Three under the Mistletoe: A Christmas Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 1)

by Tia Siren

  “You want to do what?” Andrey said as they lay next to each other. He pushed himself up, leaned on one arm, and listened more attentively.

  “I want to do an interview with Maxim Sokolov. He owns this place, doesn't he? Which means you must work for him.”

  “I don't work for him. I work with him, and soon I won't be. I'm going out on my own. Why do you want to interview him?”

  “Because he's the big boss, the one who got away and the only one anyone is interested in anymore.”

  “You're mad, absolutely mad. A young woman like you has no chance with him. You won't even get in the door. In fact, he's more likely to murder you.”

  “Well, I can try,” she said defensively.

  “Get your clothes on and leave now. And let this be a warning to you: If I hear that you have been anywhere near him, I'll finish you off myself.”

  “But Andrey, it was so lovely this evening. Why are you suddenly so—”

  “Because you're pissing me off. Now get your ass out of here.”

  *****

  “Hello, Mr. Sokolov,” Mel said as the short, chubby man entered the Crab and Lobster. “What can I get you?” He was fifty-three, and he'd been a boxer in his youth, a good one. He'd built up a fearsome reputation, and that had lasted all these years. To date, no younger man had dared challenge his authority.

  “Vodka and ice.” It hadn't been a good day. He'd lost three hundred thousand at cards, and what was worse, he'd lost to Graham Sander, a small-time crook from Newark.

  “Here we are,” Mel said as she put the glass and bottle on the table. “Shall I get them something?” she asked him, referring to the two large men at the door.

  “Coffee,” he grunted. Mel never felt at ease when he was in the restaurant. He was unpredictable and explosive. Once he'd pulled her hair when she'd spilled some water on him. She'd apologized a thousand times, but it hadn’t mattered; he'd made her suffer.

  “So what's happening, Mel?” he asked after he'd thrown back two shots.

  “Steady away, really, Mr. Sokolov. As always.”

  “Tell me, who was that black woman who was here the other evening?”

  How the hell does he know about her? she thought. Then she realized that he had eyes and ears everywhere. “I don't know, Mr. Sokolov,” she said, trying to cover Andrey's back.

  “What do you mean you don't know? Are you blind, deaf, or dumb, or all three?”

  Mel knew she had to tell him now. He knew she'd been working then, and he probably knew that Andrey had taken Nicki upstairs. “She was a journalist. I don't know any more.”

  He stood up and walked over to the bar. “Come here,” he said gently. Mel walked up to him on the other side. “Lean over. I want to tell you something in confidence.”

  Mel leaned toward him and waited for him to whisper. He didn't. He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her over the bar. Her blouse tore, revealing her overflowing bra.

  “Nice,” he muttered. “Now you tell me who she was and what she was doing here. Otherwise, I might just have to see a bit more of what you've got to offer.”

  “Please, Mr. Sokolov, I'll tell you all I know.” He laughed when he noticed that she was shaking. “She came to the restaurant at about four o'clock. I heard her say to Andrey that she was a freelance journalist.” She hated doing this to Andrey; she liked him, but what choice did she have? “They seemed to get on well. They had a couple of drinks and something to eat.” She didn't want to tell him that they'd gone upstairs and the whole restaurant had heard them having sex.

  “And? What else?”

  “That's it, Mr. Sokolov. I don't know any more.” She cried out when he slapped her across the face.

  “What else? I won't ask again.”

  “They went upstairs together.” Mel burst into tears.

  “Jesus Christ. What next? I thought I could trust him.” He tightened his grip on Mel's blouse. “Screwing a journalist is going too far, but screwing a black journalist in my restaurant is disrespectful and deceitful. Tell him I want a word with him as soon as he comes back.” Mel nodded and attempted to cover herself up.

  *****

  “Jesus, what the...” Lela exclaimed just as she was about to take the boiling kettle from the stove. She ran upstairs and banged on the bathroom door. “Nicki, what's the matter? Are you okay?”

