Broken Headboards: Nights In New York Series Book 3 Read online

  Broken Headboards

  Nights In New York Series Book 3

  Tara Starr

  Contents

  Also by Tara Starr

  1. Taylor

  2. Tess

  3. Austin

  4. Tess

  5. Austin

  6. Tess

  7. Austin

  8. Tess

  9. Austin

  10. Tess

  11. Tess

  12. Austin

  13. Tess

  14. Austin

  15. Tess

  16. Austin

  17. Tess

  18. Tess

  19. Austin

  20. Austin

  21. Tess

  22. Austin

  23. Tess

  24. Austin

  25. Taylor

  26. Ashley

  27. Austin

  28. Tess

  29. Austin

  30. Tess

  31. Austin

  32. Tess

  33. Austin

  34. Tess

  35. Tess

  36. Austin

  37. Willis

  About the Author

  Also by Tara Starr

  Nights In New York: A Romantic Comedy Series

  (all books in this series are standalones)

  Book 1: Sticky Fingers

  Book 2: Man Vs. Woman

  Book 3: Broken Headboards

  Book 4: Honey Do Me

  Book 5: Bare Market

  Book 6: Pop Tart

  Book 7: Be Your Selfie

  Book 8: Hearts Don't Lie

  Book 9: #TooManyBillionaires

  Book 10: Cupid's Condo

  Broken Headboards

  By Tara Starr

  Copyright 2018 by Tara Starr Publishing

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

  Broken Headboards

  By Tara Starr

  Copyright 2018 by Tara Starr Publishing

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  Taylor

  “The next time we go to dinner, I think you should let me pick the restaurant,” Ashley says to me. “I definitely think I’ll pick better than what you picked today.”

  I roll my eyes as we get out of the limo. See, it wasn’t a bad date, per se. We went to an Italian place in the East Village that was supposed to be all the rage in New York City. At least that’s what I was told.

  “How was I supposed to know that it was a front for the mob?” I ask Ashley as the doorman holds open the door to Clarendon Tower. “Everything I heard about it was good. Good food. Good wine. Great atmosphere.”

  “The cops came in half way through and arrested the owner,” Ashley responds back, not letting me off the hook. “Maybe next time don’t take dining advice from your ex-Mafia enforcer bodyguard.”

  She’s got a point. Marco, my bodyguard had recommended the place to me when I asked him where I could possibly take Ashley on our date.

  “But then again, Marco recommended the ice cream place on 87th Street,” I remind her. Ashley smiles. She remembers the day I popped into her law offices and told her to take a walk down Second Avenue with me. When she asked me why, I told her it was to go get ice cream.

  If you’re brand new to the Nights In New York series, then allow me a second to introduce myself.

  My name is Taylor John. I am the CEO of the largest investment bank in the world, Draper Pierce. I have 200,000 financial professionals who report to me. Brokers. Investment bankers. Private equity bankers. Human Resources “professionals”. Executive Assistants. Retail bankers. Security guards. Cafeteria employees. Hookers. You name it.

  Draper Pierce operates in over 52 different countries and posts revenue in excess of $5.2 billion dollars each year. Our profit margin stands close to $2 billion dollars. We’re respected and feared on Wall Street and there I am—at the helm of the ship, leading the charge.

  Of course I got the lifestyle to match. Hell, baby, I’m a billionaire. I live a lavish lifestyle filled with fancy toys, fast cars, and beautiful women.

  But more and more lately, there have been fewer beautiful women because only one has occupied my thoughts.

  Ashley Carlson.

  I first met Ashley through my friends Daphne and Dominic. That wasn’t long ago when my friend Malcolm was being accused of stealing a priceless painting. See it was a big thing that—

  You know what? I’m not going to give spoilers about Malcolm or Sonia and her “sticky fingers”.

  Besides, this book isn’t even about me. I mean the only reason I’m here talking to you is because Ashley and I got back from a real date. Usually we just get ice cream or a drink or we’re doing something with other people and we haven’t really ever gotten a chance to hang out and get to know each other.

  Because I swear, this girl might have girlfriend potential. Of course, we’re still dating casually. Ashley is a high-powered attorney with her own practice and I’m a globetrotting CEO of the largest investment bank in the world. We may be wealthy with money, but we’re poor with time. And so getting the chance to be together is priceless.

  So yeah, no way is this book about me. In fact, I have no idea who this book is about. But if I had to take a guess, it would be someone who lives in Clarendon Tower because I mean come on, that’s the name of the series, you know?

  “Taylor,” Ashley says quietly as we walk into the lobby. I look at her. She’s wearing a shimmering silver wraparound dress and I have my hand around her waist. She’s slender and fragile when standing next to my 6-foot 2-inch Greek God body. I’m going to pull her closer and kiss her. And then she’s going to nuzzle me and I’m going to grab her ass and bite her ear.

