The Boss (Billionaires of Club Tempest #1)

by Sloane Hunter

  “So how did you two meet?” Anne asked to break the tension.

  Sam and I exchanged a glance.

  “Through a friend,” I said.

  “At a bar,” Sam said at the exact same time.

  “I was at a bar with a friend who knew him,” I clarified quickly. That wasn’t actually that far from the truth — just with a lot left unsaid. “I just moved to the city,” I continued, hoping to move the topic off our fake relationship. “I love it here.”

  “Where are you from originally?” Dorthea asked. “I love your accent.”

  “Kentucky, a small town called Gainesville. It couldn’t be more different from New York.” I struggled for a question that moved the conversation off me. “Has your family been here a long time?”

  Dorthea and her silent husband exchanged a glance. She put her fork down and said, “As a matter of fact, the Bloom family has been here a very long time, in this very building.”

  “Oh really?” Sam asked. His voice sounded strained but I think it was only apparent to me.

  “Oh yes,” Dorthea said. Her tone was light but her words carried an earnest weight. “You see, my great-great-great-grandfather was from Ireland. I know,” she said, touching her hair, “that doesn’t come as much of a surprise. Lots of the Irish were coming to America in those times because there was a terrible famine ravishing the land. Thomas was the oldest of five and the only boy. The family had hoped to come together, but when the famine struck and they had to spend more and more of what little they’d saved on food, it became clear they had to make a terrible choice: choose one of them to go ahead and accept starvation for the rest. Thomas was chosen to go ahead and that decision saved his life. The rest of the family died soon after, but Thomas made it to America, the land of dreams and freedom from hunger.

  “Well, he had come without a penny to his name, and they weren’t so welcoming to the Irish in those days, so there were still days of hunger in his future, but Thomas was smart and hard-working and he believed in the American Dream. He worked hard and saved every last penny just as his parents had done for him, and one day he had enough to buy an apartment building. That was the Starling and he named it so after the ship that had taken him to America so long before. Thomas is long gone, of course, but he passed the Starling down to his son and his son passed it to his. My father hasn’t been doing very well as of late, but my brothers and I have taken over the care of the place and though times can be tough, we do our best. Our tenants are like family because most of them are. The ones that aren’t wouldn’t have a negative word to say about us, you can check that yourself.”

  Dorthea swallowed, but her face became firm. “So I know you think the future of this place should be all fancy carpets and wealthy renters, but I’ll have to tell you respectfully here and now that we will never sell this building. This is our heritage and it is our American Dream.”

  There was a mounting tension in the room with every word that Dorthea spoke and when she finished, the room hung suspended in it. Every person, even the young twins, waited to hear what Sam would say. I finally understood his reaction downstairs to the framed picture of the family. He’d understood from that moment that he was never leaving the Starling with a deal. I had been right before; some things can’t be bought and Sam would never be able to name a price that would make this woman and her family uproot themselves from their ancestor’s lasting legacy.

  Sam nodded reluctantly. “I can’t say I’m happy to hear you say that, but I understand.”

  “Thank you,” Dorthea said, smiling softly.

  Suddenly her husband stood up, pushing his chair back sharply from the table. He didn’t say a word, but he was shaking with emotion.

  “Bill…” Dorthea started.

  “I hope you all can keep this on your conscience,” the man said in a voice thick with emotion. “Especially you,” he said to Michael. Then he walked quickly from the room without another word.

  I looked to Sam, who looked just as confused as I was. The outburst must have made sense to the Bloom family though because they all looked unhappy and uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry,” Dorthea said, getting up quickly and going after her husband.

  Anne put a comforting hand on her cousin’s arm. Michael looked at her gratefully.

  “Is everything all right?” Sam asked. “Should we leave?”

  “No,” Michael said. “It’s okay. Don’t think we didn’t consider your offer seriously, Sam. We did, but only because my wife is sick. That’s why Bill’s mad. He thinks we should have sold, to use the money to pay for her bills and treatment. But Mary didn’t want them to sell. She insisted.” He shook his head and everyone looked so sad. How could this dinner have taken such a terrible turn?

