BILLIONAIRE BROTHERS: A MFM MENAGE ROMANCE

by Samantha Twinn

  No. I just need to keep looking for a private hospice care job so Olivia doesn't have to miss out on so much time with me. It's bad enough that if I do end up going back to the hospital, that it'll be a pay cut for me after working with Mr. Aberdeen and his wealthy family.

  I think about Olivia, sitting at the table working on her science project, so lost in thought that the tip of her tongue is just poking out as she smooths over the last bits of papier mache. A job at the hospital won't pay for the private school I'm dying to get my baby into. She's so smart and I worry about her getting lost in the crowd at her public elementary school, but the private school is just so damn expensive, even with the pay I was making before.

  When the phone goes off yet again, I sigh and start to pull it out of my purse before Nomie pats my hand. "Leave it for later, girl. There's no need to deal with it now. You deserve a nice relaxing lunch with your friend. And girl, this is a drama-free zone. Drama. Free."

  "We better make it a quick drama-free lunch," I say, looking down at my watch. "Because it's just about time to pick up the kids."

  --

  The sun really is blazing overhead as I hang my arm out the window, sitting shotgun in Nomie's minivan. As usual, the car rider lane is curved all around the front parking lot, full of impatient parents ready to hurry up and be done with the long day.

  The bell rings, the double-doors fly open and here comes the stream of grade-schoolers pouring down the steps to the parking lot. Kids hopping on their bikes and taking off, or older students walking down the side roads to their homes. After they've all finished trickling out, a small group of teachers on walkie-talkies comes to stand by the wide sidewalk, looking over the car rider numbers hanging from everyone's rearview mirrors, and calling out their child's number.

  Eventually, we move up to the front, the short lady with the bright orange blouse shouting over the radio a little louder than necessary. A moment later Katie and Olivia come out of the double-doors, Katie talking animatedly as Olivia nods, listening. The look on Olivia's face is too grown to belong to a seven-year-old if you ask me, but that's how it is with my baby. While Katie is a sweet girl, very friendly and outgoing, always asking for Olivia to come and play, Olivia is more reserved. Not necessarily shy, no, but incredibly observant and aware of her surroundings. She picks up on things that most children her age or even slightly older, wouldn't.

  Katie's loud giggle can be heard from a mile away, just like Nomie's and it just kills me how much they are alike. You don't have to be close to them to tell they have a special relationship, and even though I can get a little jealous over that... I have to admit that in a way, I'm glad Olivia is so different from me.

  I'm pretty sure that Olivia is sometimes even smarter than me, which makes me both incredibly proud, and feeling a little nervous for the future. She'll grow up to be a force of nature one day, of that much I'm sure, but it's going to be up to me to make sure she gets the chance to live up to her true potential. I need to at least give her that much.

  The van's doors open and Katie comes barreling in at full speed, already chattering about something that happened during recess today. Olivia slides in quietly, putting her backpack down before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around me in the passenger seat. "Hi, Mom. How was your day?"

  I can't help but laugh at her, my little grown-up girl. "Hey," I chuckle, "I'm the parent here. That's supposed to be my line."

  Nomie pulls out of the parking lot right as my phone rings, and this time, someone is making the effort of actually calling me. Shooting Nomie a beleaguered look as she glances at me from the corner of her eye, I take a deep breath in. I might as well get this over with, then.

  But when I look down at the phone, it's not Javier's name on the screen, thankfully. I answer, the knot in my stomach untwisting some. "Hello?"

  "Hello, may I please speak with Lana Romero?"

  "This is she…" I reply, wondering who this woman could be.

  "Hello, Ms. Romero, my name is Thelma. Do you have a moment to chat about an in-home care position?"

  My heart starts drumming at a different rhythm. "Absolutely. How can I help you?"

  "To be frank, you came highly recommended for in-home care for my confidential client, through the hospice services we've checked out. My client is recovering from a recent spinal surgery. The pay would be, well, substantial. Would you be available for an interview, Ms. Romero?"

