Valentine's Billionaire Bad Boys

by M. S. Parker

  I waited until the door closed before looking up at the man who’d just saved my job. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He smiled at me, this one much more genuine than the ones he’d given Gary. He glanced back at the door my manager had disappeared through. “It wasn’t your fault. The lady…she caught you in the face pretty hard.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, smiling. I lifted my hand to my sore cheek.

  “Are you?”

  “I…” I swallowed.

  He glanced at the door again and then looked back at me. “Are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated, although I wasn’t entirely sure it was true. Our eyes met and there was a moment of silence before I felt compelled to break it. “I should get going. My shift’s not over until four.”

  “Be careful,” he said. “I’m leaving so I won’t be here to catch you if you have another accident.”

  As he spoke, he reached out to touch my arm—that light contact sent heat blazing up through me. My breath caught in my throat. Heat pooled down low in my belly and to my horror, I could feel my nipples drawing tight, stabbing into my bra.

  Oooookay.

  I needed to get out of here before I made a bigger fool of myself than I already had. He left first, though, quickly and quietly, out the door before I had a chance.

  I gave myself thirty seconds. Thirty seconds to calm myself and then I slid out of Gary’s office and headed to the kitchen. Hopefully somebody had been watching my orders.

  “What the hell are you still doing here?” Gary snapped.

  I came up short. “Ah…I still have a couple hours left on my shift.”

  Gary scowled at me and I knew.

  “You said you wouldn’t fire me.” I took a couple steps forward, lowering my voice. My stomach churned.

  He smiled at me, but it was a cold one, one that turned my stomach. “Let me give you a piece of advice that will help you for the rest of your life.”

  “Yeah?” I stared at him, jerking my chin up. I was tired of him talking down to me. If he was going to fire me anyway—and I had a feeling he was—then I was done trying to play nice.

  “You know that saying that the customer’s always right?”

  “What about it?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s bullshit.” Gary jerked his head toward the office. “And that was the perfect example. Go get your stuff. Leave and don’t come back.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I said, months of suppressed anger and humiliation breaking free. I reached up to touch my necklace, telling myself to calm down. It wasn’t that bad. It was never that bad, right?

  But my necklace was gone.

  “What did you say to me?” Gary’s eyes flew wide.

  Ignoring him, I patted at my neck. “My necklace…”

  “Get out!” Gary shouted.

  I looked around, staring at the floor, searching for the silver chain.

  “Didn’t you hear me?!”

  “I can’t find my necklace!” I shouted back at him.

  “I don’t care about your necklace,” Gary snapped, storming over and grabbing my arm. His fingers dug into my skin, drawing a pained yelp out of me. “Get the hell out or I’ll call someone to get you out.”

  He shook me and then, with a final squeeze, shoved me toward the door. “Get out.”

  Tears of anger and misery spilled over.

  I didn’t want him to see, so I turned away.

  Earlier, I’d thought how odd it was that I hadn’t been homesick.

  Swallowing the knot in my throat, I half-stumbled toward the door.

  Suddenly, I was very, very homesick.

  Chapter Two

  Aleena

  “Honey, I can’t find it.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “You looked? Everywhere?”

  “Yeah. I looked.”

  Fisting a hand in my hair, I pressed the back of my skull against the wall. “Maybe I should come in and check. It could—”

  “Don’t.” Molly said quickly, her voice somber. “Gary has already told people that if you show up, they’re to call the cops. Anybody who doesn’t might lose their job. I’ll keep a look out for it, okay?”

  I sniffed and wiped at the tears that seemed to chase me all day.

  “Okay.”

  I hung up the phone and retreated to my narrow bed. I couldn’t call it a room. If you wanted private space in Manhattan, you better find a job that paid a lot more than you could make on a server’s salary. I had a roommate and while we were lucky enough to have room for two people, we didn’t have room enough for two bedrooms.

  I’d been surprised when I moved here.

  The apartment I now shared with another person could have fit in the living room of the house where I grew up. People who haven’t been in New York City don’t get it. An apartment with eight hundred square feet is actually considered pretty roomy—and they can be horribly expensive.

  I laid on my bed, staring out the window at the miserable view of the alley and thought about the view I’d had back home.

  Did I miss it?

  I didn’t want to think I did.

  Back home, nobody had ever yelled at me because I’d dropped a tray of plates.

  But then again, back home, I was just as invisible as I was here.

  Invisible.

  Unnecessary.

  I sighed and curled into my pillow. I didn’t fit in here anymore than I had there.

  No…this wasn’t how I’d imagined spending my twenty-first birthday. I never even got to enjoy my cupcake.

  * * *

  I spent the night sulking.

  If you lose your job, especially on your birthday, I figure you’re entitled.

  But the first thing I did the next day was get up and shower. I had to find a new job.

  Friday was spent walking around, searching for employment. I had a couple of on-the-spot interviews and a couple of places took my number. One thing about New York, there is almost always a place looking for a girl—or guy—who can take orders. The problem is those jobs are taken almost as fast as they come up.

  By the time I got back to my apartment, my feet were aching and I was freezing.

