The CEO's Lucky Charm_A Billionaire Novella

by Stella Marie Alden

  The woman with her arm around my friend’s waist snickers. “Rumors are he’s connected with Russian Mafia.”

  “You all think dis is funny? Some crazy hitman gunning me down?” My palm shoots to my forehead. “Merde. I had no idea she was so young under all that professional war paint.” I feel like a complete pervert but what can I do, eh?

  I buy a round, glad I dodged a bullet, and laugh with them.

  “Good one, eh?”

  Chapter 3

  Sonia Dmitriyev

  Present Day

  “Father?” I tap on my father’s door, take a deep breath, and enter Sergei Dmitriyev’s sacred domain.

  Relieved the room is empty, I tiptoe across his priceless oriental rug and a sigh escapes me as I stare down onto Fifth Avenue. Just once, I’d love to walk to Rockefeller Center, shop, or go to the top of the Empire State Building.

  Suddenly, I hear my father’s shouting in the hall. When the door handle turns, I jump into his private bathroom, shaking. His Russian gets louder, he threatens to kill someone, then he stomps across the room. When the office door bangs, all goes quiet except for my heart’s rapid beat.

  Feeling lucky to have barely escaped the wrath of the almighty Dmitriyev, I head for the couch. In my experience, that’s the only place to endure his endless lectures. On the way, I pass the off-limits space behind his desk. Even though I know better, I sneak a glance at his monitor.

  I stop dead when I see my name, click open the email, and gasp.

  No way! I’m nothing but a stupid goat!

  In exactly two months from today, the email says I’m to be married in Moscow to the man I despise most on this planet, my coach, Leonid Blokov. My skin crawls at the thought of bedding him. He’s at least twice my age and cruel to the point of abusive. I’d think it all an awful joke but for the blood test and my fake signature.

  This time, my father has gone too far. I won’t allow it.

  Glancing up at the commotion in the hall, I freeze. What if he finds me here?

  After a few seconds, when no one enters, I open email after email. Surely, something can be found to use as leverage. Despite what he may think, I’m not completely stupid. I know my father’s business isn’t above board.

  Oh shit.

  I should be thrilled. Instead, I swallow back the acid forming at the back of my throat when I find a reference to Petya, the virus that recently hit the Ukraine. The email mentions payment and the elimination of some hacker in Moscow.

  Elimination? As in death?

  Hands shaking, I open his desk drawer to search for a USB drive, and find none. Then, with a flash of inspiration, I pull out my cell phone and snap pictures of his monitor. Once I have as much data as I dare, I carefully put everything back in order and run out of the room. Perhaps I’ll call an Uber, get back to the rink, and figure out my next move.

  Down the hall, I stop as if dead when my father shouts behind me. “Sonia? Is that you?”

  “Hello, Papa. I was just coming to find you.” My heart pounds as I turn, making my face like stone.

  “Were you in my office?” Like always, his face is hard, his mouth grim.

  Never lie to a man like Sergei Dmitriyev. “To use the bathroom.”

  “Come.” He motions me into his domain with a wave of his hand and when I sit on his couch, I sink, knees almost to chin.

  Of course, he leans against his desk, towering above.

  To those that don’t know any better, my father might appear handsome. His tailored Italian suit cuts a trim build and his hair is mostly jet black, graying at the temples. However, when he smiles like that, it’s pure evil and I shudder. Piercing dark eyes glare, with a slight tic on the right.

  “I want to talk to you about your future.”

  When the snake is about to strike it’s best to lower one’s eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t win in Lake Placid. It was very close.”

  “Close. Bah. That’s just it. You need more supervision and a firmer hand.”

  “Are you going to get me a new coach?” My face, I make like a stacking wooden doll, showing him nothing.

  He strolls across the rug, sits down next to me, and puts a hand on my knee. “No, dushka.”

  I cringe at his paternal attempt and hold steady. There’s nothing to be done now but to escape his venomous intents.

  Then, he sighs, a well-rehearsed affectation that would do any Hollywood actor proud. “I’m not going to live forever.”

