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

by Tara Crescent

  “Thank you.” He opens his mouth to say something, but my phone beeps before he can voice his thought.

  Talk about the fucking devil; it’s a text from Ed. Noah wants to talk to you. Is now a good time?

  Every time Wagner’s name appears on my screen, my blood pressure rises. I grit my teeth and type out a reply. On my way home. Give me thirty minutes.

  “I have to talk to Noah,” I tell Dominic, getting to my feet.

  I open my wallet to pay for the meal, and he waves it away. “It’s my turn,” he says. “Tell Noah I said hi.”

  “Sounds good.” I give him a slight smile. Are we good? I don’t know. I hope we are. This business with Ed is making me lose my mind, but I have no desire to lose my friendship with Dominic. “See you tonight.”

  I drive home, my mind bouncing chaotically from one thought to another. Ed, Noah, Dominic, Denton Mitchell. The twenty-minute drive does nothing to calm me. Pulling into my driveway, I note absently that the grass needs to be cut. Again. Noah’s soccer ball is on the lawn, and the sight of it sends a pang through me. We were playing just a few days ago. Dominic had come over, and I’d set up the grill, and Noah had kicked the ball into Mrs. Sharma’s garden three times.

  Noah calls shortly after I go inside. “Hey buddy,” I say, studying his face. He looks clean and reasonably well-cared for. Then again, Ed’s not entirely stupid. He’s not going to give me any incentive to call the judge. “How have you been?”

  His eyes are bright with excitement. “Uncle Carter, guess what I did today?”

  “You played soccer?”

  “I went to the aquarium,” he blurts out. “I saw five sharks, and a jellyfish, and a clownfish, and I saw them feed the stingrays, and I—”

  I start to laugh. “Slow down, kid.”

  “And I had pizza for lunch,” he finishes.

  Pizza isn’t exactly a healthy meal, I want to say, but with difficulty, I bite those words back. “You having a good time?”

  “Yeah,” he says enthusiastically. “And papa is taking me to the beach tomorrow. He’s going to show me how to fly a kite.”

  Isn’t that just fucking lovely?

  We talk for about ten minutes. I try not to interrogate him on Ed’s parenting, but Noah lets a few details slip. Ed’s working evenings. He’s got a sitter, a woman called Samira, to watch Noah while he’s gone. It sounds like Samira is a neighbor, and I want to demand more details, but again, I bite the words back. If I say the wrong thing, Noah’s not going to want to talk to me.

  Once he hangs up, I head outside, cross the main road, and walk to the beach. I sit on the sand and watch the waves for a long time. My thoughts are bleak. Ed’s obviously trying to win the kid over. One day, the aquarium. The next day, the beach. Soon, he’ll be buying the kid a puppy, and then, I’m toast.

  After a few weeks of this, Noah’s going to forget about my existence. He’s not going to want to come back home.

  I’m not going to let that happen.

  I hear Dominic’s voice in my head. You’re feeling threatened. You’re not being rational. Noah isn’t going to forget about you.

  Damn right he’s not.

  I pull the mediator’s card out of my wallet and stare at it for a long time. Then I crumple it up and toss it in a trash can.

  For as long as she’s in town, Gabriella is going to keep an eye on Ed.

  I know Wagner. He’ll do something to violate his probation. He’ll fuck up. It’s only a matter of time.

  And when that happens, I’ll be ready.

  12

  Gabriella

  There was a second there when I’d been almost tempted to tell them about my poker debt. Not because I want them to help, but because I thought they might understand how you could want something so badly that your desire overruled your common sense.

  That seems to be the pattern of my life.

  I wanted to start my own company so much that it made me reckless, and now, I’m further away from my goal than I ever was.

  I want Carter and Dominic so badly that it’s making me ignore common sense. Dinner in Dominic’s apartment? That’s an invitation to sleep with them if there ever was one, and I knew it, and I still said yes.

  Once again, reckless.

  My focus should be on work. I’m digging myself out of one hell of a hole. This morning, Anna suggested Nicky Z as a client. I should be researching the singer and coming up with ideas on how to get her to the next level. That way, I’ll be ready if I ever get an opportunity to pitch to her.

