Billionaire Wedding: Brooklyn's Baby (Interracial Billionaire Wedding Romance) ( Contemporary Taboo Alpha Male Wedding Romance) (6 page)

“This is Kerry O’Brian. I received a call from this number?” he questioned, although the playfulness in his voice told Mercedes that he knew exactly who he was talking to. She hated that.

“Yes, this is Mercedes Mercado,” she said.

“Mercedes! I did not expect to hear back from you so quickly,” he said.

              “Yes, well your offer was very persuasive,” she said, “I would love to come work for Brian O’Brian Enterprises as your foreman.”

              “Wonderful!” his voice was quite excitable. “Tell me, Miss Mercedes, are you available this evening?”

              “Yes,” she said.

              “I will have my driver come pick you up. Let’s have dinner and get this paperwork signed,” he said.

              “Actually, if you don’t mind, Kerry, I have a cab driver I’ve grown attached to. I’ll just take the cab,” she said. Yury had been so incredibly kind; she figured people who worked hard to ensure their customers were happy, even if it was just a taxi driver, deserved to have repeat customers. Her father had always been adamant about customer satisfaction, and there was a hint of her father in the silly Russian driver, Yury.

              “Oh?” he laughed, “Give me your driver’s information. I want to pay for your ride.” Mercedes thanked him for the offer and gave up Yury’s information. Kerry laughed, “Is that the same driver Miss Lawrence sent to you this morning?”

              “It was.” Mercedes laughed as well, “I guess asking for a certain cab driver is a weird request, isn’t it?”

              “Not at all. I’ll be sure to have Mr. Yury pick you up this evening. I’m looking forward to meeting with you again,” Kerry said, and the two of them hung up their phones.

              Mercedes, still lying on her back, grunted slightly.
What should I wear
, she wondered and forced herself to stand. She had no idea where they were having dinner, but a man like Kerry would surly take her to some high-end place. She hurried to her bedroom and cringed at the wrinkled piles of dirty clothes. “When was the last time I did laundry?” she grunted and began sorting through everything, desperately trying to find something suitable to wear to dinner. She did not want to wear the suit; it was uncomfortable and did not fit her quite right.

              She found a few dresses, but could not tell if they were suitable in the wrinkled condition they were in. “Laundry day it is, I guess,” she muttered and finished sorting through the mountains of filth. It was not as though she had anything else to do that day before dinner. She changed into some sweats and winced slightly to discover that she had left all the tags on the suit she had worn to meet with Kerry; she hoped that he had not noticed. “Stupid,” she muttered.

              Once she was dressed comfortably, Mercedes proceeded to have a full day of laundry. She washed, dried, and actually bothered to hang up her clothes in her closet. She could not remember the last time she had actually seen her bedroom floor. She picked up any trash that had been hidden under clothes and even bothered dusting a bit. Taking a step back, Mercedes admired her handiwork.

              Four dresses were laid out on her bed, none of which looked even remotely descent. “I can wear any of these,” she muttered. The dresses looked like she was about to go clubbing, not fine dining.

              There was a knock on her door. She hurried into the main room of the apartment and answered. A young man in a fancy fedora was standing before her, holding a clothing bag by the hanger and a clipboard. “Uh…” the young man looked at his paperwork, “Mercedes Mercado?” he asked.

              “That’s me,” she said curiously.

              “Could you sign here please, you have a delivery,” he said and held out his paperwork. She signed on the dotted line and took the bagged clothing from the young man. He tipped his hat to her and headed off.

              Mercedes shrugged her shoulders and closed the door behind her. There was a printed note pinned to the bag that read:

Miss Mercado,

I hope your meeting went well. I received a rather humorous and distraught phone call from Miss Lawrence today about you. You’re going to have to teach me how to get under her skin like that. Consider this a reward for pissing her off. Best of luck to you,

-Lillian

Mercedes snorted when she read the note. She could not imagine that Kerry would approve of the foul relationship that was obviously present between his secretaries. She figured now that she was going to be working for Kerry, she would eventually get a chance to meet the more fun-loving of the two women. Miss Lawrence had been a nightmare. Lillian Harris, however, seemed like more her type. There was a presence of a certain level of humor that Mercedes could greatly appreciate.

Mercedes opened up the clothing bag and it revealed a lovely blue dress. “Seriously?” Mercedes mused as she pulled the silk dress out of the bag. It was elegant yet casual and she loved it. There was a certain level of excitement that built up inside her at the nice clothing. She had never owned anything so lovely.

              She put the dress on and admired herself in the bathroom mirror. It was of medium length, just barely covering her knees. The dress was strapless but came with a cute, lightweight black jacket that modestly covered her shoulders. There was a small amount of black lace around her waist and at the hymn of the dress as well that added a certain elegance. She twirled around a bit, admiring the new outfit. This time, Mercedes straightened her hair and then pulled back her bangs. It suddenly occurred to her that she was taking a considerable amount of time trying to look impressive for Kerry. She blushed and shook the notion away. It was just business, that was all. There was no need to overdo it for a quick bite to eat with the boss.

              After throwing on a bit of makeup, something she rarely did, Mercedes took note of the time and quickly found her black heals and headed out. Much to her dismay, a nice black van with the words
Brian O’Brian Enterprises
painted on the side was sitting outside of her apartment building.
So much for sending Yury,
she thought, but then was shocked to see the little Russian man hurrying out of the front seat of the vehicle to greet her.

              The man took her by surprise, grabbing her by her shoulders and kissing both of her cheeks. “Good woman!” he said to her with tears in his eyes.