  Thank God, I don’t say out loud. Instead, I focus on a small spot on the rug, looking like the most dutiful of daughters. When he thinks he’s waited long enough for this wonderful news to sink in, he continues his speech.

  “You need someone to manage your career and your finances, someone to take care of you. You need to get married.” His flat smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

  I pretend not to notice, jump up excitedly, and kiss him on the cheek as if I never read his horrid email. “Da. Da. Let me go out and meet some nice young man. Someone who you will approve of. Thank you, Papa.”

  My father stands and sniffs out his nose. “Like I’d leave something so important to you? Never mind. You’ll be married next month in Moscow.”

  “Wait? To who?” My fake smile is almost impossible to keep in place.

  “I’d think it’d be obvious. Leonid. He adores you.” With brows creased, his mouth tightens, a much more familiar expression.

  I stamp my heel into his stupid rug, fists clenched. “I don’t even like him. He’s old, like you!”

  I leave out the part how he’s also just as rotten. No doubt my father would see that as a compliment.

  Regardless, he waves me away with a flick of his hand. “What you want is of no consequence. Go, now. Continue your practice. I’ve told you what you need to know.”

  As is our custom, he says no goodbye and neither do I. Instead, slowly I turn and exit his office, a different woman from the one who entered.

  Engaged? To Leonid? He isn’t even a man, he’s a monster. Since I was ten, he has kept me on the ice until my body is bruised and my soul even more so.

  I am stupid. I am fat. I am clumsy.

  What kind of coach berates an athlete like that?

  It’s only because he makes me so angry that I win. That, and the fear of my father’s punishments.

  Still, to defy them both? I should be fearful. Instead, I’m giddy as I head crosstown, back to Chelsea Piers. With my phone safely tucked in my purse, I thumb through the internet. CIA, FBI, or police? Who should I call first?

  The NYPD puts me on hold and takes my number. That’s hardly the response I need but I suppose, because no one is bleeding or dying, it makes sense. After, I call all those initials along with the Russian Embassy where I also get no one to talk to me. By the time I get to the rink, I’m praying someone will call me back before I’m forced to leave the county.

  “Where were you?” Leonid’s waiting outside the changing room, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Talking to father.” I know he knows this so why does he ask?

  His graying eyebrows are furrowed, wrinkles between them. Unlike my father, time has not been kind.

  Along with being overbearing, he’s overweight. “You left his office over thirty minutes ago. The trip should take fifteen.”

  “Did you check Google maps? There’s much traffic in the New York City today. Apparently, their president is here and it messes with everything.” I try to keep the anger out of my voice but apparently didn’t succeed because Leonid’s neck tics as his back teeth grind.

  “I will not tolerate that tone. Come here.” He pinches my chin so hard it will bruise and drags me to his face, lips crushing mine.

  When his tongue goes down my throat, I gag, punch, and kick but he just gets crazy. He tears at my hair, clamps onto my ass, and holds me tight against his erection. Finally, I squirm loose and thrust a knee up into his balls which causes him to let go.

  Even as he doubles over in pain, he laughs. “I can s
ee we’ll match well in bed. Begin your warm ups.”

  As I circle around the rink, I gain speed, crossing leg over leg. Then, I prepare to jump, bend my knees, and launch into a double Axel. However, instead of digging my edge into the ice as I land, I let go and fall, spinning on my ass until the wall stops me.

  Breathing hard, I lay my head back on the cold, hard ice as Leonid rushes across the rink, cursing.

  My ankle throbs and for a moment, I wonder if I went too far and broke it.

  “You will skate, bitch.” When he demands I put weight on it, I limp so badly that I stumble and fall onto my knees.

  “Take me to a doctor, immediately or I call Father. Maybe I call American police with 911.” I’ve never before threatened Leonid and am shocked how fast he backs down.

  “Fine. Get off the ice. I’ll call a doctor.”

  While he’s on the phone, I glance down at mine, noticing a message waiting. After playback, I take a deep, shaky breath.

  The FBI says to call them back.

