Chapter 1
Carissa
“I’m going to set you up on a blind date.” Miranda strips the bed sheets and deposits them in the rolling hamper. “I know just the guy I want you to meet.”
I pretend to ignore her while vacuuming the floor. Sunshine streams in from the windows, illuminating one of the many hotel rooms we need to have ready before check-in this afternoon.
Undeterred, Miranda raises her voice over the sound of the machine. “His name’s Marcus. He’s been asking me to set him up with a nice girl. You’re perfect.”
Rolling my eyes, I switch the vacuum off and face her. “I’m not going on a blind date.”
“He’s rich.” She impishly grins.
“So?”
“You could use someone to pamper you, hun. When’s the last time you went on a nice date? I mean a really nice, luxurious date?” She has me there.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve dated anybody. And I’ve never gone out with someone who has money. Honestly, I’ve never seen the point. Rich or poor, unless they fall in love with me, no one’s changing my life for the better.
“What’s the catch?” I eye her, because with Miranda there’s always a catch. She’s sneaky like that.
“Hear me out.” Her eyes light up. “He’s a little bit older.”
I scrunch my nose. “How much older?”
“Like… a couple of decades?”
“Miranda! I’m not going out with a man my father’s age.” Shaking my head, I go back to cleaning the hotel room. Disappointed by my momentary, short-lasting hope.
She giggles. “I guarantee he won’t remind you of your father. He’s what I’d call a silver fox. He’s hot as hell. If I wasn’t engaged, I’d totally be into him.”
“How do you even know him?” I know her fiancé’s pretty well off, but rich single guys don’t just fall from the sky. Although good luck convincing Miranda about that. She’s getting married in two months and hers is a fairytale romance.
“I met him through the family. He’s my future father-in-law’s friend. But he’s really nice, and hot, and I’m setting you up with him. How’s Friday night?”
I groan. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope.” She vigorously shakes her head. “I really want you to meet him. Pretty please? Do it for me?”
“Fine. Whatever.” I’m only giving in because I could do with a little distraction—some fun in my life.
For the past decade I’ve worked at this hotel and my days all blend together.
My twenties are passing me by and I’ve done absolutely nothing with my life but manage to keep up with my bills. Mostly.
Miranda does a happy dance that brings a reluctant grin to my lips, then starts tapping on her phone.
She beams. “Friday. Seven o’clock. He’ll meet you at Bugatti’s, that’s inside Hotel di Angelo.”
My pulse stutters. “Bugatti’s? I don’t have a single thing to wear to a place like that.” It’s one of the ritziest hotel restaurants in New York City. Totally unlike where I work. This place is falling apart and no amount of cleaning will ever make it new and shiny again. Not that management cares.
I really need to find a better job. Especially since Miranda’s getting married soon and going to live with her new husband in Upstate New York where they own a winery. Lucky girl.
But jobs are slim pickings in this crazy city and I can’t risk being unemployed. Not for a minute. Which is why I’ve never dared quit in hopes of finding better employment.
“I have a dress you can borrow. I’ll bring it tomorrow,” Miranda offers.
I sigh. “You have a solution for everything, don’t you?”
“You know I do.” She playfully nudges me. “It’s about time you met a great guy. You’re going to like Marcus.”
Sure… but will he like me?
“Hey Clarissa!” a masculine shout comes from the hallway.
It’s Carissa, you asshole.
Jimmy, the boss’s son and so-called manager, pokes his head into the room, dismissing Miranda with a glance. “Clarissa, I need you to do the books tonight.”
I internally groan. It’s going to be a long day, especially since I have to stay after work to do the book keeping that Jimmy always pawns off on me. At least I get paid for the extra hours, though I’m sure it’s not what a real accountant would receive.
“Yes, sir.”
Having gotten what he wanted, Jimmy disappears. Miranda shoots me a sympathetic glance. We get back to work.
After a long day, my feet and lower back ache, and all I want to do is soak in a bubble bath and order takeout. Unfortunately, my apartment doesn’t have a bathtub and I can’t afford takeout. So I’m screwed. Another dream dashed.
As I climb the stairs, because this building’s too old to have an elevator, I hear raised voices. Which isn’t uncommon around here, except that these seem to be coming from my floor.
My heart slams against my ribs when I find my apartment door ajar. Who in the hell..?
“Please, give me one more chance. I’m begging you,” my father’s slurred voice reaches my ears and my stomach sinks. “I just need more time to get the money.”
I’m torn between facing whatever kind of trouble my father’s in now, or bolting. Whoever’s in the apartment with him is dangerous. Violent killers. People I don’t want to get mixed up with—but father’s given me no choice.
I ease the door open and stand at the threshold. Father’s on his knees in our living room, hands clasped before him in prayer, as two huge guys stare down at him. They’re completely unimpressed by his pleas.
Clenching my hands, to stop them from shaking, I step into the cramped space. It’s barely large enough for the two of us normally.
The larger of the ruthless men glances my way, his cold gaze shows zero emotion. “We’re done here.”
Taking a step forward, the other man punches my father. A sickening thwack of pummeling flesh fills the place. Father wails, falling to the side as he holds his bleeding mouth.
I flinch.
As the two men move past me, the large one glances over his shoulder. “You have until Saturday. Have the money for Giovanni Casella or you pay with your life.”
My breath catches in my throat. This is worse than I thought.
As soon as they’re gone, I slam the door shut and scowl at the broken locks. Those are going to cost a lot of money to fix. Worse, if anyone tries the door and finds it unsecured, both our lives are at risk. This isn’t a nice neighborhood.
Trembling with fear, anger, and exhaustion, I face my father. “What did you do this time?”
He cringes under my defeated tone. “It’s nothing, honey. Nothing you need to worry about.” Based on his bleary eyes and stench, I can only assume he’s spent the day drinking on the couch.
“Tell me, Dad. I need to know what’s going on,” I plead.
Crawling to the tattered sofa, he lifts himself into a seated position. “I just owe a bit to a guy. Lost it at the races.”
Gambling. Of course.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I thought you were never going to gamble again. You promised.”
“I’m sorry, honey. It was just once. I swear.” He begs for understanding with his dark green eyes that match mine.
“How much?” I only ask because apparently, I thrive on tormenting myself.
“Fifty Kay.”
My stomach feels like it drops through the floor. Fifty thousand dollars is more than I make in a year.
“Dad! How can you do this to us?” Again. We just finished paying off his last debt. I thought we were in the clear for a while. I thought the worst of it was behind us.
“Don’t blame me. Please. I’m sick, honey, you know that.”
I do know that. He has both a gambling and drinking addiction. His alcohol binges I can manage, but not the gambling debt.
Futility crawls beneath my skin. I wrap my arms around myself and lean against the door. He needs help—which I can’t pay for. I feel so useless. So hopeless.
So we’re right back here again, and again, and again.
This will never end. I’ve learned over the years that if I cut off his allowance, he finds other means to get money for booze.
Borrowing or stealing it gets us into more trouble than if I supply his drink.
But the gambling problem? I haven’t figured out a solution that will stick.
We have until Saturday to figure this out. Less than five days. Tears burn the back of my eyes.