He visibly deflates when I’m done talking. “We’re screwed,” he says quietly. “We can still go through a presentation, but without something to show them…” His voice trails away.
“Who says you won’t have anything to show them?” Hudson’s voice sounds from across the hallway. I look up to see Asher and Hudson carrying the model between them. The damn thing even has green trees and little people in the walkways. “Jeff, can you open the executive boardroom for us? This is a lot heavier than it looks.”
“Oh thank heavens,” Jeff breathes, looking intensely relieved. “You had a spare.” He hurries off to the elevators with a wide smile on his face.
“You’re here,” I whisper. Damn it. I think I’m going to cry again.
Hudson looks ashamed. “Can you forgive me?” he asks. “I completely overreacted. I’m so sorry, Wendy. I was a fool.”
“As was I,” Asher replies. “I should have run after you. Stopped you from leaving. Told you how important you are to us.”
My heart swells. “Tell me all of these things,” I say softly, “after the meeting?”
Our presentation is a resounding success. The retailers are blown away by Hudson’s model and the clever lease terms that Asher has come up with, and they cluster around us at the end of the meeting, eager to sign on the dotted line. By the time we’re done, we’ve sold over ninety percent of our available retail space. “That’s an industry record,” Jeff says, his eyes wide with shock. “We’ve never done better than seventy percent before this.”
Thorne’s passing by as Jeff says this. He comes to a halt and pokes his head inside the boardroom. He turns pale when he sees the model sitting in the middle of the table. “Where did that come from?” he asks.
You just gave yourself away, Thorne.
Hudson gives my half-brother a disgusted look. “What are you really trying to say, Hancock?” he asks coolly. “Are you wondering how we managed to get a replacement model ready so quickly? Did you think that smashing our display would kill Wendy’s project?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thorne blusters. “It sounds like you’re accusing me of something, Fleming. You better watch it. We take these kinds of incidents very seriously in this company.”
My eyes narrow. We won’t have any proof; from the incident with the photos from the security cameras, I know that Thorne has the people in charge of facilities firmly in his pocket. We’ll get you one day, I vow silently. You won’t get away with your crimes.
Jeff leaves. The three of us leave Hancock Construction and adjourn to Asher’s office. When we are finally alone, I look at the two men that I’ve fallen in love with. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out, my words coming out in a rush. “I should have told you about the baby as soon as I knew. I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I was just afraid…”
Hudson’s shaking his head. “No,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry. Nadja yelled sense into me. How could you tell me about the baby when I kept bitching about Megan?” He makes a disgusted sound. “I don’t care about Megan. I never cared about Megan, but I let my failed marriage get in the way of the best relationship of my life.”
Asher gives me that serious, intent look of his, one that’s become so familiar to me. “I love you, Wendy,” he says. “I love your passion. I love the way you make me laugh, and even though it gets you into stupid bar fights, I love your willingness to stand up for what you believe in. I’m crazy about you. ”
“Me too.” Hudson’s expression is uncertain. “I know I acted like a dick this morning, but I promise you, I’ll cut it back.”
I giggle. Happiness fills my chest, and I can’t stop smiling. I’m nervous about the future, but I’m also really excited. “How much will you cut it back by?” I ask him with a grin. “Just so I know what I have to look forward to.” I can’t believe that less than three months ago, I didn’t know Asher and Hudson. Now, they’re the most important people in my life. “I love you both,” I say, throwing my arms around them. “So much more than I can put into words.”
Asher chuckles in my embrace. “You’re out of words?” he teases me. “That’s a first.”
I aim a mock punch at his strong bicep, which turns into a grope. “Your office door has a lock, doesn’t it?” I ask him. “Let’s use it.”
They give me wolfish grins, and their fingers run down my body, and I stop thinking and kiss them back.
Much later, I lie awake in the middle of the night. It strikes me that we haven’t discussed the baby.
Do I dare tell Hudson and Asher I want both of them to be the father of my child?
