Novella Sample 2
Fake Marriage with a Single Mom (A Billionaire Romance)
The girl crouched by the wall was wearing a flamboyant red sweater. With arms wrapped around her abdomen, her sweaty face flinched as pain flashed sporadically between her legs. In between bouts, she lit a half-smoked Marlboro, holding the stick delicately between trembling fingers, blowing the smoke into the air above her head. Her straggly hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, emphasizing the gaunt lines of her face.
Noelle Mancini spotted her as she turned the corner leading to Eats Well, the delicatessen she owned in Queens, NY. The first blush of dawn struggled with remnants from the night sky, and like a silent siren, New York’s unwashed denizens responded to the call. The scene was familiar to Noelle. A week didn’t pass by that she didn’t find a drunken tramp, bag lady or a street urchin just outside her door. They didn’t cause any trouble, just needed a warm cup of coffee or a sandwich she could spare. Anything always tasted better on an empty stomach.
“Hey,” Noelle called cheerily, “I have a turkey sandwich with your name on it,” Noelle said grappling with a set of keys to open the café entrance.
The girl looked at her in surprise, hesitated, then backed away ready to flee.
“Come in,” Noelle encouraged, surprised at her hesitation.
Her surprise turned into alarm as the girl doubled over and fell down on her knees. It was then that Noelle noticed the red stain seeping through the girl's crotch and pants.
“Are you alright?” Noelle asked with concern, rushing towards the stooped form.
“Please…please, don’t call the police,” the girl replied in a panicked whisper.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Noelle asked.
“No. I haven’t done anything wrong. I-I just had an abortion…a bad one.”
Noelle immediately knew what was happening. Illegal abortions were usually done in the seedier parts of the city without proper hygiene and post-care. Women entered and left like they had just gotten a manicure. But this girl was in really bad shape. Her ashen face may have been a result of too much bleeding.
“I promise I won’t call the police. Just come inside and let me help you,” Noelle entreated.
The girl staggered back to her feet then swayed lightly. Noelle placed an arm around her waist and half-carried her inside.
“I have a bed in the back office,” Noelle said, as she huffed with strain from the girl’s weight.
They traversed the front of the store, down a narrow hallway, and into the back. Noelle deposited her gently down onto the bed. The girl grimaced in agony as another wave of pain hit her.
“I’ll be fine. The doctor said to expect some cramping. That’s all this is, really.”
Noelle was curious about the girl and where she came from. But now wasn’t the right time. She needed to get her off her feet immediately. Noelle hoped the doctor was right and the bleeding was only a side effect. If things didn’t improve in the next 30 minutes, she could then decide what to do next. She fervently hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
“I have some overnight pads and a clean set of clothes by the drawer. You can use them. In the meantime, can you at least tell me your name?”
The girl looked up at her. Indecision was clearly written on her face. Then she mumbled softly, “My name is Miranda…”
***
Noelle looked around the 1800 sq. ft of her little kingdom and whispered a prayer of thanks. The coffee machine was spotless, the sandwich prep table was clean, and the chrome on the pastry case and sandwich display cases were gleaming. She had paid for all the equipment, all thanks to hard work and her determination to succeed. The cheap rent, plus constant flow of changing demographics with her customers added up to culinary gold and an assurance that there will always be hungry regulars to feed. The café was doing well and it provided her with a semblance of a normal life.
A stab of fear ran through her heart. The thought was always at the back of her mind and it was like summoning bad juju. Not really wanting something bad to come, but knowing that eventually it will.
The letter came today.
It was from the Immigration Office, reminding her that her work visa was about to expire, in 30 days to be exact. The letter was electronically generated and impersonal, but it had enough to fill her with dread.
Her application for adjustment of status was still pending and her work permit was based on the sponsorship of her Afro- American mother who passed away before the proper documents could be filed. If she didn’t get the adjustment status soon, there was no way she could apply for another work permit and continue operating the café. It was a tedious process and Noelle knew the clock was ticking.
The possibility of being deported, together with her son, was something she feared. Going back to Italy was not an option. She had no family there, having lost contact with her dad when she was still a child. Besides, she had put so much of herself into this little café and had amassed a constant stream of regulars.
