Bradley & Naomi, ...To Me & You (Vodka & Vice, the Series Book 2)

by Skrzypczak, Kathleen Hesser

  I grab my iPhone, purse, and a floppy black hat, then toss the hat, and add more jewelry. I must be the Hot Naomi, not Old Naomi, but the new bohemian woman promising excitement and crazy escapades. Frankly, I’m tired of wearing armfuls of bangles, I feel like a Christmas tree left up too long. I let my hair fall free and thick around my shoulders and practically run out the door. As the elevator opens, I rush inside and try to breathe deeply.

  “Calm down, you are okay,” I chant as the tiny mirrored box on a string lowers me down to the lobby. “Someday I’ll live in a ground floor apartment or own a walkup. Elevators are safe…they are safe…safe,” I chant in a mixture of false bravo and prayer.

  As the doors ding open I see an amazing sight, Gus throwing my old lover Bradley out into the street! What the hell?

  My phone buzzes, but I ignore it and race past a surprised Gus and sprint down the sidewalk after Bradley.

  “Dobrov! Bradley Dobrov!” I shout into a haze of noise and traffic around me. “Wait!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  That drink will have to wait

  BRADLEY

  Wednesday, February16th

  I’m not more than half a block from the loft when I hear my name called in a familiar voice.

  “Dobrov! Bradley Dobrov! Wait!”

  I turn around to see Naomi, running toward me in hot over-the-knee boots. The sidewalks are slick with melting snow and just before she reaches me, her feet slip out from under her and she ends up on her gorgeous ass, looking sort of confused. I’m not proud of this, but I think people falling is really funny and so I’m laughing as I rush to help her. Karma’s a bitch. I end up on my ass right next to her and now she’s busting a gut at me.

  “Well, slick, now what?” She says to me.

  “You always did know how to make an entrance,” I say. I push myself off the ground and hold my sopping glove out to her. Once we’re both upright, she looks more serious.

  “What happened back there? With Gus, I mean.”

  “Oh, you saw that? A little gift from our friend Viktor. He’s paying Gus to make your loft off-limits to everyone but him.”

  “WHAT? You’re crazy. Viktor wouldn’t do something like that. I don’t think so anyway.” She furrows her brows and cocks her head to the side like a puppy. God I miss that.

  “You tell me. You’re his fiancée,” I say. It’s a dig, but I can’t help it.

  “Listen, not that it’s any of your business, but he just shoved that thing onto my finger. I didn’t have time to think about it. Look, I’m not even wearing it.” She holds up her hand, now red and raw from the dip in the slush.

  I realize this is getting us nowhere and also I’m freezing my nuts off. It’s started to sleet and the wind’s picking up. “How about a drink?” I ask and before she can answer, I’m steering her by the elbow to a little café on Varick Street.

  “Okay. One.” She holds up her index finger, shoots me a warning.

  “Chill. It’s just a drink. I’m not going to propose or anything.” I wink at her and she punches me in the arm. She’s stronger than I thought.

  Once inside, everything starts to thaw, including her anger with me. We order drinks: brandy on the rocks for her, an IPA for me. The beer goes down easy and the conversation flows. We catch up on our lives since we’ve been apart. I tell her Viktor has dropped out of Model House and I can see she isn’t pleased.

  “Model House? Is that the name of his Broadway show? What a weird name. Is it about real estate?”

  “Broadway? No, it’s a reality show about models all living in a house together, trying not to trip over each other’s deltoids.”

  I hear her mutter under her breath, “That goddam liar.”

  Probably not my news to tell, but like I said, it’s every man for himself. We’re well into round three of our drinks when we finally get to the reason I was at the building in the first place.

  “How well do you know this Chase guy?” I ask her. She fills me in on how they met, all the things he told her about Molly, about me. I have to know so I ask, “But how could you believe him over me?”

  She shrugs, looks out the window. “I guess I never believed someone like you could love someone like me.”