  Instead, I’m thinking about Dominic and Carter. I’m thinking of their hard, muscled bodies blanketing mine. I’m wondering what tonight might hold, and my body is flush with anticipation.

  I get into the elevator and ride up to my floor. I wonder what the big deal is about the Rose Room. The woman who’d upgraded me—Katrina—had acted like I was being knighted. Carter had as well, and Dominic had definitely ducked his question about it.

  Entering the room, I place my apple pie on the desk. Less than five minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. It’s a waiter wheeling a cart. “Room service,” he says.

  “I didn’t order—” My voice trails off as I realize what the tray holds.

  Ice-cream for my apple pie.

  My heart melts. The room upgrade, the flowers, and now ice-cream. I’ve never been treated like this. I’ve never been with anyone who noticed the details. Who got the small things right.

  I am in so much trouble.

  Paul seems relieved when I tell him I’d like to stay for the duration of Nicky’s run at the casino. “I didn’t think you’d want to be away from Manhattan for that long, which is why I didn’t suggest it myself,” he says. “Yes, of course. Clients hate when we have turnover issues, Nicky more than most. She is a creature of routine. How has she been to work with so far?”

  “Pretty low maintenance,” I tell him honestly. “It’s an easy gig.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” he warns. “I’m going to assign you a couple of other accounts next week. You can work on them remotely.”

  “Three accounts?” I raise my eyebrow. “Jennifer Prosser manages three accounts, and she’s an Account Manager.”

  “Gabby, I’m well aware of the situation,” he sighs. “I’m working on it.”

  Paul’s been working on it for three years. He’s a nice guy, but he’s never going to go out on a limb for me. He’s not going to risk his own job. I don’t even know why I bother mentioning Jenny.

  “Nicky’s rehearsal starts in thirty minutes,” I tell him. “I need to go.”

  Nicky Z’s suite must take up a quarter of the floor. It’s huge. “My previous suite was pretty nice,” she says. “But this is something else.” She looks bemused. “My studio in the Bronx was smaller than the bathroom. I have to keep pinching myself. I still think I’m dreaming, you know? And one day, I’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone.”

  “You worked hard to get where you are.”

  “Sure,” she says. “I did. But I’m not the only one who hustled. Most people work their asses off. I got lucky.” She scrolls through her Insta. “I like this.”

  In the black-and-white photo she’s looking at, Nicky’s laughing with her drummer about something. It’s the sort of candid behind-the-scenes photo that fans love. “It set off quite a war in the comments,” I reply. “Half your fans are Team Fernando.” Judging by the way he’s looking at her in the picture, Team Fernando is onto something.

  She looks up. “Who else is in the running?”

  “There’s a Jorge contingent.” Jorge Almeida is Nicky Z’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. Their stormy relationship is catnip for the tabloids. Almeida recently posted something cryptic on his Insta about not knowing what you have until it’s over, and of course, everyone immediately decided he was talking about Nicky. “And an Oscar one.” Oscar is her trainer. They went to one party together, once, after the last time she broke up with Jorge, and that’s all it took to activate the s
hippers.

  “Oscar?” She laughs. “The man doesn’t let me eat sugar. Bread. White rice. Flour. All I’m allowed is kale. I assure you, Oscar is not in the running.” Her expression turns pensive. “And I’m done with Jorge. No more.” She’s still looking at Fernando on her phone. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you.”

  “I’m just doing my job.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Karpis sent me a bunch of losers before Anna. I didn’t know what to expect when they sent you.” She switches topics. “Have you seen the guy that owns this place? Dominic Crawford?”

  Oh, I’ve done more than that. “Mhmm,” I murmur. That seems appropriately vague.

  “What a snack he is.” She looks speculative. “I should probably thank him for the suite. Personally.”

  A hot flash of rage runs through me. Fuck me, I’m jealous. This is very bad. Dominic is a guy I slept with once. Even if we end up sleeping together tonight, it doesn’t mean anything. This is not exclusive, and it’s not permanent. It’s a meaningless fling. A way to scratch an itch. Nothing else. I cannot possibly be jealous of Nicky Z.