Sometimes the desire to lash out at the memory of her mother assailed her. Why didn’t she accomplish the legalities of what needed fixing during the years Noelle was growing up? Instead, she wallowed in sadness because her marriage to Noelle’s Italian father didn’t work out. All her life she kept saying they would go back to Italy and work things out with her dad. That day never came.
Meanwhile, Nikko, her son, was starting kindergarten. They were still engaged in the constant battle of tears and separation anxiety. Her daily promise to be "right here at the gate when you come out of school,” didn’t always work. The long hours she had to put into running the café still provoked tantrums from her child. And it was all part and parcel of the day-to-day tribulations of being a single mom.
Noelle shrugged the thought aside. There was work to do. In a few hours a hungry crowd, expecting their usual orders, would come trooping through her doorway. She hoped that Miranda, the sick girl at the back, was only a temporary problem. She had been sleeping soundly when Noelle left her and even though she wondered what Miranda’s story was, she decided to attend to her later.
She checked her inventory of sandwiches inside the refrigerated cooler and made a mental note to stock up on the French Ham and Cheese Sandwiches, which were always crowd pleasers. The countertop condiments needed to be filled with salad greens, onions, and tomatoes and Noelle realized that she had a lot of slicing and dicing to do.
She reached for a deep metal mixing bowl, heaved a small sack of flour with her other hand, and headed towards the preparation table.
“Eggs, I need eggs… and where did I leave the olive oil,” she muttered as she headed to the kitchen at the back. She found what she was looking for and gathered all the ingredients for making bread. Her Italian blood dictated that she make them from scratch and not settle for the ready-to-eat kind from the supermarket.
Working with her hands always calmed her. And Noelle loved to bake, a trait she may have inherited from the Italian side of the family even though she had never really met any of them.
***
83 miles away, in an extraordinary residence sitting on 10 acres of land, dawn light had triumphed. An oceanfront estate, regarded by many as the finest in all of the Hamptons, stood like a silent sentinel. A series of decks and patios led to the red dunes and onto a private, sandy beach. Two custom-made swimming pools and a sunken all-weather tennis court were invisible from the highway, hidden by strategically hedged lawns.
Inside the master’s bedroom, a double king-sized bed dominated the space, while glass windows leading to the patio provided an unobstructed view of the ocean and the ceaseless waves. A solitary figure stood on the patio, unmindful of the chilly wind on his naked body. Security cameras that were manned on an 8-hour basis guaranteed complete privacy. The security personnel were paid well to understand that discretion was a value topping the list of their job requirements.
The master of the house stared out into the ocean, the breeze gently ruffling his hair. He missed the long mane he used to have but admitted that this current look added character to his personality. It was a concession he made to the committee - one of many.
Hunter Blackwell was a man who answered to no one, except to his dad, whom he idolized. Blackwell Senior was a self-made man who hardly finished high school, but possessed a keen sense of perception that made everything he touched turn into gold. With an initial investment of $100, he made his first big profit and earned half a million in the stock market. He then decided to try his luck in a stock-trading firm with an investment career, and proceeded to quintuple his net worth as he adhered to a philosophy of long-term value investing. His next move then caught his associates by surprise when he invested all of his wealth into the mining sector. That bold move made him one of the richest men in America under the age of 40.
His only son and heir, Hunter, took over the reins of the family fortune after finishing a Masters in Finance from Harvard University. The business acumen of the old man was passed on to the equally brilliant son who took risks that lesser mortals would never even consider. Hunter diversified into electronics, shipping, real estate, hotel industry and other businesses.
Money can buy you material happiness. But only in serving people can you ever experience true self –fulfillment.
The memory of that mantra that his dad used to say was especially more poignant today while Hunter stared out into the blue beyond. As a young boy, when his dad would bring him to school, they passed by tenement houses and saw other boys his age out in the streets.
“Why aren’t they in school, dad?”
“I guess school doesn’t work for them, son.”
“Why?’
“Maybe just being out on the street makes them happy.”
“School makes them sad?”
“Maybe. Or they find school boring.”
“When I grow up I will make school exciting for everyone so that every kid will want to go.”
The old man looked fondly at the solemn boy and replied, “Yes, you do that son.”
