Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection

by Tara Crescent

  I don’t know their names, but their work is legendary. Busted kneecaps are their stock in trade. It’s amazing how motivated you can get about paying Sammy when your ability to walk is at stake.

  I take a second to collect myself. “I need some time to pay, Sammy,” I murmur, my throat dry.

  “Of course, of course,” Sammy agrees with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You are one of my regulars. One of my favorite players. For you, an extension is no problem.”

  Fake Elvis licks his lips as he leers at me, and I repress my shudder. “Thanks, Sammy. I just need a couple of months.”

  “Months?” He laughs incredulously. “I’m a businessman, dollface. Even if you sweeten the pot,” he says, his gaze raking my body, lingering on my breasts, “I can’t wait that long. But I like you. Two weeks.”

  On a different day, I would have snickered inwardly at his term of endearment. Dollface. Sammy can’t be much older than fifty, yet he talks like he grew up in the forties. But not today. Today, all my brain hears is the amount of time I have to find Sammy his money.

  Fourteen days. One hundred thousand dollars.

  I’m absolutely fucked.

  2

  Carter

  The Family Courthouse in Atlantic City is not an ugly building by any stretch of the imagination, but I swear to God, if I never saw this place again, it wouldn’t be too soon.

  I park my car and walk into the lobby, my nephew Noah at my side. My best friend and employer, Dominic Crawford, is already here. He’s saying something to my lawyer, Megan Noura, his hands gesticulating animatedly as he talks. Megan’s listening to him while also keeping a wary eye on the large cup of coffee in Dominic’s hand.

  Megan has nothing to worry about on that account—the cup’s probably empty. Dominic doesn’t sip his coffee—he inhales it.

  I look around. Noah’s deadbeat father, Ed Wagner, is nowhere to be seen. Typical. Not that I want to run into Ed in the lobby, not after our confrontation four days ago outside Noah’s kindergarten class. I’m not proud of my behavior in that encounter. I lost my temper and yelled. I almost threw a punch. I said things that I shouldn’t have said in front of my nephew. Ed is an irresponsible douchewipe of a human being, but Noah adores his father.

  I don’t have to be a mind-reader to guess what Dominic’s talking about to Megan; it’s not anything he hasn’t already said directly to me. You’re going around the bend. You’re not rational about Ed. This pissing match between the two of you is not good for Noah, and you know it. You’re the adult; you have to do what’s best for the child.

  You know what’s best for Noah? Having nothing to do with his no-good father. Ed has never been a meaningful part of my nephew’s life. And now he’s back, he’s supposedly clean, and he wants custody? Fuck that shit.

  Dominic catches sight of us. A smile breaks out on his face when he sees Noah. “Hey buddy,” he greets the boy. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, Uncle Dominic. Hello, Ms. Noura.”

  Noah’s been more subdued since the kindergarten incident. Did he mention it to his psychologist, Dr. Elena Kang? He probably did, and I don’t blame him. The real question is whether the judge is going to find out about our screaming match.

  Megan kneels to chat with Noah, and Dominic turns to me. “What’s wrong with him?” he asks in a low voice. “Is he nervous about today?”

  I haven’t told Dominic about my confrontation with Ed. I haven’t told my lawyer either, which is worse. “I don’t know,” I murmur. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “You didn’t?” My best friend sounds surprised. “It’s an important custody hearing. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  I don’t know why I said it. Once upon a time, I would have taken for granted that Dominic would be here, but the last six months have been exhausting and stressful for both of us. Dominic’s fending off a crooked real estate developer who wants to buy his casino, and I’ve spent most of my time in a panic at the prospect of losing custody of Noah. I can’t remember the last time life was normal.

  Yes, you can. It was the night you met Ella.

  Ella. Gorgeous, curvy, beautiful Ella, with her wavy dark hair and wickedly glinting dark eyes. We’d met her at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. She’d been watching a soccer game, drinking a caipirinha, and chatting to the bartender in fluent Portuguese, but interestingly, she’d been rooting for the English team, not the Portuguese one. “Shouldn’t you be cheering for Porto?” I’d quipped, taking a seat next to her.