  Except Nicky is hot. Really hot. She’s got the kind of body that you get by spending three hours in the gym every day. She certainly wouldn’t consider apple pie and ice-cream a suitable lunch. Well, to be fair, she might, but Oscar wouldn’t stand for it.

  I mutter something noncommittal. Nicky’s phone beeps an alarm—she’s due at rehearsal—and she tosses it aside and uncurls herself from the couch. “Then again, maybe not. He looks kinda uptight.”

  “Dominic Crawford?” Uptight? I picture Dominic leaning back, his legs crossed, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his eyes on me as Carter undressed me. I remember his fingers thrusting into my wet pussy, bringing me to climax as I sucked off his best friend. Dominic is many things, but uptight he’s not.

  A shiver of pure anticipation runs through me. I’m having dinner with them tonight. A late dinner, in Dominic’s penthouse suite. I can’t wait.

  I don’t hear from Sammy all evening. At eight, I dress for dinner. When Paul assigned me to this gig, I’d anticipated that I’d be expected to attend Nicky’s shows, and so I’d packed a couple of dresses. I wouldn’t wear a dress to a concert if Nicky were performing in a smaller venue, but the Grand River theatre has a more formal vibe.

  I’ve already worn the first one; I wore the black dress yesterday when I went downstairs to gamble with my complimentary vouchers. Yellow sundress then. I get dressed, spend a ridiculous amount of time on my hair, and an even more ridiculous amount of time on my makeup. I’m slipping my feet into gold-toned sandals when there’s a knock on the door.

  It’s Carter. His gaze travels down my body appreciatively, and when he lifts his eyes to mine, he looks slightly dazed. “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you.” My mouth is dry with nerves. “You look pretty damn good yourself.”

  He’s wearing a navy-blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and charcoal-grey pants. I lean closer to him and catch a whiff of his aftershave. It smells like forest mixed with leather and smoke, and it sends my insides clenching with sudden heat.

  I am in so much trouble.

  His lips tilt up. “Dominic went to Paesano’s,” he says. “He’ll be back any minute now. Want to head up?”

  I have to say something to lighten the mood, otherwise I’m going to jump him right here. “And snoop around while he’s not there?”

  Carter laughs out loud. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Carter leads the way to a stairwell. He gives my sandals a speculative glance. “Only one set of elevators go right to the top,” he says apologetically. “If the stairs are a problem, we can go downstairs and take the company elevator.”

  I’ve been thinking about this. “Can we really be seen together?” I ask him. “I mean, the judge forbade anyone close to you from having contact with your nephew, right?”

  “That has struck me,” he admits. “It’s not just Judge Bass. Denton Mitchell won’t let you into his poker game if he finds out you know Dominic.” He gives me a careful look. “I don’t like the implication of sneaking around. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t need anyone to approve of my choices. I don’t want you to feel like you’re a secret I’m trying to hide.”

  He looks troubled. Poor Carter. I feel a surge of sympathy for the man. I flash him a smile. “Let’s take the stairs. I promise you, I’m not offended.”

  “Can you walk in those heels?” He gives my sandals a dubious glance. “Do you want me to carry you?”

  Cradled against Carter’s broad chest. Mmm. Temptation rises to the fore, and it takes real effort to banish it. “Depending on the job, I need to be on my feet for hours. I can manage.”

  Dominic’s place is not what I expected. It’s an open concept layout, of course—that seems almost de rigueur in a penthouse suite. The ceilings are high, the windows are floor to ceiling, and the view of the sunset is truly spectacular. But most penthouse suites feel cold to me. The decor is almost always stark white, with carefully chosen artwork on the wall for pops of color. There’s usually an overwhelming amount of brushed steel and chrome, and the furniture never looks comfortable.

  Dominic’s penthouse isn’t that. The living room walls are a charcoal shade of grey, the ceiling is painted bright red, the oversized velvet couch is blue, and the squishy armchairs are upholstered in mismatched yellow fabric. There are plants everywhere, their vivid green leaves layering more color and texture into the room. I stop dead in my tracks. “Wow.”