  Chapter 4

  Sonia

  All night long, I awake every hour on the hour, my heart racing. Most of my nightmares end with a knife to my throat, the others are far worse. So, when my alarm goes off, I’m tired but relieved. That is until I recall what day it is.

  Today, I betray my father.

  Black yoga pants and a black t-shirt seem most appropriate for rehab. Then, after splashing my face with cold water, I hop into the elevator and snort at Leonid, waiting for me in the lobby. During the hour-long drive, I give him the silent treatment, my chin still throbbing from yesterday’s assault.

  At exactly five AM, the driver pulls to the curb in front of green garbage bins. Not waiting for the vehicle to stop, I jump out, and get blasted with hot, smelly fumes.

  Ugh. With my hand to my mouth, I almost forget to limp as I rush to the storefronts where a small woman puts a key into a padlock. Behind us, lights from another vehicle cast the long shadows of three huge bodyguards as they climb out of a black town car. The skinny one, with the anchor on his forearm, I call Popeye and the heavy one is Bluto. The third, a new guy, I officially dub Wimpy.

  The fact that my father saw fit to send three men sends chills down my spine but it’s too late to change my mind. Certainly, by now, I’d know if someone found out my plans because I’d be dead.

  When the petite blonde woman finishes pushing up on the metal gate, we shake. “Hi. You must be Sonia.”

  Barely older than me, it’s hard to believe she’s the famous sports therapist I read about online. Her grasp is firm, exuding confidence and for the first time today, I smile.

  “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Glad to. I’m a big fan. Come on in.” Her eyebrows raise when she notices my gorillas.

  Shrugging, I follow her into the impressive facility filled with expensive exercise machines. Welcome to my life.

  “Sit.” Leonid points to a chair and I do as he asks, maybe for the last time.

  If he thinks I’m nothing but his trained bitch, he’s in for a rude awakening. I got a serious grudge and sharp teeth. At that thought, I check again for the thumb drive deep in my purse and after finding it, page through old magazines.

  Then Ms. Quinn approaches. “Ready?”

  I nod and stand.

  Her ponytail bounces as she shoots past rows of machines, glancing down at her iPad. “You speak English?”

  “Yes. Quite well.”

  “Great. Up please.” Her fingertips tap the paper-covered vinyl bench.

  While she examines my ankle, I worry she’ll find out I’m lying about the extent of my injury. Since falling yesterday, I’ve said that it hurts too much to skate, purposefully missing all of my jumps. In truth, it’s not all that bad.

  “Does it hurt here?” She presses the joint at all angles and twists my foot in circles.

  When she hits a sore spot, I gasp.

  Frowning, she cocks her head and asks me to walk on the treadmill. She sets the pace so fast that if I was really injured, I wouldn’t be able to keep up. So, I limp, pathetically.

  “Stop!” Leonid strides across the room and hits the red button on the control panel. “Get down from there.”

  Melanie Quinn glares, hands on her hips, and the bodyguards at the door snicker. Me? I turn to the wall, hoping Leonid can’t see how widely I’m grinning. Then, just as she opens her mouth to take him down a notch, the door chimes, and I follow her gaze.

  Air shoots from my chest, my heart stops, and Casablanca comes to mind. Of all the rehab joints in all the towns, in all the world, he walks into mine.

  ESPN voted Kit Tufek the most handsome hockey player in the NHL His lashes are dark, his chin strong, and his eyes are some weird shade of crystal. Women fall at his feet, begging to be fucked, or so I’ve read. This should make me feel better but it doesn’t. Four years ago, he picked me over all the other beautiful skaters in Sochi, I gave him my key card. Even now, my panties melt at the sight of him.

  Was it my fault my father dragged me off like a misbehaving child?

  To make matters worse, at the awards dinner, Kit told people that I was a tease. I didn’t even know what those things meant. Despite his verbal abuse, I waited up all night for him, naked in my bed.

  Kit Tufek, the man who ruined my teenage dreams, shoves aside Popeye.

  Dammit. Does the hockey player have a death wish or is he just plain stupid? No one messes with my father’s men.

  Shooting off the treadmill, I rush forward where Bluto’s already stepped out in front of Kit, fist clenched. The hockey player swears, knees my bodyguard in the balls who goes down, writhing and moaning.