  I laugh. “Yes, it’s very hard to love a gorgeous, talented, smart and funny girl. It was truly torture.” She smiles at that, tucks a strand of dark hair behind an ear. Then just as quickly, a shadow crosses her face.

  “We have to find Chase. He’s the key here. I haven’t seen him since Viktor showed up. Maybe he moved?” She traces the clover pattern on her coaster with her finger.

  I tell her about the old man in the gym and his warning. She asks me to describe him in detail so I oblige.

  “That has to be Delano Marcusi,” she says. “He and his wife were friends with my parents for years. After his wife died, they tried to still do stuff together, but he was kind of a third wheel. They drifted apart. He did come over when they were reported dead. Brought a big flower bouquet and some chocolates. He seemed very interested in all the details, but I really had nothing to tell him. Their bodies were never found.”

  “I wonder how he knows Chase?” I say.

  “Lorraine told me something weird last night.”

  “I love her. She’s like the mother I never had.”

  “I know what you mean. Anyway, she rescued me from the blizzard and we had a long talk and she said, well it sounds kind of crazy in the light of day.” She hesitates, takes a sip of her brandy.

  “I doubt this whole thing could get any weirder,” I posit.

  “Okay, she kind of mentioned that my mother had been having an affair before they left on their sailing trip. She said it was a much younger man with blond hair by the name of Broderick.” Her hand is shaking as she puts the brandy back onto the coaster.

  “Easy,” I say, placing my hand over hers.

  “Bradley, I, I think we should just be friends for now until we figure the whole thing out,” she says, slipping her hand out from under mine.

  Friends? I have enough of those, I think. But I really want this to work. The door is open a crack and I don’t want it slammed shut, so I agree. “Yeah, sure, of course. We don’t want to make things more complicated than they already are.”

  “Anyway,” she continues as though she didn’t just crush my heart to dust in her bare hands, “if that’s true, if Lorraine has the name right, there’s a lot more going on here than either of us knows.”

  She excuses herself to go to the bathroom and after she leaves, the waiter brings over the check, assuming, I guess, we’re wrapping it up after four hours. I reach for my wallet and remember I’ve got no cash. Shit. I can’t ask her for money. She’ll think I’m an idiot. I break into a sweat; push the leather folder to the side as though I haven’t noticed it. When she comes back, she notices it right away and grabs it up. I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand in a stop sign.

  “Darren Broderick gave me this card for business expenses,” she says, placing the platinum rectangle into the folder. “If he’s part of all this, and I’m almost sure he is, he owes me—us—much more than a few drinks.”

  Maybe Manny’s luck is rubbing off on me. Outside, she hugs me goodbye and we agree to keep in touch if we find out anything new. For now, we won’t meet in person unless we have to. The last thing we need is Viktor stalking us. I head over to the subway, feeling the best I have in weeks. It’s stopped sleeting and the sun breaks out from behind the clouds, just as I descend the muddy stairs to the F train.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bradley, brandy, & boss

  NAOMI

  Wednesday, February 16th

  I’m high on a heady mixture of Bradley and brandy, so I don’t notice the long, black town car until it stops just ahead and I see a back window rolling down. I walk forward carefully, not wanting to fall on my ass again, and just as I almost make my building’s front doorway, a deep voice calls my name.

  Shit.

&nb
sp; “Naomi?”

  I stop and the back door opens, a handmade Santani wingtip shoe steps out, and my boss waves me over. Or should I think of him as my mother’s previous lover, an ugly and perverse picture enters my head with that thought, and I can’t help but shudder.

  “Hi Mr. Broderick.”

  “What happened to calling me Darren?”

  Darren was tossed into the trashcan, two points and a scream, after talking to Lorraine.

  “Darren.”

  “I need to talk to you, hop in.”

  A few days ago I would have obeyed him without question, but now I was seeing him differently. Suddenly his attractive dark green eyes resembled seaweed in a murky creek, and his hair is too washed out, probably dyed. I realize I’m staring and I slide into the warm car. He’s still my boss.