  Nicki didn't reply. She was sitting on the edge of the bathtub with her head in her hands. If only she hadn't stopped taking the pill during her stay in Moscow. Nathan hadn't been with her, and she'd had no intention of sleeping with anyone casually, so she'd just stopped taking it. Andrey had worn a condom. Yes, he had. She remembered distinctly.

  “Nicki, Nicki, let me in.” Lela was getting frantic. Nobody who screamed like that could be all right. She jumped back to one side as the door opened and Nicki ran past her. Inside the bathroom, Lela picked up the pregnancy test and read the text on the tiny display. Pregnant 2-3.

  *****

  Why the hell do you still work with him? Andrey asked himself as he drove up to Sokolov's mansion. You have enough cash to last you a lifetime. You're a fool to have anything to do with him. All because you love the Crab and Lobster. Buy it off him and then tell him to f- off.

  “I hear you wanted to seek me, Maxim.” Sokolov's mansion was on the edge of Brighton Beach. It was just like one would expect a man of Sokolov's breeding to own: brash and full of gold.

  “Andrey, come in and sit down.” Sokolov was sitting in his favorite chair next to the fire. It was another cold day, and under normal circumstances, the sight of the burning logs would have raised anyone's spirits. But Andrey wasn't in the mood for cozy fires. He hadn't liked what Sokolov had done to Mel. Mel was just a kid, and she didn't deserve the kind of treatment he'd afforded her.

  “What did you do to Mel? The poor kid couldn't stop bubbling when I came back yesterday evening.”

  “What did I do to Mel?” he retorted sarcastically. “It's your fault.”

  Andrey looked around, trying to calm himself. It was a pretentious house. All the sofas in the large sitting room were gold, and the carpet was a different shade of gold. The wallpaper was gray with gold stripes, and all the pictures on the walls had gold frames.

  “How is it my fault?”

  “Andrey, how much money do you have in the bank?”

  What the hell did that have to do with Mel? “About thirty million.”

  “And how did you come by all that money?” Sokolov was being smug and coy, and Andrey hated him for it. Sure, he'd helped him a lot during the early days, but there was no need to keep reminding him.

  “Real estate deals.”

  “Yer, real estate deals. And who gave you the first piece of real estate?”

  “You.” This was what he always did. Whenever he disliked something Andrey did, he'd call him in and remind him that it was he who had given Andrey a property to get him going. Sokolov was also from St. Petersburg, and when he'd bumped into Andrey, they'd chatted about the city. Sokolov had been impressed by Andrey's physique and had given him a job as one of his rent collectors. Some of the things Andrey had done, he was not proud of. Evicting men and women with young children had never been his thing, but he'd done it. He'd seen Sokolov's real estate gift to him as justified payment for the sleepless nights he was still having.

  “Me indeed.” Sokolov looked at the fire for a while and then jumped up and took Andrey by the throat. “What the fuck were you doing screwing that black journalist in my restaurant the other evening?”

  “It was just that, a screw, so what's your problem?” Andrey thought he was strong enough to push Sokolov from him, but he wasn't sure he could beat him in the boxing match that was bound to ensue if he did so.

  “My problem is twofold. First, she's a journalist, and second, she's black. I don't want a person like that snooping around in my life. If I see her again, she's a goner. Got it?”

  “So what if she's black, you racist pig? She's hotter than any slut you've
ever had.” Andrey fell back onto the sofa as Sokolov landed an upper cut to his chin.

  *****

  Nicki stood outside the Crab and Lobster for half an hour before she got up the courage to go inside. Mel looked at her and turned away.

  “Mel, is Andrey here?”

  Mel had nothing against Nicki, but she didn't need another confrontation with Sokolov, and she was scared he would do worse than tear her blouse next time. “Upstairs, but leave now. You're not welcome here.”

  “I need to speak to him. It's important.”

  Mel turned to her. When she saw Nicki's face, feminine intuition told her why Nicki had come to the restaurant, and she felt sorry for her. “You know the way,” Mel said, pointing to the stairs.

  Nicki knocked on the apartment door and turned the door handle. When the door opened slightly, she saw him lying on the bed. “Andrey.”

  When he looked over at her, she saw he had two back eyes and a lump on his chin. He jumped off the bed and ushered her inside. “What are you doing here? It's too dangerous for you to be here now.”

