TRAINWRECK 2: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Inspired by a True Event Read online

  Air clogged my lungs and my chest tightened. In my face was a photo of fucking Fernando carrying Sarah up the landing to her brownstone. She looked unconscious. Limp. A blood-curdling mixture of anxiety and envy coursed through me. As concerned as I was about Sarah’s well-being, what drove me fucking insane was the fact that she was in his arms. My beautiful princess only belonged in one pair of arms. Mine.

  Breathing in and out of my nose, I called Olga.

  “Follow him.”

  Sarah

  I heard my alarm go off. The shrill, painful ring echoed in my ears. GRRR! No, no, no! But my alarm didn’t hear me. Peeling one eye open, I took in my surroundings. It took me a few moments to get my bearings. I was home, stark naked in my bed. My foul-tasting tongue was pasted to my parched palate, and my head pounded. I had no recollection of how I got to my apartment. The last thing I remembered was Fernando hailing a cab. And I think I threw up a lot. Oh God! My fucked-up life had turned me into a drunken fool. Fortunately, Fernando was the kind of friend who was as forgiving as he was faithful. The clothes I’d worn last night were folded neatly on a small chair. Fernando must have undressed me, but because he was gay, I somehow didn’t mind so much. And probably whatever I wore yesterday reeked from barfing. A wave of nausea washed over me. A reminder. I was majorly hungover.

  Thank goodness, I was taking the day off from work to visit my mother. I wouldn’t have to face Fernando. And I wouldn’t have to face the wicked bitch. I was in no condition to put up with her demands or threats. On Monday, I planned to go to human resources. No, I wasn’t going to file harassment charges—that was too risky—but I was going to put in a request for a transfer. It wouldn’t win me back the heart of my Trainman, but at least it would give my life a glimmer of sanity.

  Opening my other eye, I glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand. Shit. It was almost ten. I had a train to catch at eleven, which meant I had less than a half hour to get ready. Wrapping the tacky zebra print sheet around me, I rolled out of bed and staggered into the kitchen. Jo-Jo was already on the counter, waiting to be fed. After opening a can of cat food and pouring him some milk, I made myself some much needed coffee and took a couple of Advil for my splitting headache.

  Even after the coffee, Advil, and a hot shower, I was still in slow-mo. Getting dressed was an effort. I threw on the first thing I could find, and after lacing up my combat boots, I grabbed my bag and headed out. Trudging down the rickety stairs to the street, I ran into Mrs. Blumberg on the second floor landing. She waggled a reprimanding finger at me.

  “I saw you with another man last night. You’re gonna getcha yourself one of those sexually transmitted diseases.”

  I sighed. I was in no mood for conversation nor did I have the time. Instead of responding to Mrs. Blumberg’s reproachful comment, I told her I was off to see my mother and was running late.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  Before I could say another word, the old woman scuttled into to her apartment and then returned with a large baggie full of cookies.

  “My famous rugelach. I baked them this morning. Tell her they’re from me and that I’ll be at shul tonight praying for her.”

  With a wistful smile that I couldn’t help, I took the bag of pastries and slipped it into my roomy bag. “Thanks, Mrs. Blumberg. She’ll appreciate these…and your prayers.”

  With a zay gezunt, which meant “stay well,” Mrs. Blumberg shuffled back to her apartment. As annoying as she could be, I was blessed to have her in my life. She was a good person who meant well. I promised myself to spend more time with her. A widow, she was probably lonely.

  I continued my descent down the stairs until I reached the front door to the building. Stepping outside, I squinted my eyes. The bright sunshine, which contrasted sharply with my mood, hurt my bloodshot eyes, and didn’t help my headache. I should have worn the sunglasses Ari gave me when he took me to the Hamptons, but on second thought, they would have only been a painful reminder of all the good times we had.

  With a weighty heart, I trudged to Penn Station. No matter what time of day, the country’s biggest train hub was always hot and congested, and as I puttered through the stinky catacomb-like warrens, nausea again rose in my chest. Then an unsettling thought crossed my mind. Would I run into Ari on the train? Chances were I wouldn’t since he likely took an early morning commuter train. I should have felt a sense of relief, but instead a wave of sadness swept over me. My heart ached.