  Unfortunately, it was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

  I looked to Sam, expecting to see my sympathy mirrored on his face, but instead he sat straight-backed with an unreadable look in his eyes.

  “Are you serious?” he asked slowly.

  Michael furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  Sam pushed his chair back quickly and stood. His face had flushed with anger and his normally-steady hands quivered, clenched, at his sides.

  “You’re all full of shit,” he said.

  “Sam!” I cried.

  “No,” he said, taking his napkin and throwing it on his barely-eaten food. “You say you care about your family so much? Your wife is your family. These kids’ mother is your family. This building is just a heap of bricks that’s going to be gone within five years! Instead of helping her get better you’d rather hang onto your pride!”

  The remaining Blooms had been stunned into silence by Sam’s outburst, but Anne recovered fast.

  “How dare you judge us!” she demanded. “You don’t know anything about this family or about Mary. And don’t act all high and mighty when you’re going lower than dirt to force us out.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Sam asked. “All I did was offer you enough money to change your entire lives.”

  “Well maybe we like our lives,” she said. “And don’t play innocent. We’ve never had a problem with graffiti before and now our building is covered in it. And who would throw a rock through our window? You think we’re stupid enough to believe in a coincidence like that?”

  Sam’s mouth set in a hard line at the accusation. Then he got to his feet and stormed from the room.

  Anne glared after him while Michael put his head in his hands. Patrick looked down at the table. The twins, thankfully still too young to understand what was going on, ate their food without looking at any of us.

  I was frozen to my seat, my fork still clenched in my hand, when I realized Sam had left me there. I stood awkwardly and mumbled a “sorry, thanks for the food”, before fleeing after Sam.

  What had come over him? I’d never seen this side of him before — rude and accusing. I wondered, as I ran down the stairs, if it was because he hadn’t gotten his way. But no, it couldn’t be. He’d accepted it. He’d been gracious in defeat. It wasn’t until Michael had mentioned his sick wife that he’d become unhinged.

  Sam was halfway down the block by the time I burst out of the doors of the Starling. I ran after him. “Sam!” I called, but he kept walking like he hadn’t heard me. His head was down, staring at the sidewalk so intensely that it looked like he wasn’t going to stop at the crosswalk even though the light was red.

  I was less than twenty feet behind him when I realized it didn’t just seem that way. He wasn’t going to stop.

  Sam walked out into the road before I had a chance to pull him back just as a yellow taxi skidded around the corner and knocked him off his feet.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Beck

  I blinked hard, stunned to a halt by what had just happened. At first I thought I must be dreaming, or just seeing things, but no, there was Sam lying on the pavement in front of the hood of the taxi, limbs twisted against the blacktop. Sec
onds slowed as I held my breath, waiting to see a sign of life.

  Then he sat up and the world rushed back into focus. I broke from my paralysis and ran toward him, pushing through pedestrians who were gathering around him.

  “Sam!” I said as I knelt at his side. He was trying to get up, but I held onto him, trying to push him back down. “No, you need to stay sitting. I’m calling nine-one-one.”

  He shook his head just as the cab driver burst out of the taxi. “Why the fuck did you walk?” he shouted, parting the onlookers and storming toward us.

  Sam started to get up again and this time, I couldn’t hang onto him. “We gotta get out of here,” he said, ignoring the driver and starting off across the street.

  “No,” I insisted, taking his hand and trying to hold him in one spot. “You need to stay here. We need to call an ambulance.”

  “I’m calling the fucking cops!” the driver shouted behind me. “Before you sue me for damages, you fucking idiot.”

  I let go of Sam, whirled around, and shouted, “Fuck off!” directly into the driver’s face. He took a step back at what must have been an insane look on my face and quieted for a moment. It was just enough time for me to escape after Sam, leaving him with his cab and the dispersing group of people.