  He leans in and kisses me hard on the lips before I get a chance to breathe.

  “How you been baby?”

  “Okay, thanks for letting me off of work for a few days, the weather’s been brutal.”

  Now I’m discussing the weather like Gus. Yeah and what about Gus, what was his game? He’d known me since I was a kid, why was he taking orders from my very new roomie?

  “Darren, did you try to get into my building?”

  “No, why?”

  “Nothing, just wondering about security.”

  I quickly change the subject, trying to lift that suspicious glint from his eye.

  “What do we need to talk about?”

  “In two weeks I’m flying to the Bahamas. I have meetings scheduled with important clients from Russia; it involves a total internal gut and rebuild I’m financing over on Chambers Street. As my personal assistant, you’ll of course be going with me.”

  He winks and for the first time I’m afraid of him.

  “Okay …sure.”

  “Pack lots of bikinis, there will be plenty of time for fun. And add some hot lingerie.”

  He winks again and I feel my stomach roll.

  “Is Chase coming too?” I blurt out before I can stop myself, damn brandy buzz.

  “That’s a strange question, but yes, Chase will be there. This project is his baby, and it’s a hundred million dollar bet. You know Chase from the gym, we’ve discussed you, and he agrees with me.”

  “What? About what?”

  “That you’re hot. Hotter than even now that you’ve upped the ante with your new appearance game. I loved you blonde, but this,” he says waving his hand over me and brushing my breasts with the back of his hand, “this look suits you.”

  He shifts closer and moves in for a full-blown tongue kiss. I’m frozen in place and for some reason, the scent of his cologne, the tight grip on my arm, I feel more forced than flattered.

  “Oh, one more thing, get rid of the Russian boyfriend.”

  Bradley? Did he see me this afternoon with Bradley? Was he watching me?

  “I did, we’re not together anymore.”

  “So, he’s moved out completely?”

  It hits me; he could be talking about Viktor. Who in the hell did Darren Broderick think he was. My anger boils inside me and I pull back and stare at him with narrow eyes.

  “You know Darren, you didn’t buy me on the auction block; you just offered me a job. I don’t think this arrangement is going to work out between us after all. Even grabby old Carl didn’t try to dictate my personal life.”

  I’m raging mad now and at the next light I try the door handle on the left side of the car, it’s locked.

  “Naomi, calm down, perhaps I overstepped. It’s hard to see you with another guy.”

  “Then stop looking. Let me out!”

  Darren sighs and knocks on the black glass divider. The window rolls down and Darren hisses, “Take Naomi back to her building.”

  I stare out the window, trying not to slug this bossy boss in the gut when he snatches my hand.

  “Naomi, you can’t quit on me. I know you need the money. Cool off and I’ll see you at the office on Monday. And Naomi, we are still going on this trip together.”

  How in the world does Darren know I need money? I feel chills running down my spine. I inherited the loft and its contents, my dad’s IRA account, but nothing else. My parents owned no cars, the sailboat sank, and I was surprised and stunned to learn that they did not have a cent of life insurance. So much for caring about their daughter’s future. Without my education and previous job at the hedge fund McMaster Swartz, I would have been left penniless. How would Broderick know that unless he was indeed my mother’s old confident and lover?

  We are a steaming pair ready to do battle, but he has more intelligence than I do. I need to go back to work and snoop. Find something incriminating on this bastard. I scoot over and he doesn’t try to stop me. I see a black overcoat ahead, a tall, dark-haired man walking fast. Viktor!

  “Stop the car, I want to walk!”

  The town car edges against the curb and I hop out before Darren can speak another word. It seems like it’s my day to chase Russian hunks down the street.