  The ninety-minute train ride to Philadelphia only added to my gloom. I was in the crowded economy class, sitting next to a smelly, overweight man who kept belching. Someone who was nothing like my beautiful Trainman. Memories of that fateful ride last Friday danced in my head. I longed for Ari as I penned ideas for Combat Wombats. My heart just wasn’t into it. I couldn’t concentrate. Halfway through the trip, I closed my heavy-lidded eyes and dozed off. I was lucky I didn’t miss my stop. 30th Street Station.

  While I’d been in 30th Street Station several times before, this time was different. I stood in the middle of the vast station and spun around, taking it in like a panoramic camera lens. My eyes landed on the VIP mezzanine, and gazing up, I relived the moment of seeing him there for the very first time. My beautiful Trainman. That golden-haired Adonis who had held me, kissed me, and made delicious love to me. That sex god who had awoken every fiber of my being. That bastion of masculine perfection to whom I had given myself, unconditionally and oh so passionately. Only a week ago and yet it felt like a lifetime. The pain of giving him up constricted my chest. Was it a selfless decision or a stupid one? Tears pricked my eyes.

  I took a deep breath. Enough. He wasn’t magically going to reappear. Here or anywhere else in my fucked up life. The hurt in his eyes last night when he saw me with Fernando weighed on me. With a heavy heart, I exited the station and headed west on busy Market Street until I reached the hospital on Spruce Street. It was a short, mile-long walk, but with my leaden feet, it felt like forever.

  HUP—The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania—was a venerable institution renowned for its clinical and research excellence as well as for its world-class patient care. I was glad that my mother had been selected to undergo an experimental but promising cancer treatment. But now with the federal grant sponsoring the treatment about to run out, hope was dwindling. With no solution on the horizon and my job in jeopardy, a dark cloud loomed over me. Plus, I still didn’t know how I was going to break the bad news to her. Dread filled every crevice of my being.

  My mother’s room was located on the top floor of the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, a modern state-of-the-art building adjacent to the main hospital. I always got depressed when I stepped out of the elevator. Roaming the halls were men and women of all ages and races, hooked up to IVs, their skin ashen and their heads bald. Some walking like zombies. I always thought this floor was just a stop away from heaven. And maybe for a few, a stop away from hell.

  The door to my mother’s room at the end of the east wing was opened. She was propped up in her bed, sketching. She looked up from her sketchpad and gaped when she saw me.

  “Sarah, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, Mom.” Everything, I solemnly thought as I padded over to her bed to kiss her. She looked good. Her head was wrapped in a bright scarf, and she had some color in her hollow cheeks that was not there the last time I saw her. And she wasn’t coughing.

  “My darling, you look so pale and thin.” Alarm widened her warm caramel eyes.

  I couldn’t hide a thing from my mother. No matter how hard I tried. Overcome with emotion, I sat down on the edge of her bed, and the tears I had held back all day ran down my cheeks. I began to sob.

  “Oh, Mom,” I spluttered. “Everything’s so messed up. I’m a total trainwreck.”

  “Oh, honey!” She leaned forward and wrapped her stick-thin arms around me, letting me cry into her bony chest. Oh how frail she was! Here she was taking care of me when I should be taking ca
re of her.

  I stayed in this position for a while. When my sobbing subsided, I told my mother everything about my week, sparing only the very explicit sexual details and Gwen’s bribe. How I’d lost my virginity to a stranger on a train and fell in love with him…only to find out that his evil ex-wife was also my evil boss who threatened to fire me if I didn’t stop seeing him.

  “Oh, Mom,” I sniffed. “I miss him so much, and I think I’ve hurt him terribly by pretending to be in love with Fernando.”

  My mother hugged me again and then framed my face like a painting with her withered hands. “My darling daughter, love is a disease for which there is no cure.”