How will they react to my announcement?
I don’t know.
36
Hudson
The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.
Mark Twain
The next morning, Asher finds me in the kitchen before Wendy wakes up. “I need to talk to you.”
Something’s bothering him. He’s hiding it well, but I can read Asher like a book. “The night Thorne smashed the model,” I guess. “You took a phone call.”
He nods. “You remember Jean Nakashima?” he asks. “The head of Finance at Hancock Construction, the woman who drowned on a weekend sailing trip?” He pauses. “She’s still alive. Miki found her. She’s living in Hoboken under an assumed name.”
“Why?”
He fills me in on Thorne’s deal with Mikhail Vasiliev. I listen, feeling a chill spread through my body. This isn’t good. Vasiliev is dangerous. He’s known to be unpredictable; it’s rumored that he has a ‘kill first and ask questions later’ policy.
And Wendy might be in his crosshairs. Panic claws at my throat at the thought of something happening to her, to our baby.
“This is really bad, Asher.”
He nods. There’s a frown of concentration on his face. “I’ve been thinking,” he says. “So far, all the attacks have originated with Thorne. The mafia isn’t involved.”
I realize he’s right. Thorne tried to blackmail Asher; Thorne destroyed our model. Thorne orchestrated all of the petty inconveniences that we’ve been dealing with in the last two months. But none of the attacks have involved violence against Wendy. If Vasiliev were involved, we’d know. He always leaves a trail of blood in his wake.
“Okay, I can buy that.”
“Well, why aren’t they?” he probes. “There’s sixty million dollars on the line. If Thorne doesn’t become the CEO of Hancock, he can’t pay them back. Why is the mafiya sitting on the sidelines, instead of taking a more active role in the situation?”
“I’m pretty happy they’re sitting on the sidelines,” I retort.
“As am I.” Asher sips at his coffee, lost in thought. “But it doesn’t make any sense. If Wendy were out of the way, Thorne would become the CEO of Hancock. So why doesn’t Vasiliev act?”
“Let’s go ask him.”
Asher looks up sharply. “Ask him?”
I nod. I can’t believe I’m suggesting braving the tiger in its lair, but we’ll never get to the bottom of what’s going on at the rate we’re going. And with each passing day, the risk grows. Wendy’s project is flourishing, and Thorne’s highway build in South Carolina is failing. Any moment now, Thorne could snap. Stone Bradley has a couple of guards on Wendy, but I’d feel a lot better if Thorne was locked up in jail.
“Can you think of a better way?” I ask my friend. “We can sit here and debate this to death, or we can take a risk and talk to Vasiliev.”
He reaches a decision. “Let’s do it.”
“When?”
He gives me a humorless grin. “No time like the present,” he says. “Wendy’s mother is flying in this afternoon to spend Christmas with her daughter. Wendy’s going to pick her up at JFK. It’ll take her three hours to get there and back. That’ll give us enough time.”
“You know where to find him?”
Asher nods. “Patrick Sullivan told me that he hangs ou
t in a bar in Brighton Beach.”
I nod. It’s decided. We’re going to confront Mikhail Vasiliev today. And before that? I’ll be updating my will to leave my fortune to Wendy, just in case we don’t make it out of our encounter alive.
Five hours later, Wendy leaves to pick her mother up at the airport in my Land Rover. “Are you sure you’re okay with lending me your car?” she asks, her voice filled with hesitation.
I don’t blame her for being tentative. After my bitch-fest about Megan’s money-grabbing ways, her caution is understandable. “Of course,” I tell her. “It’s just a car, Wendy. It’ll be rush hour by the time you pick up your mother, and the subway will be packed with people.”
“Thank you.” She takes the keys from me, then grins wickedly. “My mother is dying to meet the two of you,” she says. “Are you free for dinner?”
Oh God. It’s proof of how much Asher and I love Wendy that we’ll subject ourselves willingly to a parental inquisition.