  Sam was walking down the street quickly. From behind, he looked like he was late for an appointment, but once I got abreast with him, I saw that he was bleeding from his hair, wet blood trickling down his face and into his beard.

  “Christ, Sam,” I gasped. “You need to go to the hospital. You’re bleeding.” He glanced at me, but didn’t say anything. He had a bleary look in his eyes, but I wasn’t sure if that had come from falling or from the incident at the dinner table.

  “Sam, answer me so I know you’re okay.”

  “Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’m fine.” At those words, he stumbled as if one of his legs had given out from under him. I grabbed one of his arms and hooked it around my shoulders, supporting him. He was heavy, a lot heavier than he looked.

  “Hey asshole!” It was the cabbie. He was following us now. “You dented my fucking cab, you piece of shit. Get back here and deal with this.”

  Suddenly an SUV pulled up so fast, it jumped the curb and I thought all three of us were about to get run over. I stifled a scream, but then I recognized Roy, white-knuckling the steering wheel. He opened his door and jumped out, coming to help me support his boss and guide him to the back seat.

  “Hey, what do you think—”

  “Would you shut the fuck up?” I shouted. I reached into the inside of Sam’s jacket pocket, where he kept his business cards, and threw one at him. “Call the number, asshole.” That seemed to finally shut him up.

  Roy helped me support Sam as we walked him to the back of the car. The entire way he was insisting that he was fine and to just let him walk.

  “We need to take him to the ER,” I said.

  Roy gave a humorless laugh and shook his head. “A man like Mr. Callahan doesn’t go to the ER. We’ll take him to his apartment and call his physician.”

  Duh. Of course the rules were different for the rich when it came to health care. Well, it was better that he could go home and lay on his couch instead of sitting in a waiting room with a potentially dangerous head injury.

  In the back of the SUV, Sam looked a lot more alert. He kept reaching up to touch his hair and I kept brushing his hand back. “Don’t do that,” I said. “You’ll make it worse. How does it feel?”

  “Like it could have been a hell of a lot worse,” he admitted. “I don’t think it’s deep. It felt like I skidded instead of bashed it open.”

  “Do you think you have a concussion?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Never had one before,” he said. “But I’ll ask George. My doctor,” he clarified at my raised eyebrows.

  Roy drove well over the speed limit, threading in and out between cars so fast Sam had to tell him to slow down. “It’s not the end of the world,” he said. “I’m not dying.”

  “I’m just getting you home, Sir,” Roy replied.

  Finally we pulled up in front of an incredibly tall skyscraper just south of Central Park.

  Roy pulled up in front of the doors. “Do you need help getting inside?” he asked. “I can have a valet take the car around.”

  Sam shook his head, reaching for the door. “No, thank you,” he said. “I’m fine. Just take Miss Harris home please.”

  I scoffed. “Um, hell no. I’m not going to let you stumble through your lobby bleeding like a stab victim until you get upstairs and ‘forget’ to call your doctor. Or actually do forget and never call him because you’ve passed out. One of us is going with you.”

  He looked between us and then sighed. “Fine, Beck. You can come up, but I promise, I’m fine.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’ll let George decide on that.”

  * * *

  Doctor George Deckard was a friendly-looking, older physician with close-cropped silver hair and an apothecary bag. I took him to the bedroom where I’d made Sam lie down with a towel wrapped tightly around his head. Sam had fought me on staying down every step of the way, but once he realized I was not going to budge on it, he accepted his fate until the doctor arrived. Once George was inside, I closed the door behind him and gave them some space.

  That was an easy thing to do in an apartment like Sam’s. It was far from the same place he’d taken me on our encounter on my first night out in the city. While that one had seemed modern and sleek at the time, comparatively it looked little better than the messy, cramped country home I’d shared with Troy. This new residence must have cost tens of thousands of dollars a month to rent. Beautiful furnishing and decorations done in dark woods and metals adorned the rooms. A full bar with a wide variety of liquors sat against one wall in the living room. Most impressive though was the view. Out of the southern facing windows, Central Park stretched impossibly long down the length of the city. As I followed the windows, out of his living room and into the dining room, the cityscape changed, showing off new sights all the way to the river. As the sun began to set in the distance, I stood against the glass and watched the lights popping on across the city like a million stars coming to life in a night sky.