  She’d laughed. “You know something about football,” she’d said, turning to look at the two of us with unabashed curiosity. “Even in New York, that’s something of a rarity.” She spoke English with a British accent. “I grew up in London, my father played for Arsenal in his youth, and he’s from Rio, not Porto. I will be disowned if I cheer for a Portuguese team. What’s your story?”

  “We’re tourists,” I’d replied. “In town for a wedding.”

  “Tourists from where?”

  “Atlantic City,” Dominic had replied. “Nowhere very exciting.”

  She’d tilted her head. “You don’t think casinos are exciting?”

  Dominic owned the Grand River, and I ran its security, but we were in Manhattan for the weekend to blow off steam, and so we’d deflected her question. We’d ordered drinks, bought her one, and we’d flirted with her all evening instead.

  And we’d ended up in Dominic’s hotel room.

  So yeah, I do remember the last time life was normal. That night.

  Megan’s saying something to me. I banish the beautiful Ella from my mind and focus on my lawyer. “Don’t speak unless the judge asks you a direct question,” she warns. “No outbursts, Carter. Do not lose your cool.”

  “I’ll behave,” I promise. It’s not a lie. Then again, if the judge has found out about my screaming match with Ed, it might be too late.

  The judge hearing our case is Susannah Bass. Judge Bass grew up in poverty with an alcoholic single mother. Her father was never in the picture. She went to Harvard Law on a full scholarship and graduated in the top ten percent of her class.

  She could have worked anywhere after that, but she wanted to work in family court. She’s been in Atlantic City for almost twenty years. When I first found out she’d been assigned our case, I’d been thrilled. “Her mother was an addict, she’ll realize how damaging that can be to a child, won’t she?” I’d asked Megan Noura.

  My lawyer hadn’t been as excited. “Maybe,” she’d said. “Judge Bass believes, correctly, that poor people are disadvantaged by the legal process. She doesn’t like people who throw money at their problems.” She’d looked from me to Dominic. “This isn’t going to be a slam dunk.”

  “Ed spent six months in prison. He has a record. He doesn’t have a job.”

  “Mr. Wagner is Noah’s father,” Megan had replied pointedly.

  We enter the small room and take our seats around the table. Judge Bass sweeps in five minutes early, and Ed tiptoes in a minute late. “I’m sorry, Your Honor,” he says sheepishly. “My car wouldn’t start this morning. I had to call a co-worker for a ride.”

  Co-worker? Since when does he have a job?

  Judge Bass waves away the apology. “Let’s get going. I’d like to start by talking to the boy alone.” She gives Noah an encouraging smile. “Do you like Lego?”

  My nephew lives for Lego. The floor of his room is scattered with agonizingly sharp blocks. He’s seen the movie more times than I can count. He nods eagerly. “Me too,” Judge Bass says, getting to her feet and holding out her hand to Noah. “Let’s go build stuff.”

  Thirty minutes later, Judge Bass returns to the courtroom. She’s alone. “I asked Dr. Kang to come in,” she says. “She’s with Noah while we reach an agreement.” She looks up. “Mr. Hughes and Mr. Wagner, the last time you were in my courtroom, I recommended mediation. Have you reached a settlement?”

  Judge Bass met with Elena Kang? Oh shit.

  I open my mo
uth to tell the judge that mediation had been a waste of time, but Megan jumps in before I put my foot in it. “No, Your Honor.”

  The judge fixes us with a piercing glare. “Why not?”

  Megan clears her throat. “Judge Bass, my client, Mr. Hughes, is seeking sole custody of his nephew. He has been Noah’s’ primary caregiver for the last four years. He provides the child a stable home life, something that Mr. Wagner has failed to do. He’s gainfully employed as the security director of the Grand—”

  The judge cuts her off. “I’ve read your brief, Ms. Noura. Do you have anything new to add?”

  Megan hesitates and then shakes her head. “No, Your Honor.”

  Judge Bass turns to Ed. “You’re representing yourself, Mr. Wagner?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. If that’s okay.” Ed sounds nervous. He couldn’t find a suit for Chloe’s funeral, but today, he’s managed to scrounge up a suit from somewhere. Asshole.