  My mother had never totally gotten over the heartbreak my father had caused her. Even after the news of his fatal overdose. With her haunting words whirling around in my head, I looked into my wise mother’s benevolent eyes and asked softly, “What should I do?”

  She brushed away my tears with her long, elegant fingers. “Sarah, never forget that you were born wearing combat boots. You are a warrior princess. Don’t let that horrible boss of yours scare you. Fight for what you want. And for who you want. He sounds like a really good man.”

  She lifted her sketchbook and flipped through the pages, landing on a portrait of me. The image shocked me. I was actually pretty, and in my big, brown, wide-set eyes, there was a fiery blend of intelligence, compassion, and determination.

  “Do you like it?” my mother asked.

  “Oh, Mom! It’s so good!” I studied the sketch. Yes, this is who I was. Sarah, Warrior Princess.

  I gave my mother a big hug. Oh, how I loved her.

  “Hi, Sarah.”

  The voice, a vaguely familiar one, startled me. I spun around. It was my mother’s oncologist, Dr. Chernoff.

  “Can I have a word with you outside?”

  My pulse accelerated. I knew what he wanted to talk about.

  Outside in the hall, Dr. Chernoff discussed my mother’s condition.

  “Is she doing well?” I ventured, avoiding the inevitable.

  “Yes, Sarah, she’s responding extraordinarily well to her treatment, but unfortunately, the grant underwriting the clinical trial is expiring. It terminates at the end of next week. Didn’t you receive my letter?”

  I pretended like I’d never received it. “Can’t you talk them into it?” I pleaded. “Maybe extend coverage for just one more month? I’m sure I can figure out a way to pay for it.”

  Dr. Chernoff planted his large hands on my shoulders. “Sarah, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. Call me on Monday, and we’ll figure out an alternative course of action.”

  My heart numbed as he disappeared down the hall. With my dire financial straits and precarious situation at work, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Fear and despair pulsed through me. A tear escaped my eye. I couldn’t lose my mother!

  Managing somehow to pull myself together, I returned to my mother’s room. She was back to sketching but now looked weary. “What did Dr. Chernoff want?” she asked.

  “Oh, he just wanted to tell me you’re doing great and will be out of here very soon.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the grant situation.

  A smile danced on my mother’s lips, but her eyes seemed to be in a faraway place. “My darling, unlike love, cancer can be cured.”

  Her bittersweet words moved me. I wondered if she was thinking about my father, whom she’d never stopped loving, no matter how much he’d hurt her. Her smile faded and gave way to fatigue. She needed her rest. It was time for me to leave.

  I hugged her for the third time. “Bye, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Goodbye, my sweet girl. Remember what I said about being a warrior.”

  I assured her I would. As I pivoted on my heel and headed toward the door, she called out to me. I wheeled around. She winked at me.

  “And darling, one last thing. I want to meet him.”

  From her lips to God’s ears. My love for my mom couldn’t be measured. Oh, please God, help me make her better.

  Ari

  I studied the photos spread out on my desk. I had brought someone into the city to follow Sarah and her new boyfriend. While the PI my sister was using to track down Cassandra’s whereabouts hadn’t come up with a thing, mine had hit the jackpot in less than twenty-four hours. That’s because she was the best there is. A former top Secret Intelligence officer in the Soviet Union. Olga Palovksy. Vadim’s wife. They were now staying together at the pied-a-terre I owned not far from my apartment, which I sometimes used for a quick fuck and out-of-town guests. While Olga stayed close on Fernando’s trail, Vadim continued to shadow Ben. Ben, who adored my Hulk-like employee, was thrilled to have him shuttle him back and forth to school. Little did he know that Vadim never left the schoolyard, watching vigilantly for any sign of my evil ex.

  My skin heating, I narrowed my eyes at the photos. At first shocked by them, I was now teetering between confusion and rage. The latter was winning. Why the fuck would Sarah play this game of masquerade with me? Did she deliberately want to hurt me? What the hell was she trying to prove? I rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of it all and figure out my next move.

  “Well, hello, darling. Nice new digs you have. You must be doing very well.”