“We’d love to,” Asher replies to her question. “Shall I make reservations at Tent again, or would you prefer Piper’s?”
“Piper’s, please. My mom loves the mac and cheese there.”
Once she leaves, I look at Asher. “Ready?”
He nods, his expression resolute.
We’ve both changed. After Lauren’s death, Asher became wary about getting involved, unwilling to subject himself to the heartache. After Megan’s deception, I closed myself off, believing that women were only interested in me for my money.
But this relationship has brought out the best in all of us. Wendy is more trusting, more willing to ask for help. I’ve realized that not all women are like Megan, and Asher is putting his heart on the line again.
We hit traffic on the Belt Parkway. As soon as we enter Brooklyn, we run across a three car pileup, blocking the two left lanes. It takes us forty minutes to get past the accident, and by the time we pull up in front of the nondescript bar in Brighton Beach, an hour and a half has elapsed.
Asher and I get a text from Wendy. She’s just picked up her mom, and she’s heading back.
“We’re cutting this fine,” Asher says tightly, getting out of his car and slamming his door shut.
I don’t reply. We push open the front door and enter the bar, and as soon as we walk in, silence descends over the room. “Look at the suits,” a thickly accented voice mocks.
We stand our ground. I look around the room slowly. The bar is shabby. A couple of men in torn jeans and black shirts play pool at the table in the middle of the room. A skinny blonde girl sits on the lap of a big burly guy in an Armani suit. He lifts his glass up for a drink as we enter, and I see the tattoos on his knuckles. Bratva. We’re in the right place.
A man in a black leather jacket approaches us. He’s a big guy—three hundred pounds of solid, tightly-packed muscle. “You must be lost,” he says. “This is a private club.”
Asher shakes his head. “I need to speak with Mikhail Vasiliev,” he says clearly. “Tell him I’m an acquaintance of Thorne Hancock.”
He gives us an incredulous look. “You want to speak to the pakhan?”
“Yes.”
He stays exactly where he is, but the blonde girl slides off the lap she’s sitting on and heads to the back. In a minute, she reappears and whispers something in the bouncer’s ear, who nods curtly at us. “He will give you five minutes,” he says, his teeth bared in a vicious smile as he pats us down for weapons, “for your bravery.”
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I take a deep breath and follow the goon through the back door.
The room we enter is much more luxurious. There’s a soft teal carpet on the floor. A fireplace exudes warmth from a corner, and there’s a massive tigerskin rug draped on the floor next to it. Plush brown leather armchairs are arranged around a card table.
Three men sit at the table, though I only have eyes for one of them. Mikhail Vasiliev is a short, powerfully built man. His bald head gleams in the warm light of the room. His chin is covered with a goatee. An angry scar runs from under his left eye, almost to his ear.
“Mr. Doyle and Mr. Fleming.” His voice is unaccented. “I was wondering if I’d see you here.” He waves his hand to the chairs. “Please, sit down.”
He knows who we are. My nerves stretched to breaking point, I take the indicated seat. Asher does the same. Vasiliev dismisses the bouncer who led us to the back room. “Would you like a drink?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I prefer to keep my wits about me,” I murmur.
He nods. “A wise decision. I will have one, I think. Dmitri?”
One of the guards jumps to his feet and hurries to a side table holding an impressive number of bottles. He pours a shot of vodka into a crystal glass and adds a couple of cubes of ice from a silver bucket, then he hands it to his boss.
Mikhail Vasiliev sips his drink and regards us. “You’re here,” he says, “because I loaned Hancock some money.”
“Yes.” Asher takes a deep breath. “I’m going to lay my cards on the table,” he says. “Wendy Williams is our woman. We’re working with her on the Staten Island project. Is her life at risk if the project succeeds?”
“Normally, it would be.” Vasiliev’s voice is calm. “However, in this case, I’ve made an exception. I’ve made it very clear to Hancock that she’s not to be harmed.”
