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The Penthouse Stories
A NYC Billionaire Romance Trilogy
By: Amanda Horton
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Book 1
CONQUERED
A Billionaire Romance
Chapter One
The girl crouched by the wall was wearing a flamboyant red sweater. With arms wrapped around her abdomen, her sweaty face flinched as pain flashed sporadically between her legs. In between bouts, she lit a half-smoked Marlboro, holding the stick delicately between trembling fingers, blowing the smoke into the air above her head. Her straggly hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, emphasizing the gaunt lines of her face.
Noelle Mancini spotted her as she turned the corner leading to Eats Well, the delicatessen she owned in Queens, NY. The first blush of dawn struggled with remnants from the night sky, and like a silent siren, New York’s unwashed denizens responded to the call. The scene was familiar to Noelle. A week didn’t pass by that she didn’t find a drunken tramp, bag lady or a street urchin just outside her door. They didn’t cause any trouble; just needed a warm cup of coffee or a sandwich she could spare. Anything always tasted better on an empty stomach.
“Hey,” Noelle called cheerily. “I have a turkey sandwich with your name on it,” she said, grappling with a set of keys to open the café entrance.
The girl looked at her in surprise, hesitated, then backed away, ready to flee.
“Come in,” Noelle encouraged, surprised at her hesitation.
Her surprise turned into alarm as the girl doubled over and fell down on her knees. It was then that Noelle noticed the red stain seeping through the girl's crotch and pants.
“Are you alright?” Noelle asked with concern, rushing towards the stooped form.
“Please…please, don’t call the police,” the girl replied in a panicked whisper.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Noelle asked.
“No. I haven’t done anything wrong. I-I just had an abortion… a bad one.”
Noelle immediately knew what was happening. Illegal abortions were usually done in the seedier parts of the city without proper hygiene and post-care. Women entered and left like they had just gotten a manicure. But this girl was in a really bad shape. Her ashen face may have been a result of too much bleeding.
“I promise I won’t call the police. Just come inside and let me help you,” Noelle entreated.
The girl staggered back to her feet then swayed lightly. Noelle placed an arm around her waist and half-carried her inside.
“I have a bed in the back office,” Noelle said, as she huffed with strain from the girl’s weight.
They traversed the front of the store, down a narrow hallway, and into the back. Noelle deposited her gently down onto the bed. The girl grimaced in agony as another wave of pain hit her.
“I’ll be fine. The doctor said to expect some cramping. That’s all this is, really.”
Noelle was curious about the girl and where she came from. But now wasn’t the right time. She needed to get her off her feet immediately. Noelle hoped that the doctor was right and the bleeding was only a side effect. If things didn’t improve in the next thirty minutes, she could then decide what to do next. She fervently hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
“I have some overnight pads and a clean set of clothes by the drawer. You can use them. In the meantime, can you at least tell me your name?”
The girl looked up at her. Indecision was clearly written on her face. Then she mumbled softly, “My name is Miranda…”
***
Noelle looked around the 1800 sq. ft of her little kingdom and whispered a prayer of thanks. The coffee machine was spotless, the sandwich prep table was clean, and the chrome on the pastry case and sandwich display cases were gleaming. She had paid for all the equipment, all thanks to her hard work and determination to succeed. The cheap rent, plus constant flow of changing demographics with her customers added up to culinary gold and an assurance that there will always be hungry regulars to feed. The café was doing well and it provided her with a semblance of a normal life.
A stab of fear ran through her heart. The thought was always at the back of her mind and it was like summoning bad juju. Not really wanting something bad to come, but knowing that eventually it will.
The letter came today.
It was from the Immigration Office, reminding her that her work visa was about to expire, in thirty days to be exact. The letter was electronically generated and impersonal, but it had enough to fill her with dread.
Her application for adjustment of status was still pending and her work permit was based on the sponsorship of her Afro- American mother who passed away before the proper documents could be filed. If she didn’t get the adjustment status soon, there was no way she could apply for another work permit and continue operating the café. It was a tedious process and Noelle knew that the clock was ticking.
The possibility of being deported, together with her son, was something she greatly feared. Going back to Italy was not an option. She had no family there, having lost contact with her dad when she was just a child. Besides, she had put so much of herself into this little café that it was now a part of her. It had amassed a constant stream of regulars by now.