  “Of course.” The judge gives him a kind smile, which only annoys me further. Women always melt when Ed looks helpless, something I’ll never understand if I live to be a hundred. “Do you have anything to say?”

  Ed draws in a breath. “Your Honor, I know I haven’t been a good parent. I fell apart after Chloe’s death. I couldn’t cope. I drank too much. I did stupid things. I left Atlantic City, and I got into trouble. Carter picked up the slack. He took care of Noah, and I will never be able to repay him for what he did.” He lifts his head and looks at the judge squarely. “But I’m better. I’ve been clean for more than a year. I have a job and an apartment. Noah is my son. I love him very much, and I can give him a stable home.”

  “You’ve been sharing custody with Mr. Hughes for the last four months.”

  Ed nods. “I have Noah three days a week, but Carter is…” His voice trails off. Judge Bass gives him another encouraging smile. “Carter is determined that I fail. Atlantic City is a small town. Carter and Dominic Crawford have blackballed my name all over town. Everyone knows that if they give me a job, they’re going up against the owner of one of the city’s largest employers. Finding work has been difficult.”

  Damn right it has. And yet Ed has both a job and an apartment, so I’m obviously not doing a good enough job.

  “That’s not the only thing. In the last month, Carter has shown up at Noah’s kindergarten five times when it was my turn to pick him up. He told Noah that if I didn’t show up, that Carter was there for him. Three days ago, I was five minutes late. Even though I’d called the school to let them know, Carter lost his temper and screamed at me in front of Noah. Accused me of abandoning my child, like I’ve done all his life.”

  Megan tenses at my side. Yeah, yeah, I know. Never blindside your lawyer. I should have told her. Dominic’s sitting behind me, so I can’t see his reaction. I doubt he’s happy either.

  The judge gives me a sharp look. “Is this true, Mr. Hughes?”

  “Noah wasn’t supposed to overhear us.”

  Susannah Bass is unimpressed. “Did you show up at your nephew’s school on days when Mr. Wagner had custody?”

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “Five times in the last month, or more than that?”

  Lying to a judge isn’t a good idea. “More than five,” I murmur with a grimace.

  The judge’s lips tighten. “Mr. Hughes, your attitude toward Mr. Wagner is affecting your nephew. For two people who are supposedly concerned about the child’s welfare, you are doing a terrible job of showing it.” She shuts the folder in front of her with a snap. “Last month, I heard complaints from Mr. Wagner that you were threatening prospective employers of his. The month before, you had called the cops on him because he was late returning Noah to your custody. I agree with Mr. Wagner. You’re trying to ruin his life.”

  I do the smartest thing I’ve done since Ed got out of jail. I say nothing.

  Megan gathers her wits. “Judge Bass, if I may—”

  “Do not interrupt me, Ms. Noura,” the judge snaps.

  Ouch.

  “Mr. Wagner has served his debt to society. He deserves to parent his child in peace. I’ve warned your client about his behavior before, Ms. Noura. I’ve recommended mediation. Nothing seems to work, so it’s time for drastic measures. Mr. Wagner, on a provisional basis, you have sole custody of Noah for the next six weeks. Mr. Hughes, both you and your proxies are forbidden from contacting either Noah or Mr. Wagner for that period.” She stares pointedly at Dominic. “I will reevaluate the custody arrangement after that time.”

  Megan jumps to her feet. “Judge Bass, my client is the only parent Noah has known for most of his life. Six weeks without contact with him cannot be in the boy’s best interests.”

  “I will permit one ten-minute call once a day,” the judge says. “It will be initiated by Noah. Mr. Wagner, it’s your responsibility to ensure the calls happen. The child will continue to attend his therapy sessions. Dismissed.”

  I was prepared for the outcome to be bad. I was prepared for joint custody. But I wasn’t ready for disaster.

  3

  Gabriella

  I spend the rest of the weekend in a haze. A hundred thousand dollars. How could I have lost all this money? I feel ill—so ill that I spend most of Sunday throwing up.