              “Um…” Mercedes was incredibly confused. “Yury?” she looked him up and down. He was no longer in his street wear, but instead was dressed in a fine suit, had had a fresh haircut, and his beard was neatly trimmed. The only evidence that this was the same man from that morning was his thick accent and his dirty hat he wore on top of his head.

              “I get new job,” he said and puffed out his chest proudly. “Mr. O’Brian say he pay for green card for me and wife. He get me good job. I will be U.S. citizen soon. I will be American!” This man, this complete stranger up until this morning, was in tears before her. “You good woman.” He sounded almost like her grandfather did the day the garage had opened: a proud immigrant who was simply enthused to be on American soil.

              “I…” she stammered, “I didn’t do anything.”

              “Mr. O’Brian hire me as new company driver. He say you put in good word?” Yury questioned.

              “Well, I guess I did?” she said, thinking back to the brief phone conversation she had had with Kerry about the cab driver she liked. Yury gave her a tight, tearful hug that lasted longer than she was comfortable with. He opened the door for her and she crawled into the back. In a matter of hours, it seemed that she had unintentionally helped a Russian family get on the path to American citizenship. She felt her head spinning from the confusion she was now feeling. Had her opinion of the cab driver really been that important to Kerry? It seemed ridiculous to her, but she was glad that Yury was so pleased with her.

              Yury pulled off. She tried to wrap her head around what had just taken place, but she could not quite figure out what Kerry’s end game was. Was this a weird form of flirtation?
Surely not,
she thought, but she could not shake the feeling. It surprisingly did not take them long to get to the restaurant. She looked out the window and was embarrassed to see that they were just at a small mom-and-pop diner in Brooklyn. She looked down at her dress and silently thanked God that Lillian had delivered something that would not stand out too much in this low-end diner. She smiled, realizing that Lillian had intentionally picked out something that would be nice enough for formal dining but also not too elegant to make her look foolish if Kerry decided to take her somewhere low key. “Thank God,” she muttered, not at all eager to run into another embarrassing clothing mishap like she had with her suit. Yury hurried around the car to open the door for her. “Thank you,” she said to him.

              “No, no, thank you!” he smiled.

              She headed inside the diner. She had been there plenty of times before. It was a 1950s American style diner owned by an Israeli family that had only been in the States for a generation or two. The people who worked there were friendly. She spotted Kerry in the back of the diner and he waved her over.

              Mercedes came and sat across from him at the small, round table. “Sorry, I was in the mood for a hamburger,” he admitted to her. “And I couldn’t think of a better place.”

              Mercedes laughed at him. “I guess I did not expect someone…like you…to appreciate an old style diner like this.”

              “Like me?” Kerry asked as he opened up his briefcase to fetch the paperwork.

              A waitress came over, smiling ear to ear. “Hey Kerry, you want your usual?” she asked.

              “I think so,” he said with a smile.

              The same waitress smiled at Mercedes. “How about for you?” the server than paused for a moment, “Hey! I know you. You worked on my father’s car last year. You were so sweet, you gave him deal on his tires after he ran them flat. Thank you.”

              “You’re welcome,” Mercedes said and then quickly placed her order. The waitress scurried off, returning briefly with their drinks, and then disappeared behind the counter. “You have a
usual
here?”

              Kerry smiled, lying the paperwork down on the table. “I’ve been here a few times.”

              “Seems like more than just a few,” she said.

              He laughed. “Okay, you caught me. I have a serious weakness for fattening and greasy foods. Try not to judge me too much. The owner, he’s a nice man. The first time I came in here we got to talking. I stayed here for hours chatting with him about him coming here from Israel and starting up this little business. The family here is nice, and the food is good.”

              Mercedes found herself laughing in spite of herself. Before she could say anything, the server placed two milkshakes in front of them. She looked at Kerry curiously. “You ordered us milkshakes?” she asked.

              “You struck me as a strawberry milkshake person. How wrong was I?” he asked.

              She smiled. “Dead on, actually.” She sipped on the strawberry milkshake. It was one of the best strawberry milkshakes she had ever had. This meeting was starting to feel almost like a date; Kerry was surprisingly charming when he was not frustrated. “You want to go ahead and get that out of the way?” she pointed to the paperwork.

              “Let’s do. Last thing I want is to get hamburger grease on this.” He passed the paperwork off to her. She read through it; he pointed out a few places for her sign and answered any questions she had. He seemed surprised that she had any questions at all, but he did his best to be direct. Once everything was signed, he put away the paperwork in his briefcase. “I’m very excited about this project. I think you’re going to enjoy working for Brian O’Brian.”

              “So who is Brian O’Brian, anyways?” she asked.

              He laughed at her, “No one. Just a terrible name for a company named after my family.”

              She laughed, “So no Brian’s in the O’Brian family, then?”

              “Thankfully, no.” he smirked. “But that does sound like something my aunt would have done if, rest her soul, she had ever had children. She was funny like that.”

              Mercedes was surprised at how easy it was becoming to talk to Kerry. They came from entirely different, it seemed, yet they both liked to dip their fries in their milkshakes like everyone else. They spoke more about the project once the food arrived. She tried her best not to make a mess while eating her burger. Kerry, on more than one occasion, embarrassed himself by getting ketchup on the side of his face. “Sorry, sorry,” he would say and quickly wipe his food away and Mercedes would laugh. It was hard to believe that this was the same man she had met at the construction site.  This version of Kerry was very pleasant and she found herself blushing on occasion when he spoke, but she was always very quick to shake the girlish feelings away. This was job and that was all. She would not allow herself to become distracted just because her boss had pretty eyes and a pearly white smile. She hated how she kept having to remind herself that this was not a date. There was just something about Kerry O’Brian that had suddenly struck her fancy.