  I chew on my lip, trying not to let my hopes get too high. "I am available, yes." I take down the information Thelma gives me, grabbing a pen from my purse and writing on an extra napkin I find in the glove compartment.

  Through the rearview, I see Olivia's big brown eyes watching me carefully. I sigh, relieved, as I hang up the phone, and meet her gaze while giving her a thumbs-up and a smile. I hate to see the way the little lines on her face ease away as she relaxes, the slight frown turning upward as she gives me a thumbs-up, too. Guilt pricks at my chest as I think about how much she picks up on. She shouldn't have to be aware of just how tight things are for us right now. Or just how much I dread hearing from her father.

  3

  MICHAEL

  "As you can see, it's a very good proposition." Paolo's thick accent trills over the 'r's', as he exchanges a look with Ramone, the man he's brought along with him today for whatever reason. He tips his head toward Ramone, relaxed, his eyes lingering on him before turning back to me.

  Flipping through the paperwork, I quickly scan over everything. It's just the kind of business venture I've been looking for, at least on paper. Colombia has certain tax laws that would make this very appealing, but there's something about Paolo that has me hesitating. Sure, Paolo looks friendly and really, to some degree he is, but I know it's just a front. He's a businessman, so he plays nice, but in reality, there's something darker going on under the surface... something I would really like to investigate and use to my advantage. Since Paolo has come to me, we're on my home turf. I have the ball.

  "I have to admit, Paolo, I'm liking what I'm seeing," I say, placing the stack of papers back on my desk. "Of course, I'll have my attorney go over everything as usual, but assuming it’s all worked out, I think we have ourselves a deal."

  With a gracious bow of his head, Paolo gives me a smile that doesn't quite meet his dark eyes. "And I am glad to be hearing it. Please have your lawyer take his time, there is no rush as I expected you to say that. Thank you for the partnership." Both he and Ramone stand up, and Paolo reaches over the desk to shake my hand in a firm gesture. "I did not see your brother here today. He is doing well, yes?"

  I don't expect him to bring up Joseph, but I smooth over my expression easily. "He will most certainly be present to sign off on our new venture here, but after that, he'll be off on his next adventure, I'm sure. Can't stand still for the life of him."

  He nods. "Please give him my regards. I look forward to seeing him at our next meeting."

  I agree and thank him for coming by, shaking Ramone's hand as well as we head into the front lobby area. Thelma's voice drifts down the hall as she talks to someone who's just come in. She was our father's executive assistant since the early '80s, and even though she still dresses like it, she's very good at her job. Except for when she gets a little too chatty.

  "Will you be needing anything before you go, sir?" Thelma asks Paolo from behind the front desk. "Drinks, perhaps?"

  Without missing a beat, Paolo leans against the desk, a flirtatious grin spreading across his face. "Are you asking me out to drinks, mi carino?"

  Thelma who doesn't really look her age, but still much older than Paolo or Ramone for that matter, falls for it hook, line, and sinker. "Oh my," she laughs, trying hard not to smile, her face pink. "I was simply asking if you'd like any coffee before your trip back, Mr. Moreno."

  Ramone, who I can't help but notice looks somewhat put out, nods and thanks me before going ahead of Paolo and leaving. If I didn't know any better, the arguing going on after Paolo follows him sounds
like jealousy.

  I raise an eyebrow. Huh... Paolo is a mystery after all.

  "Sir? Ms. Romero is here to see you about Joseph," Thelma finally says as I turn back around.

  A beautiful younger-looking woman with curly dark hair hanging past her shoulders and gorgeous warm brown eyes is standing off to the side, and I follow her line of sight as she watches Paolo and Ramone take off, a flicker of concern in her eyes before she smooths it over and looks at me.

  "Hello. Michael, I presume?"

  At first, I don't recognize her—mainly because she's not dressed in her nurse scrubs. She’s wearing a light blue dress, with her makeup done just enough to accentuate her eyes and full mouth. I realize this is Lana Romero—the in-home nurse I hired for my brother.