Running for senator was the beginning of Hunter’s journey towards self-fulfillment. He had a vision of the change he wanted. But it wasn’t easy, he realized that now.
Last night, he had to summon every ounce of restraint not to tell all of them to go to hell. He wanted to walk out of the meeting and shut the door in their faces. But he exercised even more restraint on his temper because he wanted that nomination more than anything else in the world.
Hunter knew they meant well. To the world, he was the epitome of confidence and cockiness. He exuded power because he had earned it. But deep inside, he was sensitive when it came to his private life, even if that side of him was constant fodder for gossip by the media. A string of celebrity girlfriends, wild partying, his luxurious homes, fleet of cars, even his Gulfstream jet – they all made the news.
He wondered what the old stiffs would think, seeing him stand boldly naked on the patio of his home.
Or the blond sleeping on his bed? Shit.
He couldn’t even remember her name. A tinge of disgust sprouted in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t give a fuck what they thought. The juvenile side of him blamed them for the presence of the blonde in his bed.
Last night, he needed to release the frustration that had sprung out of him after being told to change his lifestyle and settle down…if he wanted to run for senator.
That was the reason he stopped by the bar on his way home. Their eyes met as he ordered his whiskey and the rest of the night was predictable from that time on.
Hunter sighed.
Normally, sex managed to invigorate him, made him feel alive and ready to meet any challenge. But now he felt like he was just a ball of energy, waiting to explode.
Maybe the old men were right. He needed to change something in his life. After all, random sex with strange women only confirmed what the council thought. And what could be more random than not even remembering the name of the girl he had just slept with hours before?
He crept back silently into the room, not wanting to rouse the sleeping girl. His team would know what to do when she woke up. He pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped both feet into a pair of sneakers. Pulling a white shirt from the pile in his closet, he grabbed the key of the Audi and tiptoed out of the room.
***
The morning breeze felt good on his face. It cleared the cobwebs of frustration stemming from his memory of the council’s rebuff. He inhaled stubbornly. It was an obstacle he would conquer his own way.
He stepped on the pedal and sensed the car obey his every command. Being in control was more like it. He relished the sensation. The hum of the powerful engine was like a balm that soothed his soul. He had no particular destination in mind, just a strong urge to get away. He had no idea how long he was driving until he recognized the familiar landmarks of Queens.
Hunter glanced at his watch; It was much too early to find a decent place to have breakfast. He waited for the traffic light to turn green and turned left on the next block. He saw that most of the stores were still closed but quickly noticed a window sign decal that said Eats Well Café and almost passed it. Hunter reversed the car and backed up slowly, certain that the door to the café was ajar.
Thanking the heavens for his luck, Hunter parked the car and stepped out into the sidewalk. The café was small by city standards, but it was open and that was all that mattered. He entered and was immediately assailed by the smell of freshly baked bread.
A girl was standing by the counter with her back towards him. Her arms were moving vigorously, like she was doing a weird exercise, until he noticed that she was working on kneading some dough.
“Ahem, excuse me,” Hunter cleared his throat.
No response. Was she deaf?
Then suddenly, for some strange reason, she rolled her hips from side to side. Hunter was taken aback until he noticed the earbuds. She was dancing to some music that only she could hear. Then she giggled.
Hunter smiled to himself. He didn’t want to frighten her. Besides, it was pleasantly stimulating, almost erotic, the way she moved her body. He couldn’t see the rest of her face but he approved of the dark hair that cascaded to a wide shoulder and sloped down to a narrow waistline. And the sound of her soft laughter was melodious to hear.
***
Noelle swayed lightly to the music in her ears. Kenny G on saxophone never failed to brighten up her spirits. The stirring sound of the metal wind instrument came through the earbuds in clear melodic tones. If Noelle were to decide who in the world she could marry, Kenny G would definitely top the list. She could lose herself while listening to his music that always seemed to evoke sentimental memories of a time when loving came easily.
Noelle would be the first to admit that when it came to love, she sucked big time. Her first experience with love was not only traumatic but she considered herself lucky to have come out of it physically unscathed. The only good thing that came out of that experience was her son, Nikko. However, the emotional scars that remained since then had always stopped her from having another relationship.