  Yes, if it comes down to it, I can lay my hands on a hundred grand. But it’ll involve emptying out my hard-won savings and asking my parents for the rest. It’ll involve telling them how I lost the money.

  And I hate it. I hate everything about it. I’m almost thirty. I’m working in a job that I only got because of my father’s football connections. My friend Bailey is my age, and she has a Ph.D., she teaches at a university, and she’s lived all over the world. Wendy is a highly competent divorce lawyer. Piper is a fantastic chef. Me? I’m still waiting to launch.

  Starting my own PR firm was supposed to be my big move. And now, I’m back to zero. I’m back to biting my tongue when Francisco tosses out an insult. I’m going to have to put up with the asshole clients—the ones that think that sexual favors are part and parcel of my job.

  There has to be a way forward, I tell myself. One that allows me to pay back Sammy, and still start my own company. Who knows, maybe I’ll win the lottery.

  Sure, that’ll happen. When pigs fly.

  Monday evenings after work, I hang out with my girlfriends. It’s our weekly standing date, and very few things are allowed to interfere. Since it’s the start of the week, we don’t get too rowdy. We just drink a little and giggle a lot. Sometimes, we commiserate about the shitty men we’ve been dating, and rarely, we brag about the good ones. Not too often. Single women outnumber single men in New York City by a wide margin, and all the guys know this and take full advantage.

  I walk up 11th Ave and across W 49th to get to Piper’s restaurant. I’m almost there when an Arsenal fight chant sounds from my phone. I answer without needing to look at the screen. My father programmed the ringtone into my phone himself before I left home, chortling the entire time at the look of fond exasperation my mother was giving him. “Ola, papa.”

  “Gabriella,” my father says, his voice thick with affection. “How’s my favorite daughter?”

  I lost a hundred thousand dollars at poker Saturday night. Shame fills me, and guilt freezes my tongue. I attempt a chuckle. “I’m your only daughter,” I point out and then realize what time it is. “Wait, it’s two in the morning in London. Why are you calling so late? Is everything okay?”

  “We were out at a party, honey.” My mother’s crisp voice fills the receiver. “And I thought I’d call you to make sure you are also doing something fun. Her voice is a mixture of disapproval and concern, wrapped up in motherly love. “You work too hard.”

  “Si,” my dad agrees. “When I was your age…”

  I doubt he was doing anything too wild. He didn’t retire until he was thirty-five. When he was my age, he’d been playing for Arsenal in the Premier League. The club owners and coaches would have made sure the talent was in peak shape.
Partying was for the off-season.

  I know what their next question is going to be. Have I met anyone? Ever since my twenty-seventh birthday, my parents have been hinting that they’d like grandchildren. Any day now, they are going to offer to start setting me up. Given that the only young men my father knows are soccer players, I’m going to pass. I’m not looking in that cesspool for fidelity and true love.

  “I’m on my way to a party now,” I tell them. It’s only a half-lie. They don’t have to know that there will be no men at this gathering. “What’s going on with you two? Tell me what’s happening in London. Who was at the party?”

  My attempt at diversion is successful. My mother launches into a story about her friend Janet, and we gossip as I walk. I say my goodbyes once I near Piper’s restaurant, promising my parents I’ll visit them soon.

  As soon as I manage to clear my gambling debt.

  “I know, I know, I’m late,” I say as I enter the restaurant. “Sorry.”

  Piper greets me at the door. “That’s okay,” she says cheerfully. “You’re not the last one here. Wendy just texted us; she’s going to be another ten minutes. Gabby, want a drink? Rum and coke tonight, or is it tea?”

  Those are admittedly a strange set of drink choices. My mother’s English and my father’s Brazilian, and as the product of two diametrically different cultures, my drink tastes are, well, a bit all over the place. Today’s the kind of day when tea’s not going to cut it. “Rum and Coke, please,” I tell Piper, following her to the bar. “And make it a double.”

  “Rough day? Too much work?”

  “No, work was pretty light. I just finished a major project. Until Paul assigns me something else, I’m at a loose end.” I take the drink she offers and head to the table in the back where Katie and Bailey wait. If only Miki were here, not in Houston, that’d be the entire gang.