  This date isn’t over till I fuck the living daylights out of her.

  “Taylor,” Ashley says again and I can see in her twinkling eyes that she knows I’ve been daydreaming about what she looks like naked. Well, no fucking surprise there. We’ve been dancing around the fires of attraction for too long.

  “Yeah, baby?” I ask her but she’s silent. All she does is point straight ahead.

  The labyrinthine lobby is empty right now. The doorman is outside. And all the residents are either all out or have gone home for the night. Even the bar on the far right corner of the lobby is empty. Some of the lights are turned low.

  “Look,” she whispers to me and I squint my eyes to see what’s she’s looking for.

  We get a little closer and then I see it.

  Is that?

  Holy fucking shit.

  Behind some faux-Greek pillars I see the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in Clarendon Tower (and I’ve seen a lot of shit, let me tell you).

  It’s Jeremiah Hoody. Our Condo Board President.

  Except he’s naked with the exception of a diaper. And a giant man in a black hood is spanking him with a paddle. I have to squint but I think I see the word “SLUT” written on the paddle.

  Taking Ashley’s hand, I get a little closer and that’s when I hear them.

  “Oh yeah, Ornesto, give it to me,” Jeremiah pleads. “Give it to MEEEEEE!”

  I stifle a chuckle as the g
iant hooded man I’m guessing is Ornesto brings the paddle down, smacking Jeremiah on the ass.

  Ashley is trying her best to control her laughter. I can’t believe my eyes.

  “This is insane,” she whispers and I nod in agreement.

  “We should go,” she volunteers and I’m about to agree to that too, but then something holds me back.

  “No,” I say to her, as we draw back into the lobby away from the happy couple. “We shouldn’t.”

  “What?” Ashley asks with surprise. “Why?”

  “Think about it, baby,” I say to her. “Jeremiah has been nothing but a giant pain in the ass ever since he became Condo Board President.

  Ashley pauses for a second to consider. I know she knows I’m right. Ever since Jeremiah became President after the last Condo Board President, Seymour Cooper, he’s been insufferable. I won’t go into what happened to Seymour because it’s part of the series, but Jeremiah seems determined to one up him in assholery.

  I don’t know. It’s something about the position maybe. Some people just get the power and go crazy. I mean I don’t even know what they’re in charge of.

  “I’m serious, Ash,” I tell her. “This is the guy that is proposing that each resident in Clarendon Tower sign a morality clause that they won’t engage in deviant sexual behavior within the walls of the building, remember?”

  Ashley nods. “I don’t really engage in much deviant sexual behavior, but I’d like to keep the option open for sure,” she says to me with a wink.

  I laugh silently. “I mean, getting spanked in a diaper is pretty fucking deviant too, no?” I ask her and she nods.

  “Why does he get the double fucking standard?” I ask her and she looks at me.

  “What you got in mind?” she asks.

  I smile. This is going to be fun.

  I take her hand and pull her to the far end of the lobby away from where Jeremiah is. I know exactly what I’m going to do.

  And as I pull the fire alarm, I do it.

  The ringing goes through Clarendon Tower, alerting residents to fire.

  A few things happen.

  The doormen rush back in. Because I know where to look, I keep a close look out at Jeremiah and his hooded friend.

  “Oh no, Ornesto!” I hear Jeremiah say. “What are we going to do?”

  Ornesto doesn’t respond. The doormen have cut off their escape from where they are. They can’t take the elevators because the fire alarm disables them from going up. So trying to be discreet, they run to the stairs.

  But Jeremiah stops mid-run as he sees me and Ashley. His face turns into a grimace and he freezes.

  Wrong move, pal.

  Because the doors to the stairwell burst open at that point and residents start coming down to see what the commotion is.

  And guess what they come face to face with?

  Yup.

  Jeremiah Hoody in a diaper. Holding hands with a giant hooded man who is wearing black spandex briefs.

  “What the fuck?” one of the residents says as he lays eyes on Jeremiah.

  Our fearless Condo Board President—what does he do?

  He begins to mewl and pisses himself.

  Well, good thing he was wearing a diaper I guess. Although it looks like it doesn’t have proper absorptive functions.

  I turn to Ashley.

  “Looks like another Condo Board President bites the dust, baby,” I say to her.

  She smirks.

  “That’s another open apartment in this building, Taylor,” she says. “That’s three large condos that are now on the market. Probably going to be a central feature to this book.”

  Yup.

  That’s probably it. But listen, if that sounds too boring too you—what to do with three apartments, don’t fret, baby. Give it a chance, and I promise you that you won’t be disappointed. In fact, grab a glass of wine while you’re at it. Put the kids to bed and settle in.

  I guarantee you. You will be entertained.