  One of the interviews would pan out. I was almost certain of it.

  Of course, I could end up in a job even worse than what I’d just lost. That was a thought that depressed me thoroughly. Maybe I’d been spoiled, working for my dad from the time I’d turned sixteen. Dad had taken over the Main Street Café from Grandma after she’d had a stroke. That was one of the reasons we’d moved there. That…and the fact that he’d wanted me to grow up with some sort of family around me.

  Mom had died—breast cancer—and he was raising me by himself, working more than forty hours a week. I hardly ever saw him.

  Then Grandma had the stroke.

  We’d moved back to the small town where he’d grown up and for a short while, I’d been…almost happy. Grandma had recovered and moved back home and we’d all lived in the big old house where Dad had grown up. He took over at the restaurant and Grandma had been there when I got home from school and she’d been there on the weekends, even when Dad was working. When I’d started working at their restaurant, people had smiled and acted happy to see me.

  There, more than anyplace else, I’d fit in.

  It’s terrible when the place you fit in more than anywhere else is a restaurant. Even worse when it’s not even your restaurant…but the place your dad owns.

  That’s why I’d decided to leave. I’d wanted something else. Something more.

  No.

  Something mine.

  All I’d ever wanted was someplace that was mine, something, anything that was mine.

  Ducking into the bathroom, I pressed my back to the door. I was still cold, frozen to the bone and getting more depressed by the minute.

  The bathroom of the small apartment was cramped, but its one redemptive quality was that it had a tub. A real tub, not just a stall for a shower.
I got the hot water going and started to strip. The mirror reflected my image back at me and out of habit, I tried not to look.

  But for some reason, I stopped.

  Slowly, I straightened. My clothes fell from numb hands.

  Staring at my reflection, I tried to see what others saw, what it was that seemed to be so…unappealing to others.

  I’d come to grips with who I was—or at least, I thought I had.

  My dad had been the town’s golden boy, or that was the story I’d always heard. The Main Street Café was just part of the Davison legacy. My dad had been the quarterback on the football team. His dad had been the chief of police. His dad had been the mayor. His dad had been one of the town’s few judges. They’d all been golden… or so it seemed.

  Golden.

  And unhappy.

  Right up until my dad.

  He’d been engaged to the daughter of the mayor.

  But he’d loved my mother.

  My mom—a poor black girl who hadn’t really had much chance at anything beyond working as a server at the Main Street Café—the same restaurant where she’d met my dad.

  They’d run away together, two weeks before the wedding, and a year later I was born.

  It’s been over two decades now and not once in my life had I felt like I’d fit in.

  I don’t hate the girl I see in the mirror, but to be honest, I still don’t know her.

  Absently, I reached up and brushed my fingers across my cheek.

  I had my mother’s face, high cheekbones and heart-shaped face, my skin a warm smooth gold. My hair was curly and soft; my eyes were my father’s, pale and light green.

  I wasn’t unattractive.

  Logically, I knew that.

  It wasn’t even being biracial that made me such a misfit. I wasn’t the only mixed kid back home. There were a few others. I was just the only one who didn’t fit in.

  But I’d never known how to do that anywhere.

  Could I go back there?

  Should I go back?

  I brooded over that throughout my bath and was still debating when I retreated to bed. My roommate came in and I feigned sleep. I wasn’t that tired yet, but I didn’t want to talk either.

  Emma could be a pain, but we had unspoken rules—if the other was sleeping, we let the person be.

  I couldn’t avoid her forever, though. I owed her rent and I had to come up with the money soon.

  I’d cut it close before, but I’d never been late until now. Tears burned my eyes and I pressed my face into my pillow to keep from making a sound. It took forever for me to fall into a restless sleep.

  * * *

  Morning came too early, too fast and too bright.

  As quiet as possible, I rose from my bed and crept into the miniscule little alcove that served as a kitchen. There were no real rooms in our apartment, save for the bathroom so it was a futile attempt, but I tried.

  I hadn’t even managed to open a single cabinet before I heard her behind me.

  “You’re avoiding me.”

  I turned towards her. Emma Kane was twenty-five and gorgeous. Long, straight, white blond hair that never had a strand out of place. Hazel eyes and high cheekbones. She was nearly six feet tall and rail-thin. I hadn’t been surprised when she’d told me she’d come to New York from Wisconsin to be a model. That had been eight years ago.

  “No, Emma,” I said wearily. “I was out looking for a job yesterday. I ended up taking a bath and collapsing pretty much as soon as I finished. I was just…tired.”

  “Why were you looking for a job?” She angled her head to the side, studying me.

  Shit. I’d forgotten to tell her. “One of the customers practically knocked me down. I dropped some plates. Gary fired me.”

  A good roommate would’ve gone on about how shitty that was and how my manager had been out of line. Not Emma.

  “Does this mean you don’t have your part of the rent?”

  “Not yet.” I grabbed a tea bag and shoved it into a cup of water. I was craving a cappuccino, but I couldn’t afford it. I had to have some caffeine, though. So tea it was. “But I’ll get it to you. I promise.”