  “Viktor! Wait for me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Manny oh Manny

  BRADLEY

  Wednesday, February16th

  Back at the apartment, Manny’s bedroom door is closed. I know he’s around because the stereo is blasting Buena Vista Social Club. That’s his seduction soundtrack. He plays up his Cuban roots, Latin lover and all that. I wonder how many he’s got in there this time. I turn it down; he probably doesn’t need it anymore if the door’s closed. I find a soccer match on the TV and prop my feet up on the couch. The next thing I know, Manny’s sitting next to me in leopard boxers, screaming at the television.

  “GOAL,” I hear him yell. He looks over at me. “Homes, you been out for like, hours,” he informs me. He sucks his teeth. “Day drinking’s the best, yeah?”

  My throbbing head says different. Probably should have eaten something with all that beer. As if he’s reading my mind, he throws me a white paper-wrapped tube. I unwrap it and find a pastrami hero with coleslaw and pickles. Goal! “You’re the best, dude,” I tell him. In this sea of assholes I seem to be drowning in, Manny’s like the Coast Guard.

  “Eat up, bruh,” he says, “we got some place to be tonight.”

  Doesn’t this guy ever just hang? I finish off the hero, down a bottle of water.

  “Check. Just need to grab a shower first.”

  “No argument there, homes.” Manny grins at me.

  An hour later, we’re making our way toward Chinatown. The temperature has dropped again, and everything is frozen. The sidewalks are gritty with salt and the air smells like frying fish and garlic. We both have our heads down, concentrating on not dying.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” I ask. Manny flashes his trademark grin and turns off onto Doyer Street. We pass a laundry and some other closed businesses. It’s so desolate; I can’t think what we’re doing there. He stops dead in front of a heavy black door, pulls it open and we step inside what looks like a turn-of-the-century drug store. It’s still pretty early—around nine thirty—and we mostly have the place to ourselves. The bartender comes out from around the bar, wraps herself around Manny, and gives him a long, deep kiss.

  “Glad you could make it, Mans, I didn’t think you’d be able to walk after this afternoon…” she winks at me and resumes her position behind the curved bar. I’m looking at the menu, but she takes it out of my hands. “House chooses tonight. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands,” she assures me, and winks again.

  The drinks are amazing and free, of course. Mine has basil, lemon, and nine hundred other ingredients and it’s magically erasing any last remnants of hangover. In the middle of round two, I decide to pick Manny’s brain about the situation with Chase. If anyone knows ‘a guy’ who could help us, it’s Manny. I lay everything out for him. He listens, surveying the room as groups of hot girls and a few single guys start trickling in.

  “So, that’s where we left it,” I finish my long stor
y, “we’re just gonna lay low until we come up with more info.” Manny stares off into the red velvet curtains, rubs his chin, sucks on his swizzle stick. I wait. I can practically hear the gears whirring in his head. He gets up and goes over to the bartender, leans over the bar, which is now completely packed, and says something into her ear. She smiles, goes back to what she was doing.

  “Let’s roll. I want you to meet someone.” Manny says, pulling on his coat and heading for the door. That’s how it is with him; you have to keep up or get left behind. He’s on his cell from the moment we hit the sidewalk.

  Forty-five minutes later, a cab deposits us on the sidewalk in front of a stunning apartment building in the East Eighties. A doorman opens the door for us and the young lady behind the front desk smiles. “Mr. Moreno?”

  Manny nods and we are directed toward a golden bank of elevators. There’s one toward the end of a row of four. It has a brass plate above it with the word, PENTHOUSE, emblazoned on it. That’s the one Manny heads straight to and soon we are being whisked high above Manhattan. When the doors open, an ancient butler is standing there, offering to take our coats. We hand them over and a maid appears and escorts us into a massive white room, with white furniture and a white marble fireplace with a roaring fire. It’s almost too much for my eyes. The maid exits silent as a cat, and we’re left alone for the moment. Classical music plays from unseen speakers and the city sparkles outside a wall of windows to our left.

  “Dude, where ARE we?” I ask Manny. Then double mahogany doors swing open to our right and a tiny woman, probably in her sixties, wearing a deep pink silk skirt and matching jacket, enters the room.