  Without warning, Popeye pulls a knife. Kit jabs his elbow his solar plexus which sends him next to Bluto.

  “Stop!” By stepping between them, I manage to keep Wimpy from pulling out a gun.

  Kit raises one angry raised brow at me and turns to Mel, running across the room. “Who da fuck are dese guys?”

  Melanie stomps over, face skewed. “For goodness sake, Kasim. Do you need to do… do this?” She points at the two writhing bodies on the floor.

  “I thought maybe you were in trouble.” His cocky grin says nothing of the sort.

  The now furious blond glares at Leonid. “They all need to go.”

  I cringe. No one dares cross my coach.

  However, the woman is bad-ass She sneers and stares him down. “Either they go or she…,” her gaze goes to me, “is no longer welcome. Sorry hun. I can’t have this. Your bodyguards can wait outside or there’s a coffee shop next door.”

  “Fine.” Face bright red, Leonid calls her a stupid bitch in Russian. Then he helps the men to rise off the floor and tells them to wait outside.

  I’m loving this as I try to recall which foot to limp on and start up the treadmill again. Drama over, the oh-so-famous Kit Tufek wanders next to me, favoring his left leg. I try not to stare at his magnificent form, his beautiful dark face, and the bright tats running up and down his forearms. I have lusted for this man since laying eyes on him in Sochi despite the fact he’s a complete mu’dak.

  That’s Russian for asshole.

  Despite how he treated me in the past, a zing shoots between my legs and my panties dampen when the man smiles. Then I notice, his look is not for me, it’s for my physical therapist.

  They hug and he kisses one of her blushing cheek. “How is that little one of yours?”

  She pulls out her cell phone and shows him a picture of a baby. “Looks just like his daddy.”

  He winks at her. “I still say, if CJ doesn’t treat you right, we fuck. Agreed?”

  She blushes and pushes at his giant chest. “Start on the treadmill, Kit, thirty minutes. I’ll be right with you.”

  To Leonid she says, “Mr. Blokov? Please wait in the reception area or you can join your friends outside.”

  My coach swears under his breath all while shooting me a look that says I will pay later.

  Obvi
ously, my therapist doesn’t speak Russian because she’s smiling when she walks me back to the treadmill. “Hun? Set your timer at a pace you feel comfortable with.”

  All done ordering people about, she crosses the room to her computer, no doubt entering all the health and insurance data that Leonid brought with him.

  That leaves me and Kit, standing side by side. I set the machine at a pace I figure would be right for someone with a sprained ankle and limp appropriately.

  Kit is already sweating, looking magnificent as he runs.

  A bit competitive, I check that no one is watching and up my pace. Soon our numbers on the screen match indicating we’re at the same speed.

  His eyebrows raise as he huffs under his breath. “I understand you have something for me?”

  Stunned, I stare. Certainly, the US government wouldn’t trust something as important as what I have with him? He’s nothing but a big dumb hockey player from Canada, a stud muffin. Someone who makes women throw their panties at him.

  “Excuse me?” I push on the control panel, running faster.

  He exceeds my pace once again. “Don’t play dumb, Sonia. You’re in over your head. Hand over whatever it is you got and don’t do anything stupid. Do it now before your bodyguards notice and come back.”

  Does he really think I’d trust my future to him? My life? My only chance at freedom? I tell him to fuck off in Russian.

  He calls me an arrogant cunt in a dialect I can’t quite recognize. However, his meaning is clear.

  My face heated, I slow the treadmill, get off and hiss, “I wouldn’t trust you, with, with, my, my grandmother’s diary. Go away.”

  “Your father’s a dangerous man. Don’t fuck wid me. I’m here to help.” He jumps off, face dark, and touches my cheek with his rough palm.

  Immediately, zings shoot to my core, my clit swells, and moisture pools but I’m no longer a stupid teen. They’ll be no panty throwing, today.

  “Tell your FBI they’re dumb as doorknob. Okay?” The moment I jerk my head away, I wish I hadn’t. I should’ve kissed him, instead.