the huge vault in front of us. All slick, polished steel, it’s bigger than I imagined—a massive, towering fortress.

  “Hold this.” Kevin hands me the flashlight. I try hard to calm my trembling hands as I watch Kevin rotate the fist-size combination lock.

  Right. Click. Right again. Click. Left. Click. Right. Click.

  “Bingo!”

  My thundering heart practically leaps out of my chest when the heavy door springs open. My eyes grow round, filling the apertures of the ski mask. Bundles of one hundred dollar bills are stashed inside, stuffing the safe to the hilt.

  Kevin instantly starts shoveling them into his large satchel. I’m paralyzed with shock and fear.

  “Glorious, what are you waiting for?”

  No matter how much I will them, I can’t get my hands to move. The stacks of green bills beckon me, but this feels wrong. So, so wrong. What am I doing here?

  Kevin continues to recklessly shovel handfuls of the neatly tied up green bundles into his canvas bag.

  “C’mon, we’ve gotta work fast.” His voice sounds frantic.

  Reluctantly, I crouch down and extend a trembling hand into the safe. The touch of the raw money burns my fingertips. I can’t do this! I can’t!

  An ear-deafening siren sounds. Hot infrared lights flash. The effect is dizzying. An inner panic button goes off inside me as all air leaves my lungs.

  “Fuck!” shouts Kevin. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  “Leave the money,” I plead.

  “No. It’s ours. Yours.”

  No choice. Each grabbing a handle of the heavy, money-laden satchel, we sprint toward the exit.

  Heavy footsteps. Not ours. The glaring ray of a flashlight beams into my eyes, blinding me. “What the fuck are you doing here?” The booming, accented voice echoes in the chamber. We’re doomed!

  “Nobody steals from Boris Borofsky.”

  “Fuck you,” Kevin shouts back.

  A powerful arm grips my neck. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. The other hand rips off my ski mask. My platinum tresses tumble out.

  He fists a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. His wretched pink eyes clash with mine, one blue and the other brown.

  “You little cunt!” growls the accented voice through clenched teeth. “You’re going to pay for this, seka!

  “And so are you, bitch,” spits Kevin.

  Something hard presses into my chest, just above my heart.

  Kevin wrenches me free from my assailant but not before a deafening boom explodes in my ear. A scorching white fire shoots through my body. Oh the pain!

  “You motherfucker.” My Kevin.

  I feel my body sag as another shot is fired.

  “FUUUUUUCK!” A roar like a wounded lion, not mine.

  “Oh, Glorious!” cries Kevin as he lifts me in his arms.

  The world inside my head fades to black.

  CHAPTER 1

  I was running late. I was never late. “Late” wasn’t part of my vocabulary. Damn that breakfast meeting. My guest, the stiff-lipped, balding head of a major Madison Avenue ad agency, showed up forty-five minutes late. There’d been a cab accident on Madison Avenue that had caused a traffic jam. The unexpected had no place in my life. To make matters worse, I had to run back up to my hotel room because I’d carelessly left my cell phone in a different handbag. As the CEO of Gloria’s Secret, one of the largest retail emporiums in the world, I couldn’t be without my lifeline for the rest of the day.

  Clutching my Chanel briefcase in my right hand, I anxiously pressed the elevator “Down” button several times with the other. I was staying in New York City at The Walden, a recently renovated five-star, twenty-story Park Avenue hotel that dated back to the fifties. Unfortunately, my favorite hotel, The Ritz Carlton, was booked up, so I had decided to give this new, highly-rated venue a chance. So far, I hadn’t been disappointed. The accommodations were outstanding as was the service.

  The elevator, to my relief, arrived quickly. I dashed inside the sleek car, which still retained some of its mid-century charm, and hit the “L” button for the lobby. The polished metal doors slid closed. Just before they met in the middle, a manicured masculine hand flashed between them, preventing them from closing.

  In a panic, I fumbled to press the “Open” button, fearing that the doors would slam shut on the hand and crush it. I’d seen this uncanny thing happen once before as a child and had never forgotten the gory scene. Flustered, I lost grip of my stuffed briefcase, and it tumbled onto the floor. In my haste to make it to my next meeting on time, I’d forgotten to zip it. This was just not my day. The contents—dozens of photos of gorgeous supermodels clad in skimpy underwear—scattered around my black Louboutin stilettos. Damn it! I just didn’t need this right now. I crouched down to gather up the spillage—no easy task in my tight pencil skirt and six-inch heels. As I began to frantically collect the photos, two loafer-clad feet appeared before my eyes.

  “Let me help you.” The voice was virile, velvety, and deep.

  Before I could blink an eye, I was facing the intruder who had caused me to drop my briefcase. He had bent down to help me gather the loose photos. Our eyes stayed locked on one another. Mine shooting daggers his way. His deflecting every one of my visual assaults. Just a palm’s width apart, I felt his warm breath heat my cheeks and could smell a
hint of his deliciously spicy cologne. I recognized it immediately. Homme, which means “man” in French. It was part of our newly launched men’s line of fragrances. The perfect gift for a woman to give to her man this coming Valentine’s Day.

  I studied his face and what I could glean of his body. Let’s put it this way: I had seen a lot of male models, but this guy was something else. Manly. Built. Mid to late thirties. He was one hundred percent pure gorgeousness with his broad shoulders, intense denim blue eyes, mop of silky chestnut hair, and strong dimpled chin. A fine layer of stubble laced his olive complexion. Along with sockless suede loafers, he was wearing a battered leather bomber jacket over a white cotton tee that showed off his taut chest, and faded designer jeans that revealed a ridge of muscles along his thighs. I assumed his legs were long, but it was hard to tell in his squatting position. What I could tell for sure was that there was a sizeable package between them. My gaze shifted quickly back to the floor.

  “Interesting photos,” my companion mused, his eyes lingering on a particularly sexy one of a D-cup model fondling her lace-encased breasts. A wry smile twisted his lips. “Hmm. I think I fucked her once.” He picked up another. “She looks familiar too.”

  “Give me those!” I snatched the photos from him and slipped them into my briefcase.

  “Are you a photographer?” he asked, not the least bit intimidated by me.

  “Hardly.”

  “So, you’re some kind of pervert who collects photos of beautiful semi-naked women with big tits.”

  “And you’re some kind of pervert who sleeps with them.” I shot him my dirtiest look and continued collecting the scattered photos. We both reached for the last one, and my hand brushed up against his. God, his hand was beautiful! Large, long-fingered, and so, so soft. Even the violet veins that splayed across them were works of art.