  “Miss Harris?” Doctor Deckard asked, emerging from the bedroom.

  I turned quickly from the window. Please be okay, Sam. “How is he?” I asked eagerly.

  “Mr. Callahan will be fine. No concussion, just a cut that required a couple stitches. Head injuries tend to bleed quite a bit so they tend to be worrisome. Luckily he’s fine. It could have been a lot worse, him walking out into traffic like that.”

  “Did he tell you why he did it?” I asked. I immediately regretted the question. It wasn’t any of my business what he told his doctor. Thankfully, Deckard must have assumed I was Sam’s girlfriend.

  “He didn’t say,” Deckard admitted. “But I’d talk to him about it. He’s awake and should be fine if he takes the pills I gave him for the pain and any lingering swelling.”

  I thanked him and showed him to the door. I closed it behind him, leaving me alone with Sam in the empty apartment.

  I considered leaving after the doctor, but something prompted me to stay. I should say goodbye at least and a “glad you weren’t killed back there”. But as I walked down the expensive hardwood flooring, I wasn’t entirely sure what I planned on doing once I got to Sam’s room. What was I even still doing here in the first place? I should have left after the doctor. Or hell, even once I let the doctor inside. It wasn’t any of my business why he’d freaked out at the Bloom family, nor why he’d walked into traffic. In fact, it was completely inappropriate that I was even still here.

  I touched the polished golden handle of his door and paused. Just tell him you’re glad he’s okay. Then be on your way.

  Plan firmly in mind, I pulled the door open and walked inside. I was surprised to find that he wasn’t in bed. Instead he was standing by his window, looking out over
the city in the exact same way I’d been doing from his dining room just a moment before.

  “Sam,” I said.

  He turned and smiled at the sight of me. He looked tired but that distant, pained look from earlier was gone. He had a bandage wrapped around his head from where the doctor had given him stitches and it pushed his hair apart at a funny angle. Somehow he looked even more handsome in a scruffy way.

  “Thanks for bringing me back here, Beck,” he said. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “You walked out into traffic,” I said. “After yelling at our hosts about killing their family members. What the hell happened back there?”

  Well, so much for that plan.

  Sam looked away, his mouth working. He didn’t look angry that I asked, but his blue eyes carried a deep sadness. “I got upset,” he admitted. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

  “Are you really that upset about losing the Starling?” I asked. A memory occurred to me, something Anne Bloom had said after Sam’s outburst. “Tell me there isn’t any truth to you having people vandalize their building.”

  Sam shook his head adamantly. “No, of course not. I’m not dirty like that. They just feel threatened so they’re seeing ghosts.” His jaw stiffened. “Maybe it was wrong, but I stand by what I said. It might have been harsh, but they needed to hear it. No building is worth the life of that woman.”

  “You don’t know for sure if treatment could help her anyway,” I said. “Michael said it was her decision. I’m sure they—”

  “No,” he cut me off. “They should at least try. I was offering them enough for the best doctors, the best of everything. If they had the money they could save her. They’re condemning those twins to a life with no mother. With no love.” Emotion broke in his voice, and I looked at him with a dawning realization.

  “This happened to you,” I said. It was less of a question than a statement.

  He looked away from me, back out the window at the darkening sky. “My mother,” he said, after a moment. “I was fourteen. We couldn’t afford any of the good doctors and she— she refused to leave me with medical debts to pay. She knew I was going to make something of myself and didn’t want anything to get in my way. I didn’t realize, at the time — her friend told me later, afterward. I thought we were doing everything we could, I thought she was fighting for every last minute. I wish she could have known that I would give it all up, every last bit of what I have now — the suits and apartments and fancy fucking watches — just for another few months of memories with her.”