Nikolai: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Read online

  But I really needed the money, and I knew that as long as I ensured the customers were happy and I did my job, everything would be fine.

  That is until Andrei came into the picture.

  He was one of those Russian gangsters that ran the club, sexy and dangerous. A real bad boy who had gained quite the reputation around here as a ladies man, and now his attention was fixed on me.

  The guy was bad news in a good suit, and I knew that giving in to him would be the worst idea I’ve ever had.

  F**k me!

  Andrei

  Chapter One — Andrei

  Ritmo was as busy as we could have hoped that evening. I caught a glimpse of Uncle Evgeni looking down at the proceedings from the top floor before he disappeared. It made sense that we were busy, after all: we were letting the women in for free, as long as they were in their heels and skirts. We were also giving away free drinks if they brought a hot, young guy in with them—the strict dress code turned away the unwanted ones. In the last three months or so, we'd been able to take this boring beachfront bar and turn it into one of the hottest clubs in the city.

  “Have your fun now, Andrei,” my brother Nikolai said with a laugh. “You're on inventory tonight, remember?”

  “Oh come on Kolya—that doesn't mean he can't take someone into the bathroom for a quickie!” Dima, my other brother, laughed.

  I rolled my eyes at both of them and signaled the waitress for a refill of our drinks. My brothers both did the work when they had to, but they were much happier chasing after girls and lazing about, living the good life. They didn't seem to understand that they couldn't live the good life if they didn't do the work—but then again, they had grown up with our father's first wife in Petersburg, rather than out in the countryside like I had. It was another thing they liked to bring up when they were teasing me: that my hands were too rough for these women, that I needed a broad-hipped woman rather than one of these dainty Spanish girls.

  “Inventory needs to get done, and it needs to get done right,” I pointed out, trying not to let their teasing get to me. “At this point, we're too big for little screw-ups on ordering.”

  “You know you're just on inventory because you couldn't handle your real responsibilities,” my cousin Vanya said derisively.

  I felt my face heat but carefully schooled my features to neutral, knowing that the flush wouldn't be visible here in the club but that my facial expression definitely would be. “They've never given you even a hint of responsibility in the business,” I said sweetly. Vanya was younger than I was, and given that his father was the head of the local mafia, Vanya had always lived a pretty cushy life. “Pretty soon, it'll be your turn to do inventory, I'm sure.”

  “I won't have to do inventory,” Vanya said confidently. “I know better than to fuck the daughter of the real estate tycoon that my father spent months trying to woo.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it that you know better, or that you know no self-respecting Catalonian woman would ever sleep with you?”

  “Hey!” Vanya cried indignantly as Nikolai and Dima cackled. I shrugged unrepentantly. When I had first moved to Barcelona to join my brothers in our uncle's syndicate, I hadn't dared tease Vanya, expecting that Uncle Evgeni would dole out harsh punishments to anyone who dared make fun of his son. But I'd settled in over the past six months, and I was starting to take part in the family bantering that went on. There was a certain sense of camaraderie, all of us Russians here together in a foreign city. I liked it.

  “But seriously, why did you have to sleep with that cow?” Nikolai groaned. “Now we're doing all the research again, trying to find a suitable headquarters with a landlord who'll turn a blind eye to whatever we're doing to pay for the place.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you ever see 'that cow'?” I asked him. I leaned in conspiratorially. “Tits out to here,” I said, gesturing lewdly with my hands. The boys all laughed, and I sat back, feeling pleased with myself.

  The truth was, I had known better than to sleep with Katarina, but the woman had practically thrown herself at me, and I'd finally had no choice but to take pity on her. I'd expected that she would be so grateful that it would actually make the deal even easier. But of course, her father had been upset that we had “ruined” his beautiful daughter, and he'd refused to have anything else to do with “disgusting Russian pigs.”

  I'd expected Evgeni to have me sent off to the homeland after that, back to the fields and dirt where my aunts resided, or at least back to Petersburg where my father's primary residence was. The family had money, and in the time that I'd been in Barcelona, I had gotten used to having unlimited funds at my disposal. But one false move and Evgeni could make my life miserable.

  But instead, he'd seemed amused by the whole thing. He'd clapped me on the shoulder. “Now, young Andrei, you see why business and pleasure don't mix,” he had said. “But if I'd known the bitch's legs would open that easily, I'd have chosen the pleasure for myself!”

  Still, there was that whole messy fact of the deal going under and months of research (and some unknown amount of money) that had been lost. Evgeni had made it very clear that I needed to be punished for that, and I'd quickly agreed—anything to keep from getting sent back to Russia. I didn't know what I'd expected since I knew that we weren't tied up in any truly shady business. Just some money laundering, some real estate deals, and maybe a weapons deal or two. But I guess I pictured my punishment to be one of those crazy deals like you see in the movies.

  Instead, I was on inventory duty at Ritmo, plus cleaning duty for two weeks. All in all, I considered myself to have gotten off lightly. Of course, it didn't feel that way as Dima, Vanya, and finally Nikolai, all pulled leggy, sexy women over the course of the evening and drifted off to have their way with the sluts, leaving me alone with my drinks.