  "Yes, I'm Michael Wright. It's nice to meet you, Ms. Romero," I say, surprised to see her stick her hand out to shake mine. It's almost a relief to see that everything about her is understated rather than flirty, especially given Joseph's personality and penchant for trying to screw anything female that walks by him. But, on the other hand, Lana Romero is staggeringly beautiful in a rich, natural and much more real way than any other woman I've seen. If she knows this, she certainly doesn't show it.

  "Please, call me Lana."

  "All right, Lana. I must apologize for not recognizing you when I came out. I was, for some reason, thinking you'd show up in uniform."

  She waves me off with a professional smile. "Not at all. After all, that's how I'm usually dressed anyway."

  Thelma hands me Lana's file, and I gesture for Lana to follow me into the conference room, shutting the door behind us. "Why don't you take a seat?"

  Lana folds her hands over the table, looking at me expectantly.

  "I've checked over your references, all of them excellent. Nothing but high praise from past clients, as well as the staff at the hospital you were previously employed with. All very good." Well, at least Thelma checked her background, and then basically gave me the cliff notes version, anyway. I did go back and recheck the most prominent private clients, just to make sure Lana was good with being discrete. There'd be no contract without a non-disclosure agreement when working with us.

  "Thank you, Mr. Wright. I do my best to make sure my clients are well taken care of," she replies, tilting her head ever so slightly. It's a cute mannerism, and I move on to go over the details of the job. I notice how relaxed Lana is. She's composed, precise with her answers, and very knowledgeable about not only caring for a spinal injury like Joseph's but dealing with people in a business arrangement. If I had to guess, I'd say Lana is used to being around men with money behind them. It's a refreshing and somewhat relieving thought, at least.

  I try not to let my gaze fall from her eyes, to make sure I'm not leering over her inappropriately, but there's no denying the beautiful body hidden away under her modest day-dress. It's almost disappointing that she's not even remotely flirtatious with me.

  Stop being a damn idiot, Michael. Keep your head on straight. She's here for an interview, not a date.

  Clearing my head of the nonsense, I remind myself that there's no good to come from getting involved with an employee—especially one who'll be caring for Joseph. It's foolish to think that just because Lana is gorgeous, she's interested in anything other than doing her job.

  After going over the pay, I nearly smack my head, aggravated. "Oh, I can't believe I didn't mention this sooner, but there's one more thing. I'd actually like for you to move into our home during the job period. And don't worry," I quickly add, seeing the crestfallen look on her face, "We have a full, separate suite with its own private bathroom and kitchenette. Really, it's an apartment in its own right."

  The apprehension that floods me as Lana sits here across from me, hesitating, is thick. In my mind, I roll back and try to think of ways to offer her more of a benefit. I didn't think to ask, but maybe she's married. Maybe she's in her own home and has no desire for a position like this, but she's such a good candidate for the job, that I blindly search for ways to have her agree anyway.

  "You'll have total privacy, believe me, and of course, the freedom to come and go as you wish during your personal hours. It's just that this was the ideal arrangement given by my brother's doctors, you understand. If there was a way around it…" I say, my voice trailing off.

  "It's not a problem," she starts off slowly. "It's just that, well, I have a daughter—a seven-year-old girl. Plus, the casino is out of the way from her school. It's not really a quick drive."

  I'm surprised to hear Lana is actually a mother, but I wave it off. "No concerns here if you're okay with it. She's welcome to stay with you. In fact, I can arrange safe and secure transport to and from school for your daughter, and we'll see to it that you have ample time to spend with her, of course."

  Her brown eyes widen as she processes it all. From the outside looking in, I feel as though this might feel like an offer that's too good to be true, judging by the look on Lana's face.

  I decide to take a different approach, and explain myself, leaning forward on the table. "My mother worked very hard day in and day out after my father died. Once she became ill… the only regret she ever mentioned was that she didn't get to spend more time with us." I pause for a moment, not wanting to think too much on that subject at length. "I don't want to put you in that position, either and I certainly don't want to sacrifice Joseph's quality of care just to find someone less attached. That wouldn't benefit anyone here." And for some reason, I throw in, “Please say you’ll accept,” thankfully without the hint of desperation I’m feeling deep down.