  “Why?” Nicki didn’t understand. It had only been a few nights ago that she’d been here. Andrey didn't reply. “Andrey, I need your help. I'm pregnant.”

  “You've got to leave. I don't want to see you anymore.”

  “Did you hear me? I'm pregnant,” Nicki sobbed.

  “I heard you. Now go or I'll carry you out of here.”

  “But you can't treat me like this.” Her sobs became stronger. “We had...such a lovely time...I know you...care about me.” She put her hand on his shoulder, trying to pull herself to him.

  “No, Nicki, I don't want you. I'm not interested in you or your baby. Now go. I won't ask you again.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Three weeks ago everything had been fine; now her life had become a living hell. Her tears went, replaced by anger. “How can you do this, you heartless bastard? You could at the very least offer to help me look after the child financially.”

  He took hold of her by her coat, marched her to the door, and pushed her through it. She heard it close and the lock turn. When Andrey lay back on the bed, he put his hands over his ears to block out the echoes of Nicki's sobs as she went down the stairs.

  Before Nicki left the stairwell, she wrote a note. When she went through the restaurant, she handed it to Mel. “Give him this, will you?” she said.

  *****

  Betty's tea room wasn't busy. Nicki counted four people: two elderly ladies deep in conversation, a young mother struggling to keep her toddler quiet, and a man in a business suit. Betty's was the premier tea room in New York, and it was usually impossible to get a table. Nicki wondered what she was doing in such an expensive place. She had precious little money and not much prospect of getting any in the near future.

  Nathan came in through the main entrance and looked around for her. When he spotted her, he smiled and wandered over to the table in his usual casual manner.

  “Can't stay away from me,” he said hopefully.

  “Nathe, I called you because I need your help.” She knew it was a liability, contacting him after she had dumped him, but she was getting desperate.

  “Sure, anything.” He smiled. He took her hand, but she pulled back.

  “I'm pregnant, Nathan. I'm pregnant, and I really need a favor.”

  “You're what?” Now there was no chance they would ever get back together. “So why the hell did you call me and not the father?”

  Nicki avoided his gaze. “He doesn't want to have anything to do with me.”

  “I'm not surprised,” he said cruelly. “You're behaving like a whore, limping from one man to the next.”

  Nicki tried to ignore his words. “Can you help me get a job at the Times?”

  “You're kidding. Maybe I could have helped you, but now you're pregnant. How do you expect anyone to employ you?” The waitress appeared, carrying a menu. The manner in which he waved her away did little to make her long day any better. “There is no chance. Do you seriously expect to start a job and then a few months later go on pregnancy leave? What boss in his right mind would welcome that?” She nodded and stared out the window at a woman with a stroller. “What happened to your dream of being a freelancer? Did it go down the pan as I told you it would?”

  “I’ve written a couple of things that haven't sold. I don't have the energy to chase the big stories. Most mornings I'm hanging over the toilet.”

  “Well, you should have thought about that before you went screwing around.” He scowled and drew in a large gulp of air. “Here's what I suggest: You either go home to your parents or you look in the paper for a part-time job until the baby is born. I've noticed there's plenty of jobs for office cleaners. Good-bye, Nicki.” When he got up, her eyes followed him to the door. When he was no longer in sight, she felt empty as never before.

  *****

  When Andrey saw Sokolov, he wanted to kill him. His treatment of both him and Mel had been arrogant and brutal, and it was time to teach him a lesson.

  “Andrey, my boy, have you come to apologize?”

  “No. I've come to tell you that you are a two-bit piece of shit. You're nothing but a lowlife whore fucker.”

  Sokolov flew into a rage. He got up and tried to grab Andrey, but he was too fast, and Andrey dodged the heavier man. Andrey continued to goad him.

  “All you've done with your life is threaten and rob people.”

  Sokolov was now at one side of the sofa, Andrey at the other. They played cat and mouse around the sofa for a few seconds before Andrey spoke again.

  “You've never done half the things attributed to you. Everyone thinks you're a tough guy. You're not. You're a pussy.”