  Carter laughs. “That’s one reaction.”

  I look around, trying to soak in all the details. “This is not what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” A voice asks behind me. Dominic flashes me an amused smile as he walks into his living room.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply. “Your office looked nothing like this. The hotel rooms are...”

  “Blandly neutral,” he cuts in. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. The Grand River has to cater to a wide variety of tastes, but this is my home. Here, I only have to please myself.”

  And he has. There’s something deeply hedonistic about Dominic’s space, and it’s giving me insight into the man. Dominic’s apartment isn’t cookie-cutter. It’s not bland. It’s the home of a man who is secure in himself. The kind of man who has a threesome without worrying about society’s expectations.

  Dominic deposits the food he’s carrying on the wooden dining table. “How much food did you get?” I ask him, eying the two bulging paper bags. “That looks like enough food for a week.”

  “It really is.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I forgot to ask you what you wanted, so I ordered an assortment of things. I would have called you from the restaurant, but I don’t know your phone number.”

  “Isn’t it in the hotel system?”

  He looks surprised. “Probably, but that seems like an invasion of your privacy.” He waves to the table. “Shall we eat while the food is hot?” He disappears into the kitchen and returns with plates and silverware. “Gabriella, what do you want to drink?”

  “Red wine, please.”

  “Of course.” He fills my glass from a decanter—clearly, Dominic takes wine more seriously than me—and hands it to me. “It’s a Cabernet Sauvignon from Medoc.”

  “It’s wasted on me,” I warn him, taking a seat at the dining table. “I like red wine, but you know the people that can tell where a wine is from by sniffing it? That’s not me.”

  “That’s not me either,” he assures me. “I just know what I like.” His eyes linger on me for a long second, and his gaze is appreciative. “You look lovely,” he murmurs. “Good enough to eat.” He flashes me another grin, and gestures to the food. “But since I went to Paesano’s…”

  The lasagna is as delicious as promised, and the portions are massive. While we eat, Dominic asks about my work. “What exactly does being a publicist involve?”

  “It varies.” I take a sip of the wine, which is, even to my
untutored palette, pretty spectacular. “With Nicky Z, it involves managing her social media, arranging interviews, coaching her on what to say, that kind of thing. Before this, I managed a soccer player. For Luca, it was less about social media, and more about arranging endorsement deals.”

  He looks surprised. “Those are very different skillsets, are they not?”

  I looked Dominic up. He took over the casino six years ago when his father died of cancer. The Grand River was a moderately successful casino when he became the CEO, and in the six years he’s been at the helm, it’s grown steadily, increasing its revenues by five to ten percent every year. It doesn’t sound like much, until you realize that most Atlantic City casinos are struggling. Legalization of gambling in Pennsylvania has hurt the New Jersey gaming industry. Five casinos have shut down in the last decade.

  “They are,” I reply. “My specialization at Karpis is endorsements, but if I want to start my own company, I won’t be able to only focus on one thing. I’ll need to handle it all. I do a lot of social media.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Carter pushes the breadbasket toward me. The rolls are warm and impossible to resist, and I don’t even try. “I really have to go to the gym tomorrow,” I murmur. “There’s one on my floor, Katrina said?”

  Dominic looks up, startled. Carter laughs out loud. “Katrina said that, did she?” His lips twitch. “Did she give you a key to it?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “That’s Dominic’s gym,” he replies. He gives the other man an amused look. “Looks like I’m not the only one that picked up on the Rose Room thing.”

  I lean forward. “This is the second time the Rose Room has come up. What’s going on?”

  Dominic flashes Carter an irritated look, and then turns to me. “The Rose Room is generally reserved for friends and family,” he admits. “My mother stays there when she’s in town.”

  My mouth falls open. “You put me in your mother’s room?”

  He winces. “It sounds creepy when you put it that way. My mother’s not the only one who uses the room. My cousins stay there when they drop by. When Noah was younger, Carter lived there.” He refills my wine glass. “The rest of the floor was occupied.”