  It might be my imagination, but Lana’s eyes soften for a moment, ever so slightly, but she gives me another professional smile, extending her hand forward with total confidence. “I would love to come work for you and help your brother on his road to recovery.”

  “Excellent. I have to thank you for being Joseph’s saving grace. He’s... not always the easiest person to deal with at times. Any help he can get is much appreciated. Now that that’s all settled, why don’t I escort you back up front so you can start on your paperwork with Thelma? She’ll be able to answer any questions you may have regarding that.”

  I lead Lana out of the conference room with a glimmer of hope my chest, mainly for Joseph to be cared for by a competent individual. Surely if he has Lana on his side, he’ll be back to his old self before we know it. On second thought…

  Thelma gets Lana situated with the paperwork, and once she’s completed it, I thank her again for coming by, adding in how I’m looking forward to working with her and meeting her daughter. Lana tucks a curl behind her ear and smiles again as I hold the door open for her.

  Under her dress, her hips sway as she walks away, and I let my imagination wander just for a moment, traveling down her toned legs. Behind me, Thelma clears her throat loudly, and I turn away from watching Lana disappear out of sight, the corner of my mouth quirked up.

  I like to keep things professional, and thinking dirty thoughts about someone who’s effectively an employee is completely out of order, but there is something about Lana Romero that makes me want to be a different man.

  4

  JOSEPH

  As usual, there isn't shit on the TV that can hold my interest long. Court room TV shows, pass. Cooking shows, pass. Talk-shows about groups of women sharing their over-opinionated stories, hell no. It's like I'm stuck in daytime television purgatory.

  Leaning over, I grab my drink, glad to see that when I move, my lower body finally moves a little too. It's been a couple of days since they took me off the spinal block, but there's still a lot of numbness from my lower back downward. It makes it a hell of a lot harder to scratch the stupid tingly itch that crawls up my legs from time to time, like some kind of phantom sensation, because every time I try to scratch it, it's as though I can't get to it. Not to mention it's painful to even move that way to begin with.

  The painkillers are only so much of a help.

  I fucking ha
te pills.

  I fucking hate being on bed rest.

  I abso-fucking-lutely hate not being able to feel half my dick and balls. It's just not right, and it makes the whole bed rest part that much harder to deal with. If I don't keep myself moving in some capacity, I'm likely to go ape-shit and turn into a total mental case. Even more of one than Michael thinks I am, in fact.

  So much for getting laid by that hot Instagram model skiing up in Aspen.

  There's a loud knock at the door, and even though I'm just lying here channel-surfing, I tense up in anticipation. I know it's Rita, our housekeeper, but the last time she stopped in yesterday, she ended up catching me with my dick in my hand trying it out. That's how I learned how fucked (or how unfucked) my package is, and that's also how Rita learned that just because I'm bedridden doesn't mean I'm dead.

  "Come in," I call out to her, hoarsely.

  Just as I expected, Rita cracks the door open before stepping inside the room. "Miss Romero is here, and I've just put her things away in her room. Are you okay to meet with her now?" I can tell she's been cleaning something with bleach, the smell of it wafting into the room. Rita's been around for a long time in our family, sort of like Thelma, although not quite as long. Mom hired her after our father passed away, and me and Michael are still fond of her, plus she's got custody of her three grandkids, so we've kept her on.

  I'm not really in the mood for visitors, but I suppose my new nurse isn't really a visitor. "I might as well."

  Ms. Romero must have been standing right on the other side of the door because as soon as I nod, Rita opens the door wider and in comes a beautiful dark-haired nurse in full-on blue nurse scrubs. At first, I'm a little shocked. Lana Romero was hot in her resume picture, sure, but there's no way to explain just how much more there is to her in person. Even with her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, and plain white sneakers, she has a sort of presence that immediately fills the room as she walks in.