Relief floods through me. I lean forward. “Why?”
The men on either side of Vasiliev stiffen and tighten their grip on their weapons. I exhale slowly. No sudden movements, Hudson.
Vasiliev regards the little exchange without a change in expression. “Two years ago, your girlfriend represented a woman in a divorce case,” he says. “She helped Sofia file a restraining order. She fought to keep her ex from getting custody.” He steeples his fingers and surveys us. “Sofia is important to me, but I couldn’t move directly against her scumbag husband without consequences. Ms. Williams helped me out of a tight spot. I owe her a debt of gratitude.”
“Thorne Hancock is going to lose his father’s contest.” Asher’s voice is flat.
Vasiliev nods. “The contest was inconvenient,” he agrees. “Hancock didn’t have a good read on his father. He thought he’d become the CEO when the old man died.” He shrugs, indifferent to Thorne’s fate. “It is unwise to borrow money from me and fail to pay it back, Mr. Doyle. There will be consequences if Hancock can’t deliver on his promises.”
Frustration fills me. Thorne knows that Vasiliev will kill him if he doesn’t pay back the loan he took. Are we to sit back and watch Thorne’s attacks escalate as he gets more and more desperate? We can’t allow that to happen.
Then, in a moment of blinding clarity, a solution occurs to me. I can’t believe I haven’t thought about this before. “What if we buy out the debt?”
The Head of the Bratva gives me a searching look. “You would help Hancock?”
I’m afraid to look at Asher’s face. For ten years, my friend has wanted justice for Lauren. Now, I’ve just offered to bail Thorne out of a death sentence, and I have no idea how Asher is going to react.
But I’ve misjudged him. Asher is nodding. “Yes,” he mutters to me. “Of course. That’s our way out.” He meets Vasiliev’s gaze unflinchingly. “We will do anything to keep Wendy safe.”
Vasiliev sips at the vodka, lost in thought, then he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Hancock Construction will be a useful part of my network. I think I’ll wait the year out.”
My heart sinks. I turn to Asher, hoping my lawyer friend can think of some way out of this impasse. Then one of the bodyguards glances at his phone and leans toward Vasiliev, whispering something urgently in Russian into his ear.
Vasiliev listens, his expression unchanged. Then he turns toward us. “My associate tells me that Hancock just broke the terms of our deal,” he says. “Under the circumstances, I will accept your offer.” He pushes a piece of paper toward me. “Wire sixty million dollars to this account number by midnight tomo
rrow.”
I tuck the scrap into my wallet. “And you’ll leave Hancock Construction alone?”
His eyes harden. “Hancock Construction, yes. Thorne Hancock, on the other hand, broke my rules. There will be a price to pay.”
“What do you mean?” Asher’s voice is urgent. “He broke the rules? What rules?”
Vasiliev’s expression softens. “A snowplow just slammed into your Land Rover, Mr. Fleming. Both passengers have been injured. They’ve been taken to Mount Sinai.” His lips tighten into a grim line. “Hancock hired the guy who drove the truck.”
The room sways around me. We’re too late. Thorne has crossed the line, and Wendy has been hurt.
Please, I pray on that frantic drive to the hospital. Please let Wendy be okay. Please let the baby be okay.
37
Wendy
To be happy we must not be too concerned with others.
Albert Camus
When I see my mom standing in the baggage claim area of the airport, holding a large suitcase in each hand, my heart fills up with joy. I haven’t seen her in almost six months, and I miss her. Running up to her, I hug her tight. “It’s so good to see you,” I mumble into her shoulder. “I’m so glad you decided to visit me.”
She kisses me on the forehead. “I’m thrilled to be here, sweetie. Now, let me take a proper look at you.” She holds me at arm's length and surveys me. “You’re not showing yet.”
“I will in a month, according to the Internet.” I shake my head and take one suitcase from her grasp. “I’m going to be the biggest source of gossip at work.”
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 82