  “What are you drinking, water?” a woman asked from my right elbow. I turned and gave her a considering look, noting the low-cut black top and the tight, lipstick-red skirt. She had smoky eyes and long, dark hair that curled softly down her back. Definitely the kind of girl I'd love to take home for the night—only again, I was on inventory. I cursed internally but decided to chat with her anyway, since she was clearly interested. Maybe I could still have that quickie in the bathroom that Dima had teased me about.

  I held up my glass. “Vodka, straight,” I told her.

  She put her head back and laughed, exposing the long, tanned line of her throat. “Of course you are. You're Russian, aren't you?”

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked her dryly. I knew I had a slight accent, and my classic, chiseled features were a dead giveaway.

  “You know,” the girl told me, sliding closer—close enough that her ample breasts were grazing my arm. “I've never been with a Russian guy before.”

  God, this was going to be too easy. I grinned down at the woman. “Well, you know where I'm from—but what about you? Are you from Barcelona?” I asked her.

  The woman laughed again, and I decided I liked the sound, liked the fact that she clearly wasn't shy about making noise. Mm, I could practically hear her screaming my name already.

  Of course, if we went for a quickie in the bathroom, we would need to be somewhat discrete. It wouldn't be the first time that that had happened, but I was in enough hot water with my uncle already without causing a scene in the bathroom. I groaned inwardly, not wanting anything to spoil the fuck that I imagined having with...whatever her name was. But the only way to not let anything spoil it was to take her out on a different night.

  I knew what the odds were like. She was looking for someone to go home with tonight, and even if I got her number, there was no saying that she'd be feeling as frisky tomorrow, and definitely not later in the week. My chances would diminish the longer it took for me to get her in bed.

  But I wanted her in a bed, with the whole night ahead of us. I wanted to fuck her senseless, feel those legs quivering as I pounded her again and again and again.

&n
bsp; I was getting hard just thinking about it, and I realized that I wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to what the woman was actually saying. I forced myself to tune back in, right at the point where she asked what I was up to that night.

  I grimaced. “I have to work the night shift tonight,” I admitted. It was honestly embarrassing having to admit it. It was embarrassing having to do it. Not that I had anything against hard work, but it wasn't like I was doing this because I needed the money.

  “Are you a doctor?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  That sounded better than admitting that I was a member of the mafia group that owned this place and that I needed to do inventory and clean the floors that night. I nodded at her. “Yes, a doctor,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “Should you be drinking all that vodka right before your shift?” she asked.

  I shrugged and grinned rakishly at her. “I'm not going into surgery or anything,” I told her. “I just have to be there to...examine people.” I expected her to see through the lie, but she seemed to want to believe it.

  “Oh, okay,” she said.

  “You know, I'd much rather examine you,” I told her, giving her another obvious once-over. It was such a dumb, cheesy line, but she giggled all the same.

  “Maybe another night,” she suggested. She scribbled her number on a napkin. “There, so you can call me,” she said, winking at me as she slipped away towards the crowd. “Have a good night at work...”

  Watching her walk away, her hips swaying as she went, was frustrating as anything, especially when I glanced over a few minutes later and saw her chatting with another guy. I could have had her if it wasn't for this stupid inventory shift tonight. I tried to remind myself that this was because of my mistake, that I was here because I had slept with Katarina. But it was small consolation.

  Suffice it to say, it put me in a bad mood for doing inventory.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sarah, our bar manager, said as I flung down another box. “I know the glasses and things are wrapped up for shipping, but they're not going to hold up to that.”

  I scowled at her. “So we'll order more glasses,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “The whole point of doing inventory is so that we know what we need to order,” she said. “And hopefully, we won't need to order the things that we already have.”

  “Does it really matter?” I asked impatiently. “We're making money now. We can afford a few more glasses.” Sarah gave me a tight-lipped look, and it sparked the anger already there inside me. “You're just some fucking employee,” I reminded her. “You can't tell me what to do. I could have you fired.”

  I knew I shouldn't be saying that; the poor girl probably didn't want to be there any more than I did. It wasn't like inventory was some fun thing to do, especially not in the middle of the night. And I could tell from the way she got pale and quiet that she was worried, that she thought I might actually take away her job.

  I sighed internally and went back to shuffling around the boxes to be counted, hoping that the way I gentled my actions would count as an apology. We didn't talk for the rest of the shift, each working our way through our own sections of the list.

  Chapter Two — Sarah

  I looked up from the couch, where I was currently sprawled out, scribbling in one of my business textbooks when Elaine came in. “Uh oh, what's wrong?” I asked, catching sight of her grim expression.

  Elaine held up another of the familiar envelopes. “Another one of these taped to our door,” she said. She opened the letter and read it out to me: “If you haven't paid the outstanding balance of your rent, some 1700 euros by the end of this month. We will have no choice but to evict you from your flat, keeping your security deposit and all other monies paid to us thus far.”

  I grimaced. “They make it sound like coming up with €1700 in a matter of weeks is easy,” I muttered.