She kneaded the dough, working it between her fingers as Kenny G blasted away in her ears. In her mind, sax and baking made strange bedfellows that always seemed to work. She swayed her hips to the sound; her body moving sinuously while she giggled at the image in her head.
An hour more to go until opening and this dough was the last of its batch so Noelle was pleased. The rest of the batch was inside the oven and she knew, with relief, that she wouldn’t run out of bread today.
Satisfied that the dough was ready, she poured extra-virgin olive oil into a baking pan and spread it all over the bottom. She then transferred the dough mix into the pan, before sprinkling anise and nuts on top. Grabbing the pan, she turned around, intent on heading for the oven.
She froze in her tracks and stifled a scream. The earbuds popped out of her ears. A man was watching her, slouched by the counter, one side of his hips resting by the wall, elbow leaning casually against the counter. He broke into a grin upon seeing the look of shock on her face.
The synapses inside Noelle’s brain went into overdrive as it processed information about the stranger.
First, he didn’t mean her any harm. She was certain of that, even if his presence reduced her to being a mute plastic dummy. And that smile. It was calculated to revive anyone in a coma. Or send one into suspended animation, exactly the state she was in now.
Second, the eyes were a darker shade of blue and almost cerulean, like the shallow part of the ocean. And right now, the look was sardonic, consistent with the smile that was almost mocking.
Third, the hair was a neutral hue of darker brown. It was styled in a comb over, long on top and shorter at the sides, hinting at a classic look or a version that would appeal to whatever job he was in. Noelle didn't really care. She knew that she just wanted to run a hand through those luscious locks.
Fourth, he was well built. The thin V-necked tee shirt wasn’t enough to hide the hint of a six-pack on that wide torso. A sprinkling of chest hair was visible from the V. Despite the fog in her brain, Noelle wondered if the chest hair followed a natural course and narrowed down to a “happy trail.”
Fifth, he had long lean legs clad in faded jeans that ended perfectly just below the ankle and continued on to white sneakers with knots tied in a hip street style.
He was perfect…
And gorgeous…
And was walking towards her.
“Hello, my name is Hunter and I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“How did you…” Noelle glanced at the door and realized it was open.
I must have left it open when I brought Miranda inside earlier.
She looked at him and realized that he had extended his hand in greeting. She rubbed the back of her palms on the seat of her pants and reached out to shake the proffered hand. He had a warm and firm clasp.
Noelle knew she had to take full control of her senses. She looked down on her baking pan and realized that her bread dough was starting to form air pockets.
"Uhm, I think you better pop that into the oven before it’s completely ruined," the man said in a honeyed voice, although Noelle recognized a hint of mockery in the words.
“Of-of course. Err, please take a seat. You can sit anywhere. It doesn’t matter. We’re not really opened yet. But since you’re here…”
Noelle hurried to the oven, grateful for the chance to regain her composure. She realized she was babbling. She felt like someone with an IQ of about 25 or lower. She was flustered and excited and shy all at the same time.
Noelle Mancini, get a grip. What did he say his name was? Hunter? Even his name was perfect. He could hunt me in my dreams and I wouldn’t mind...
Noelle stood in front of the oven brushing an imaginary stray hair away from her face. She was glad she hadn't bothered to put on the hairnet snood, the one that made her look like a granny sitting on the porch watching the day go by.
Then a thought struck her.
“OH GOD! What if he was from the Safety and Food Sanitation Bureau? He could report her for not following regulations on food preparation.” Noelle thought in horror.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Those are thin balding old men wearing spectacles over hook-like noses. This one is a dreamboat.”
Noelle took a deep breath and gathered her resolve. She stole a glance in his direction. He had taken a seat by the window and seemed intent on his cell phone. She sighed with relief. It was enough time. She strolled casually back to the counter and donned an apron, one that had a long strap that went all the way to the back and front again, then tied it into a ribbon. She used to think it cute. Now it just looked rather silly.
Grabbing her restaurant order form, she casually strolled back to where he sat, snatching a menu along the way.
“Would you like some time to study the menu?”
He took it from her hand, flashing another deadly smile. He glanced at it, placed it down on the table, and then said, “Why don’t you decide for me? I’ll have coffee. Anything that’s brewing will be fine.”