  The too familiar breathy voice stopped me cold in my thoughts. With a knot of dread in my stomach, I looked up. Cassandra, dressed to the nines, stood at the doorway to my office. Posing as if she were still a high-fashion model on a shoot for Vogue. With a fling of her head, she brushed a hand through her long, lustrous hair as she slithered toward me with her monstrous designer bag slung over her arm.

  “How the hell did you get up here?” I barked at her, my blood curdling.

  Twirling her long strand of pearls, she smirked. “Honestly, Ari darling, is that any way to make me feel warm and welcomed?”

  “You’re not welcomed here,” I bit back. “Leave or I’ll call security.” Andre was unfortunately on a short lunch break as was my secretary, Miss Thatcher.

  Her serpentine eyes burnt into mine. A terrifying thought jolted my mind. She could be armed and dangerous. Eyeing the letter opener I’d used to open the envelope of photos, I tried to stay calm and collected. “What do you want, Cassandra?”

  “A case of Dermadoo would be nice for starters. It’s so hard to find.”

  “No problem. A case will be waiting for you at reception.”

  “Wonderful.” She smiled smugly but didn’t budge. “But that’s not all.”

  Gritting my teeth, I narrowed my eyes at her. “Tell me what else you want.”

  “I want you to stop seeing that little slut.”

  Rage was pouring through my veins, but I needed to placate her. “Don’t worry. It’s over between us.” It pained me to say the words whether they were true or not. My eyes shot to the photograph of Sarah I kept on my desk and then met Cassandra’s venomous ones. A poisonous smile snaked across her face.

  “Excellent. I knew you’d come to your senses.”

  “Are we done here?” Each word was a sharp staccato.

  She fluttered her eyes, but her seductiveness was lost on me. I just wanted her to get the hell out of my office and get the fuck out of my life.

  She smirked. “Just one more itsy bitsy little thing.”

  “What?” I flung the word at her.

  In a breath, the expression on her face went from coy and calculating to cold and ruthless. A chill washed over me as she hissed out the next words.

  “I want access to Ben.”

  That was it. She had pushed the wrong button. Fury filled every crevice of my being. She was never going to see my son. No, never…even over my dead body.

  “Get the hell out of here, you sick bitch.” Impulsively, I grabbed the sharp letter opener. I swear I might have plunged it into her heart just the way she had plunged a knife into me had not Andre barged into the office. Without wasting a second, my strapping bodyguard wrapped his brawny arms around Cassandra,
holding her captive.

  “Let go of me, you barbarian,” she screamed, writhing futilely to set herself free.

  “You okay, Mr. Golden?” asked Andre.

  “I’m more than fine. Just get her the fuck out of here.”

  With a sharp turn of her head, Cassandra’s murderous gaze met mine. I didn’t let her unnerve me.

  “Andre will escort you out of the building. If I ever see you here again or if you step within ten feet of my son, you’ll pay the price.”

  She spat at me and then laughed. “You’re the one who’s going to be sorry.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  She smiled wickedly. “No, it’s a warning.”

  And then they disappeared, leaving me alone to contemplate her words. A shiver skittered down my spine as I went back to studying the photos on my desk. To say my life was a complicated mess was the understatement of the century. I was a fucking trainwreck.

  Sarah

  Exiting the hospital, I had a lot on my mind. How was I going to pay for my mother’s cancer treatments? How was I going to fend off Catherine and keep my job? And how was I going to win Ari back? I had no answers. My mind was spinning out of control. At least I hadn’t heard a peep from Catherine, who was far from pleased that I’d taken the day off.

  As I headed back to 30th Street Station, I had the uncomfortable feeling I was being followed. I looked over my shoulder, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and decided I was being paranoid. My stressful worries were messing with my head. Nonetheless, I picked up my pace. Rounding the corner onto Market Street, I suddenly felt myself being shoved from behind and, with a shriek, found myself tumbling to the pavement. Roaring pain ripped through my palms and my knees as I hit the ground. It all happened so fast.