Sometimes the desire to lash out at the memory of her mother assailed her. Why didn’t she accomplish the legalities of what needed fixing during the years Noelle was growing up? Instead, she wallowed in sadness because her marriage to Noelle’s Italian father didn’t work out. All her life she kept saying that they would go back to Italy and work things out with her dad. That day never came.
Meanwhile, Nikko, her son, was starting kindergarten. They were still engaged in the constant battle of tears and separation anxiety. Her daily promise to be "right here at the gate when you come out of school” didn’t always work. The long hours she had to put into running the café still provoked tantrums from her child. And it was all part and parcel of the day-to-day tribulations of being a single mom.
Noelle shrugged the thought aside. There was work to do. In a few hours, a hungry crowd, expecting their usual orders, would come trooping through her doorway. She hoped that Miranda, the sick girl at the back, was only a temporary problem. She had been sleeping soundly when Noelle left her and even though she wondered what Miranda’s story was, she decided to attend to her later.
She checked her inventory of sandwiches inside the refrigerated cooler and made a mental note to stock up on the French Ham and Cheese Sandwiches , which were always crowd pleasers. The countertop condiments needed to be filled with salad greens, onions and tomatoes, and Noelle realized that she had a lot of slicing and dicing to do.
She reached for a deep metal mixing bowl, heaved a small sack of flour with her other hand, and headed towards the preparation table.
“Eggs, I need eggs… and where did I leave the olive oil,” she muttered as she headed to the kitchen at the back. She found what she was looking for and gathered all the ingredients for making bread. Her Italian blood dictated that she make them from scratch and not settle for the ready-to
-eat kind found in the supermarket.
Working with her hands always calmed her. And Noelle loved to bake, a trait she may have inherited from the Italian side of the family even though she had never really met any of them.
***
Eighty-three miles away, in an extraordinary residence sitting on ten acres of land, the light of the dawn had triumphed. An oceanfront estate, regarded by many as the finest in all of the Hamptons, stood like a silent sentinel. A series of decks and patios led to the red dunes and onto a private, sandy beach. Two custom-made swimming pools and a sunken all-weather tennis court were invisible from the highway, hidden by strategically hedged lawns.
Inside the master’s bedroom, a double king-sized bed dominated the space, while glass windows leading to the patio provided an unobstructed view of the ocean and the ceaseless waves. A solitary figure stood on the patio, unmindful of the chilly wind on his naked body. Security cameras that were manned on an 8-hour basis guaranteed complete privacy. The security personnel were paid well to understand that discretion was a value topping the list of their job requirements.
The master of the house stared out into the ocean, the breeze gently ruffling his hair. He missed the long mane he used to have but admitted that this current look added character to his personality. It was a concession he made to the committee - one of many.
Hunter Blackwell was a man who answered to no one, except to his dad, whom he idolized. Blackwell Senior was a self-made man who hardly finished high school, but possessed a keen sense of perception that made everything he touched turn into gold. With an initial investment of $100, he made his first big profit and earned half a million in the stock market. He then decided to try his luck in a stock-trading firm with an investment career, and proceeded to quintuple his net worth as he adhered to a philosophy of long-term value investing. His next move then caught his associates by surprise when he invested all of his wealth into the mining sector. That bold move made him one of the richest men in America under the age of forty.
His only son and heir, Hunter, took over the reins of the family fortune after finishing a Masters in Finance from Harvard University. The business acumen of the old man was passed on to the equally brilliant son who took risks that lesser mortals would never even consider. Hunter diversified into electronics, shipping, real estate, hotel industry and other businesses.
Money can buy you material happiness. But only in serving people can you ever experience true self–fulfillment.
The memory of that mantra that his dad used to say was especially more poignant today while Hunter stared out into the blue beyond. As a young boy, when his dad would bring him to school, they passed by tenement houses and saw other boys his age out in the streets.
“Why aren’t they in school, Dad?”
“I guess school doesn’t work for them, son.”
“Why?’
“Maybe just being out on the street makes them happy.”
“School makes them sad?”
“Maybe. Or they find school boring.”
“When I grow up, I will make school exciting for everyone so that every kid would want to go.”
The old man looked fondly at the solemn boy and replied, “Yes, you do that, son.”
Running for senator was the beginning of Hunter’s journey towards self-fulfillment. He had a vision of the change that he wanted. But it wasn’t easy, he realized that now.