  “Well, we were never supposed to get this far behind on our rent,” Elaine pointed out. “And besides, I'm sure that most study abroad students would just call up their parents or whatever and ask them for the money.”

  “Yeah, but most study abroad students are, like, 20,” I pointed out. “Not 26 and 27.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “You'd think that by this point, we might have it figured out.”

  Elaine laughed. “Yeah, when you suggested studying abroad for grad school, it seemed a lot easier. Remind me why we're here again?” She kicked at part of the chipped tile. “This isn't the glamorous trip to Spain that you sold me on.”

  I shrugged. “Be happy that we got into grad school,” I reminded her. We'd both applied to programs back home but had been rejected from all our top choices—competition was apparently stiffer than we'd expected. By the time we'd found out that we had nowhere to go come fall, most places in the US weren't accepting applications anymore.

  Not that I minded. I was happy to be here in Spain for the year. But all the same…

  “If we just weren't on student visas,” I sighed. “That makes it hard to get work. Or well-paying work, anyway.” Our tuition wasn't very expensive, and nor was our rent, but when you combined the two things, plus all of our daily living expenses like food and utilities, my job at the bar and Elaine's job at the local café weren't giving us nearly enough.

  It wasn't like places had to pay very well when they were paying you illegally, under the table.

  “Did I tell you I almost got myself fired the other night?” I asked Elaine as she made her way into the tiny kitchen area and put the kettle on.

  “No!” she said. “What did you do?”

  “I was doing inventory with one of the Russian dudes, this guy Andrei. I think he's like, a cousin or something. I don't know. Anyway, he's family with the owners of the bar, and so there we were, doing inventory together, and I was stupid enough to tell him to quit dropping all the boxes 'cause I was afraid he was actually going to break something in one of them. And he went off on how I was just another employee and had no right to tell him what to do, and then he threatened to fire me.”

  “Yikes,” Elaine said, shaking her head. “I still don't get why there are so many Russians involved in that business. Isn't this Spain?”

  I laughed. “And aren't we Americans?” I asked.

  “Right, but if we couldn't get our working visas, how do you think those guys did?” Elaine mused. “What's it like working for them anyway?”

  I shrugged. “Regarding their visas, I don't ask questions,” I said. “Might find out something that I really don't want to know.”

  Elaine laughed. “What, you think they're like, part of the mafia?”

  “Wouldn't surprise me,” I said, shrugging. “But then again, I probably just think that because of their accents. They're not bad to work for, really. They've got obscene amounts of money, though. I know they don't pay full price for their drinks, but they're drinking pretty much constantly. They always come and go in really nice cars, and their suits, oh man. Really nice tailored suits.”

  “One too many Hollywood movies,” Elaine agreed, nodding her head. “They're kind of hot though, don't you think? Not like those big, fat mafia dudes in the movies. They don't even have the gaudy chains or anything.”

  I snorted. “Andrei's got an earring. Diamond, no doubt.”

  Unbidden, an image of Andrei from the other night came into my mind. As he'd moved around those boxes, his muscles had been obvious, bulging beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. I'd almost wished it was a little warmer in there, that he'd taken the shirt off so that I could get a really good look at his no-doubt chiseled abs and strong arms. I had already seen the tattoos that he had scattered around his arms, and I wondered how far they went, if they were all over his chest and back as well?

  I shook my head: that was dangerous territory. “I really don't want to lose this job,” I sighed. I couldn't start fantasizing about Andrei; I knew he was a player, and I doubted he'd want me around Ritmo if we had fucked. He'd expect me to get je
alous and to interrupt his conquests or something.

  Not that I really wanted to sleep with him anyway. He was an ass. Just, an attractive ass. If he was part of the Russian mob though, he could probably have me killed when he got sick of me. The thought made me shudder.

  “We're going to have to become prostitutes or something,” Elaine sighed, tapping her fingers on the counter as she stared down at the notebook that she kept her budget in. “There's no way we're going to be able to make up all that money this month otherwise.” She cracked a smile. “There's good money in prostitution, right? And I bet it fits around a class schedule pretty well, although maybe not your work schedule.”

  I shook my head. “I can't even imagine being desperate enough to become a prostitute. Especially not for a place like this.” When we'd first moved into our place, I'd been so excited about it that I hadn't cared about how shabby the place was. But in the past months, as rent had spiraled further and further out of our control, I'd started to resent the chipped paint and the rough tiles. The fact that the faucet in the kitchen leaked incessantly, the fact that Elaine and I only had curtains to separate our “rooms” from the main living area.

  “Well, maybe not prostitution,” Elaine said. “But like, one of those massage parlors would probably hire us, right? You know, the kind where they give a happy ending. I bet dudes tip pretty well for that kind of thing too. And it would work better with your bar schedule, give you something to do during the day.”

  I snorted. “You mean, other than going to the classes, which are the whole reason that I'm over here anyway?” I asked. “I'm not whacking someone off for cash. Even if it does tip well.” I couldn't even imagine it. Elaine had always been more...sexual than I was. Sure, I appreciated attractive dudes like Andrei. But I could count on one hand the number of guys that I had actually gone home with. I just wasn't that type of girl.