  And now it’s time for the show.

  Chapter Two

  Tess

  “I said I want to talk to the owner, capisce?” the loud grating voice says to me.

  Sigh.

  Twenty-nine years old and I still have to deal with this bullshit.

  “Do you how to read, Mr. Capello?” I point to the golden name plate hanging right behind me, the one with my name on it. “Do you know what CEO stands for?”

  “Yes, yes,” he waves, brushing me off with his thick Italian accent. “And I want to talk to this Tess you speak off.”

  “Nice to meet you then.” Leaning toward him, I offer him my hand. With a suspicious expression on his face, he takes the seat on the other side of my desk and grabs my hand. I actually have to force a smile. “My name’s Tess, and I’m the Chief Executive Officer of Domina Designs.”

  Jesus. Is it that surprising that a woman can become CEO of her own company in the 21st century? Judging by the look of surprise on this asshole’s face, you’d say I’ve just told him that CEO stands for Cranky Evil Ogre.

  “Very interesting,” he laughs, grabbing both ends of his mustache and twirling them upward. “Una donna, huh? Fascinating. I thought you were the, huh, segretaria?”

  “Does this look like a secretary’s office?” I ask, showing him the palm of my hands as I invite him to look around him. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer an expansive view of Queens downtown. Not exactly Fifth Avenue or Central Park, but it’s still New York City we’re talking about in here. On the right wall hangs an original Pollock which I bought on auction for a cool $1.7 million. The hand knotted rug under my desk has been shipped straight from Morocco.

  That’s right, ladies. I’m every inch the fucking CEO that any other alpha male asshole will be in a romance novel.

  I mean, think about it. Who’s fucking stronger? Men?

  Or Woman?

  Yeah, I capitalized the W. Because at the end of the day, we’re the stronger of the two.

  Sure, a man might be able to open jars for you and lift heavy objects. But guess who’s in bed when they get a scrape or a cold? Guess whose world collapses and they become little boys the moment they get the sniffles?

  That’s right. The alpha male hero.

  Now women, we’re a stronger lot for sure. Every month we’re in excruciating pain for several days. But if we want that pain to stop, we have to get pregnant. And then give birth. Six pounds coming out of you? Imagine that alpha male doing that? He’d shit himself—but this isn’t mpreg so it doesn’t count.

  After everything we have to put up with, after everything we’ve accomplished, the fact that there are unattractive asshole slobs like this sitting across from my desk thinking they know more than me pisses me off so much.

  “Well, huh.” Scratching his chin, he looks deep in thought as his eyes find the Pollock. “Did your kid paint that?”

  “That’s a Pollock.”

  “Ah, sì, I agree. It’s bollocks. But he’ll get better, don’t you worry.”

  Patting the front of his purple shirt, his belly stretching the fabric thin, he lets out a raucous laugh.

  I seriously hope this book turns into an action novel, because I’m about to kiss this guy’s ass. Twirling his mustache like a second-grade villain from a B-movie, he slaps his free hand down on my desk, making my laptop jump in place.

  “Very well,” he says finally as I try to not roll my eyes. “As you Americans say, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?”

  Finally.

  “Well, Mr. Capello, I assume your associates have already informed you about the deal in place. You’ll be providing us enough furniture from your top-of-the-shelves brands, enough to float our stock for six months, and then we’ll negotiate later in the year. As per the terms I discussed with your associates, $5.7 million should be enough to cover it, and give you a nice profit margin for you to show your stockholders.”

  “Oh, but there must be a mistake.” Tapping his fingers against my desk, he purs
es his lips before offering me a wide smile. In his eyes I can see a glint I’ve seen countless times during my life as a business woman—it says I have a cock, you don’t. “I thought those were just opening terms. They are unacceptable, of course. My best brands are all designer pieces, and I believe you can agree with me when I say that $5.7 million doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  I wonder if my letter opener would be enough to chop this idiot’s balls off.

  “Then what would be a fair number?” I ask.

  “Let’s say, huh, $25 million,” he grins, leaning back on his seat so much that, for a split second, I think he’s going to tumble back. He doesn’t, unfortunately.

  “Listen, Mr. Capello—”

  “Ah, please, call me Mario.” Resting his elbows on the desk, he leans toward me and gives me the creepiest wink I’ve ever gotten in my entire life. His eyebrows wiggle as he does it, and I can’t stop thinking that he looks like a half-blind manatee.

  Sexy.

  “That number doesn’t add up...Mario.”

  “I see, I see...too much money for your company, I take it? I understand, of course. But what a shame!” Clapping his hands together, he sighs heavily, a morose expression on his face. Little does this asshole know that I have enough money to buy his entire fucking company. Lucky for him, I can’t be bothered with having to fly to Italy all the damn time. “Maybe we can make some sort of arrangement?”