“I-I serve Italian Sausage Heroes with peppers and onions, Fig and Prosciutto, Honey bourbon chicken, turkey apple-butter and Arugula grilled cheese, but if you want something lighter, there’s tuna and….”
“Do you serve them on bread that you personally baked?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then any of those mentioned sounds great.”
He did something then that surprised her. He reached out and touched her face. Noelle’s skin tingled as his knuckle caressed her chin.
“Flour.” He announced simply.
Noelle was disappointed and embarrassed. Darn dough. She turned her back when he suddenly called out, “You know what would be even better?”
“A glass of juice?” She asked.
He smiled and replied, “No…if you tell me your name and join me while I eat.”
Then it struck her.
Hunter was flirting with her. The idea wasn't so bad. To tell the truth, it elated her, made her feel good inside. She hadn't been out on a date in God-knows-how-long. The café and Nikko consumed all her hours.
The fact that he seemed interested enough to ask that she choose his food and chat with him while he ate bolstered her confidence. Her poise went up a notch as she went about preparing his order, making sure the salad greens were fresh. A slice of tomato and some cucumbers made the final touches. She poured some freshly brewed coffee into a tall mug and joined him again.
“You still haven’t told me your name.” He asked putting his phone in his back pocket.
“It’s Noelle. Noelle Mancini.”
“Mancini? Portuguese? Italian?”
"My dad is Italian. I was born in Italy. My mom was Afro-American. "
“Have you visited Italy since?”
“I-No. My mom brought me to America when I was 2 years old and I have not been back since.”
“That sucks,” he muttered.
“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Noelle muttered back, remembering the dilemma regarding the working permit and her immigration status.
“You own this place?”
Noelle sighed deeply and answered, “Yes.”
“Married? Single?” Hunter asked curiously.
“I swore off on marriage years ago. But I do have a son, Nikko. So, yes. Single.”
Noelle realized his questions bordered on the personal but admittedly, she felt no qualms about sharing that aspect of her life.
He gave her a quizzical look.
“How can someone as beautiful as you elude marriage?”
He was staring at her candidly. She hoped there were no more flour smudges on her face. Then she realized he was waiting for a reply.
"Marriage is not all that it's hyped to be. First, you need to have a boyfriend. And if that boyfriend turns out to be an asshole, you just thank your lucky stars that you didn't make that walk down the aisle.”
“You’re a wise woman, Noelle Mancini.”
She looked at him and raised her brows, “So I assume you’re single too?”
Hunter inhaled deeply and replied, “Yes I am.”
Her heart wanted to burst out into a jubilant rendition of the “Hallelujah Song…”
“And I plan to stay that way.”
… and then plummeted down to the floor.
“ Why’s that?” asked Noelle.
“I have come to realize that my value as a person is in tandem with my bank account. I’ll need both my finger and toes to count the number of times an attractive woman ‘ran into me by accident’, only to discover that she’s actually done extensive research where I normally hang out, what my favorite food is, who my friends are. You get the picture?”
“ Not all women are the same, Hunter. You’ve just been unlucky ” Noelle added with an assuring smile. “Take your time. It’s not like women will go out of style anytime soon. You don’t have to rush into marriage.” Noelle advised innocently.
“Not if some people had their way," Hunter muttered darkly.
Noelle thought that was a strange remark, but decided not to question any further as she noticed Hunter looking away.
“You work around here?” Noelle veered the subject wisely
“Yes, I work over at the Blackwell Building on 5th Avenue,” Hunter replied.
Noelle was familiar with the address. It was an impressive 60-storey structure of steel and glass with an iconic courtyard that housed some of the finest culinary dining experiences in the entire city. The inhabitants of that building were technocrats, bankers, engineers and accountants dressed in three-piece suits and expensive leather shoes. He wasn’t dressed that way at all.
Noelle’s curiosity stirred. Did he work in one of the restaurants and heard about her secret recipes? In her little world, Noelle was famous for substituting herb and spice with exotic seasonings that made her sandwiches unique. She had labored long and hard for those recipes. Next to her son Nikko, the recipes were her treasured possessions.