  Sokolov was now beside himself. He jumped over the sofa and caught Andrey by his T-shirt. Andrey pulled away, hard, leaving Sokolov holding the shirt. “I've done more with my life than you will ever do. Who do you think you are? I'm gonna kill you,” Sokolov shouted. One of his bodyguards appeared, but Sokolov held up his hand. “Leave this to me.”

  “You're just a showoff, leaving everyone to think that you killed Judge Hudson but got away with it. Why don't you ever deny it? Everybody knows the jury was right. You haven't got the balls to kill anybody.”

  “I killed Judge Hudson, just like I'm gonna kill you.”

  “You didn't. You're a liar and a cheat. I've never met anybody so full of bullshit.”

  “I tell you, I killed him with this gun.” Sokolov walked over to a cabinet and opened the drawer. When he pulled out a Magnum, he pointed it at Andrey. Andrey put his hands up and stood still.

  “Bring him over here,” Sokolov said to the bodyguard. The bodyguard took hold of Andrey and brought him closer to Sokolov. Sokolov hit him in the stomach as hard as he could. Andrey fell to the floor and curled up. “Lift him up,” Sokolov ordered. He hit him again in the same place, and again Andrey fell. This time Sokolov kicked him—on the back, in the face, and on the ribs. The bodyguard cowered away at the sickening noises Andrey was making. When Sokolov was out of breath, he looked at the bodyguard. “Take him and dump him next to the freeway,” he said.

  *****

  Nicki was lying on her bed, considering what she should tell her parents. Her cell phone rang.

  “Hello, is this Nicki?” the man said.

  “Yes, that's me.”

  “My name is Sergeant Jonathon Greaves from the New York Police Department. I was wondering if you could help me.”

  “Er...sure. I will if I can, but I haven't done anything wrong.”

  “No, I'm sure you haven't. It's just that we found a man lying by the side of the freeway, very badly beaten. When we checked his clothing, we found a note with your name on it.” Nicki put her hand to her mouth. “It says, quote, 'Dear Andrey, I am sorry I have disappointed you. If you ever change your mind, please call me. I will always wait for you,' and then your telephone number.”

  “Oh my God, is he dead?” she asked fearfully.

  “No,
but he's in intensive care. Who is he?”

  “He's a man I met at a restaurant in New York,” she said, lying. “We had a good time and then had a bit of an argument. I liked him, so I left him a note. Can I go and see him?”

  “Sure, but I warn you, he's a mess.”

  *****

  Nicki almost screamed when she entered Andrey’s hospital room and saw him. A TV hung from the ceiling, and there was a cupboard on wheels to the side of the bed. She didn't want to count how many tubes were sticking out him. There was a machine on a stand that seemed to be measuring his heartbeat and other vital functions.

  She took off her coat and pulled up a chair. What had he been doing? Who had done this to him? Would he be angry when he woke up and saw her? She would have to wait.

  After a couple of hours, a nurse came and replaced the drip.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Nicki asked.

  “We think so. All his organs are okay, and he hasn't suffered any brain damage. He's got a few broken bones, and he'll need painkillers for some time, but we're optimistic.” She looked at Nicki sympathetically. “Are you his wife?” Nicki shook her head.

  Sometime around 11 p.m., he woke up. Nicki was asleep in the chair next to him. When he saw her, he smiled. His mouth was swollen, and he couldn't speak very loudly, but Nicki wasn't in a very deep sleep, and his whisper was enough to wake her.

  “Nicki, I'm sorry.”

  “No, it's all right. I'm just glad you're alive.”

  “Where are my jeans?”

  Why did he want his jeans? Surely they should be the least of his worries. “I don't know.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Please find them.”

  Nicki went to find a nurse, and when she came back she opened the beside cabinet and pulled out a plastic bag. When she took out a pair of jeans, she heard him give a sigh of relief. “Here. The nurse said she'd put them in the cupboard.”

  “Great.” He paused and took in another breath. “Look inside the left leg.”

  “Andrey, why?” She put her hand up into the leg and felt around. When she pulled her hand out, she was holding a tiny wire with a little box on the end of it. “What is it?” she asked.