Last night, he had to summon every ounce of restraint not to tell all of them to go to hell. He wanted to walk out of the meeting and shut the door in their faces. But he exercised even more restraint on his temper because he wanted that nomination more than anything else in the world.
Hunter knew they meant well. To the world, he was the epitome of confidence and cockiness. He exuded power because he had earned it. But deep inside, he was sensitive when it came to his private life, even if that side of him was constant fodder for gossip in the media. A string of celebrity girlfriends, wild partying, his luxurious homes, fleet of cars, even his Gulfstream jet – they all made the news.
He wondered what the old stiffs would think, seeing him stand boldly naked on the patio of his home.
Or the blonde sleeping on his bed? Shit.
He couldn’t even remember her name. A tinge of disgust sprouted in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t give a fuck what they thought. The juvenile side of him blamed them for the presence of the blonde in his bed.
Last night, he needed to release the frustration that had sprung out of him after being told to change his lifestyle and settle down…if he wanted to run for senator.
That was the reason he stopped by the bar on his way home. Their eyes met as he ordered his whiskey and the rest of the night was predictable from that time on.
Hunter sighed.
Normally, sex managed to invigorate him, made him feel alive and ready to meet any challenge. But now he felt like he was just a ball of energy, waiting to explode.
Maybe the old men were right. He needed to change something in his life. After all, random sex with strange women only confirmed what the council thought. And what could be more random than not even remembering the name of the girl he had just slept with hours before?
He crept back silently into the room, not wanting to rouse the sleeping girl. His team would know what to do when she woke up. He put on a pair of jeans and slipped both feet into a pair of sneakers. Pulling a white shirt from the pile in his closet, he grabbed the key of the Audi and tiptoed out of the room.
Chapter Two
The morning breeze felt good on his face. It cleared the cobwebs of frustration stemming from his memory of the council’s rebuff. He inhaled stubbornly. It was an obstacle he would conquer his own way.
He stepped on the pedal and sensed the car obey his every command. Being in control was more like it. He relished the sensation. The hum of the powerful engine was like a balm that soothed his soul. He had no particular destination in mind; just a strong urge to get away. He had no idea how long he was driving until he recognized the familiar landmarks of Queens.
Hunter glanced at his watch. It was much too early to find a decent place to have breakfast. He waited for the traffic light to turn green and turned left on the next block. He saw that most of the stores were still closed but quickly noticed a window sign decal that said Eats Well Café and almost passed it. Hunter reversed the car and backed up slowly, certain that the door to the café was ajar.
Thanking the heavens for his luck, Hunter parked the car and stepped out into the sidewalk. The café was small by city standards, but it was open and that was all that mattered. He entered and was immediately assailed by the smell of freshly baked bread.
A girl was standing by the counter with her back towards him. Her arms were moving vigorously, as if she was doing a weird exercise. Then he realized that she was working on kneading some dough.
“Ahem, excuse me,” Hunter cleared his throat.
No response. Was she deaf?
Then suddenly, for some strange reason, she rolled her hips from side to side. Hunter was taken aback until he noticed the earbuds. She was dancing to some music that only she could hear. Then she giggled.
Hunter smiled to himself. He didn’t want to frighten her. Besides, it was pleasantly stimulating, almost erotic, the way she moved her body. He couldn’t see the rest of her face but he approved of the dark hair that cascaded to a wide shoulder and sloped down to a narrow waistline. And the sound of her soft laughter was melodious to hear.
***
Noelle swayed lightly to the music in her ears. Kenny G on saxophone never failed to brighten up her spirits. The stirring sound of the metal wind instrument came through the earbuds in clear melodic tones. If Noelle were to decide who in the world she could marry, Kenny G would definitely top the list. She could lose herself while listening to his music that always seemed to evoke sentimental memories of a time when loving came easily.
Noelle would be the first to admit that when it came to
love, she sucked big time. Her first experience with love was not only traumatic but she also considered herself lucky to have come out of it physically unscathed. The only good thing that came out of that experience was her son, Nikko. However, the emotional scars that remained since then had always stopped her from having another relationship.
She kneaded the dough, working it between her fingers as Kenny G blasted away in her ears. In her mind, sax and baking made strange bedfellows that always seemed to work. She swayed her hips to the sound; her body moving sinuously while she giggled at the image in her head.
An hour more to go until opening and this dough was the last of its batch so Noelle was pleased. The rest of the batch was inside the oven and she knew, with relief, that she wouldn’t run out of bread today.
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