Noelle’s Mr. Brain had every intention of proving that he had dominance over her Mrs. Heart. Maybe this man was spying on her? That could explain the reason why he asked her to choose the food to serve him for his meal.
“What exactly do you do over there?” She asked suspiciously.
Hunter looked at her and shook his head.
“I don’t wanna say. We’re getting along so well.”
“So I was right. You’re here to spy on me then.” Noelle raised her voice and pushed her chair back.
“Wha-what?” Confusion was written all over his face.
“You work in one of those restaurants and heard that I have a technique for making sauces. That’s the reason you’re sharing all these stories about your sorry life… to get on my good side, anticipating that I’ll share my secrets with you.” Noelle accused.
Hunter stared at Noelle like she had gone full-on crazy. Then he doubled over and hooted with laughter. His shoulders shook with unrepressed hilarity as he reached for a glass of water.
“I’m sorry…” he said, then rolled with laughter for the second time.
“I’m glad I amuse you.” Noelle declared coldly.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter tried again, drawing deep breaths and struggling for control. “I can’t believe you mistook me for a cook. I can’t boil water even if my life depended on it.” He admitted somberly.
“Oh!” Noelle mumbled, suddenly feeling foolish.
“I should hire you as my therapist. I’ve never laughed so hard in my entire life,” Hunter declared.
“Sure. But you’re still paying for that sandwich,” she retorted. “You haven’t answered my question, though. What do you do there?” She insisted.
Hunter smiled and replied, “My full name is Hunter Blackwell. I own the Blackwell Building, as well as the companies that are situated inside.”
"You must work really hard to have a building named after you," Noelle answered.
“Not really, the building was part of the inheritance from my father. I don’t associate myself with much of what goes inside that building. It’s just a job, I guess you can say. But it’s not my passion” Hunter replied.
“What’s your passion then?” Noelle asked curiously.
Hunter leaned back into his chair, pulled one leg across his knee and fixed his eyes on Noelle.
“Education! That’s my true passion. I want to change the educational system of America. The institution is stuck in the 1800s.”
Noelle’s eyes widened.
“Continue please.” She urged him.
“You sure you want to hear this?” Hunter asked.
Noelle nodded enthusiastically.
“The classroom set-up hasn’t changed much since the 1850s. Students are seated in grids, like we’re mentally conditioning these young people to work in factories. We condition them to think like they’re goldfish inside a glass bowl. That’s their whole world. What if we tell them that fish can fly? Can you imagine the potential? That’s what I want to accomplish. Provide young minds with enough sense and positive conditioning wherein they realize the limitless potential that they possess. That’s my dream.”
Profound silence followed.
“Wow!” Noelle mouthed, truly impressed this time. “You should run for Mayor,” she declared.
“It’s a bit loftier than that, I’m afraid. I am running for the senate, or at least I want to, IF I get a ticket. But it isn’t as easy as that. Some people think I am unfit for higher office because of my reputation.”
“That’s unfair,” Noelle contradicted. “I believed everything you said. You’ll get my vote.”
“I should not only hire you as my therapist but also as my spokesperson. You can talk some sense into those snotty skeletons who think they can run my life.” He muttered indistinctly.
“Sure!” Noelle retorted, not hearing clearly as she glanced at the wall clock.
“Look at the time! I’ve been yakking my head off and I’m opening in a few minutes,” she announced in near panic.
Hunter looked disappointed. He grabbed his wallet and removed some bills.
"Will this cover it?" He asked handing her three twenty-dollar bills.
Noelle removed one bill and returned the rest to him. A wretched feeling suddenly bloomed inside her as she was sorry to see him go. But she had responsibilities to take care of, even if the feeling left her feeling unhappy at the moment.
“Noelle?” Hunter called out.
“Yes?” She replied, sacrificing a few more seconds of her time.
“I really loved talking to you. Do you mind if I dropped by again? Even if you did think I was here to steal your sauce recipe.”
“Sure,” Noelle answered, her eyes shining with pleasure, “I may even share it with you now that I know you can’t even boil water,” she replied impishly.
Sexy laughter preceded his exit. And Noelle admitted she liked the sound very much.
*****
END OF SAMPLE
(Complete Story available on AMAZON as Fake Marriage with a Single Mom)