  She scowled at me, crossing her arms. “I can’t afford to carry your rent too, Aleena. That’s why I needed a roommate in the first place.”

  “I know, Emma.” Unable to look at her, I dug a bagel out of the freezer and popped it into the toaster. “I’m going out as soon as I’m done eating and I already had a couple of interviews yesterday. Something will come up soon.”

  Emma snorted, the sound clearly derisive. I fought the urge to flip her off.

  Fortunately, she decided to remove temptation, spinning on her heel and striding away.

  I had a few minutes of silence to eat my breakfast and then I headed outside.

  January in New York is nasty but at least it was dry. As long as it was over zero and there wasn’t any snow on the ground, I’d walk and save whatever money I could. After six months, I was almost used to not having a car.

  Almost. But not quite.

  By the time noon rolled around, I’d talked with yet another half dozen restaurants. I wanted to think something would happen, but I just didn’t know.

  Something would open up. I had to believe that. In a city the size of New York, with how many restaurants? There would be a thousand places, or more, in any given direction. Someplace had to need help.

  It was close to one when I stopped in a small coffee shop and bought myself the cheapest, smallest drink I could. It was more to warm up than anything else. I didn’t buy something to eat, although my stomach growled in protest.

  I took a few more minutes and then hit the other direction.

  Two of the spots I hit actually did show some promise, although one of them was so far away, I’d spend nearly forty minutes traveling there and back each day. Not exactly ideal. But beggars can’t be choosers, right?

  I had several business cards and a couple of promises for second interviews.

  I’d hold on to that, I told myself. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I’d had yesterday. Well, no. Not exactly. Yesterday, I had a job. A lousy one, but a job. But these were interviews, and neither of them had been at lousy places.

  Trying to console myself with that, I headed back to the apartment. I was almost as exhausted now as I’d been last night when I finally went to bed. I couldn’t imagine doing this again tomorrow.

  So don’t.

  I almost brushed the idea aside and then I stopped.

  Well, maybe I shouldn’t. Tomorrow was Sunday. Emma was off. She always spent her day off with her guy, Malachi. I’d have some peace and quiet while I checked some things out online.

  * * *

  Sunday was a bust.

  Monday promised to be the same—one of my supposed-second interviews called me to reschedule and another cancelled outright.

  Molly called a little before noon. “Are you busy?” She didn’t even bother with a greeting.

  I sighed. “Yes, but I’d prefer not to be. I’ve been out since eight looking for work.”

  “You need lunch,” Molly said. In her opinion, food made everything a little bit better. “Where are you?”

  I squinted and then answered. “Not too far from MoMa.”

  The Museum of Modern Art and the area around it was normally one of my favorite areas, but I wasn’t there to hang out or kill time. I was job hunting—still—and not having much luck with it either.

  “Awesome. Listen, there’s this place…” She gave me an address. “Meet me there in thirty, okay?”

  The café Molly sent me to was small and out of the way. It was the sort of kitschy place I’d love to work, but when I asked if they were hiring, the lady gave me a polite smile and shook her head. She did give me an application to fill out. I did—you never know, right?

  I was busy working on it when Molly arrived. She dropped into the seat across from me and smiled. I smiled back, but my heart wasn’t really in it.

&nbs
p; “How are you?” she asked, concern softening her voice.

  “I’ve been better,” I said. I looked up as the waiter came towards us, mentally counting the change I had in my pockets.

  “I’ve got this,” Molly said. Before I could argue, the waiter was there and Molly was ordering two cups of coffee. When he walked away, she turned back to me. “I worked a double yesterday, so I’ve got some extra tip money.”

  I scowled. “So I haven’t been replaced yet?”

  “No.” She grimaced. “Gary’s an asshole, you know that?”

  I didn’t want to ask, because I was pretty sure I already knew the answer. Even if I was wrong, I was even more certain I didn’t want to do it. Still, I was desperate. “Is there any chance I could get my job back? They haven’t replaced me and I wouldn’t need training.”

  Molly’s expression told me the answer before she said it. “Again, Gary’s an asshole.”

  Scowling, I folded my arms across my chest and slumped in my seat. “You know, he’s just pissed off at me because I wouldn’t go out with him.”

  “Yeah.” Molly looked away. “Most of the people there know it. But most of the people, me included, kind of need their jobs.”

  “Hey…” I reached out and touched her arm. “I don’t blame you. I get it, really.”

  “Thanks.” She gave me a sad smile. Then, jerking her shoulder in a shrug, she said, “If he wasn’t the owner’s nephew, he would’ve been out on his ass years ago. But I didn’t ask you here to talk about that loser. Let’s talk about something fun.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “Then you better drive the conversation. I don’t have anything fun to talk about.”

  “Okay.” Molly wagged her eyebrows at me. “I do. I slept with Delphine last night.”

  “What?!” I gaped at her.

  And just like that, we were off. Molly kept up the conversation after her play-by-play of her night with Delphine, the hot junior chef Molly had been eyeing for weeks. Normally, her transitioning into my own lack of a love life would’ve annoyed me, but this time, even that was a welcome distraction.

  As Molly set some cash down on the table, her face suddenly lit up.