Hot as Sin: Billionaire Elements Page 2

  I stopped writing to your papa because I didn’t want him to know that we were in danger. But we were. In fact, at the time of this writing, things are still terrible. I am not sure when you are going to read this, but Miami is still is a very scary place to raise a family.

  One night, after a long night at work, I came home to find a police raid in our apartment. A female police officer was holding you and you were crying. It was then that I realized that it was no life for you. We had gone to so much trouble to bring you to the United States to give you a better life, but our life was not better. You were in danger, and I could not afford to give you the life your papa and I wanted. The police officer and I talked about adoption.”

  Caleb put the letter in his lap for a minute and rubbed his face, shaking his head.

  Gina was feeling it too. “This sounds like a movie script or something.”

  “Right?” Picking up the paper and turning it over, he continued. “As I am writing this, it is the one year anniversary of your adoption. I met your adoptive parents. A young couple who both cried with joy when I placed you in their arms.

  Ramon, I cannot tell you how hard it was to give you up. But I know in my heart it was the right choice. Your life would have been spent around drugs, gangs and violence. You are too precious to let that happen. I love you too much to risk that.

  I am not sure if I can go back to Havana and be with your papa again. I am making phone calls and filling out paperwork, but I don’t know if they will let me go home.

  You are probably a man now, as you read this. I hope that you had a wonderful life and that Susie and Gordon gave you the life that your papa and I could not.

  Be well, my son, and bring honor to the Diaz family.”

  Gina and Caleb sat in stunned silence for a few moments. It was Gina who finally broke it.

  “Well, buddy. Looks like you’re going to Cuba.”

  Chapter Two: Rainy Days and Mondays

  Ava loved Mondays. It was her favorite day of the week. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the nights when her nightclub Bobo Flamingo’s was open. She did. But the two nights of the week that the club was closed were Ava’s chance to get caught up, do some planning, marketing, and get a “bird’s eye view” of how the business was going. On the nights the club was open, her time was spent taking care of her best customers, making sure that everything ran smoothly, and that the vibe of the club stayed positive and energetic. This required her near-constant presence.

  Ava Martinez had been running Bobo Flamingo’s, Havana’s most exclusive nightclub, for three years. She’d graduated from the Universidad de Habana with a degree in business. She’d then gotten some seed money from an angel investor and bought a defunct nightclub, renovated it, and Bobo Flamingo’s was born.

  “Boss?” Jose “Joey” Perez, the club’s bar manager, stuck his head into Ava’s office. “The delivery truck is here. You want to take it?”

  “No, Joey. If you can handle it, I’d really appreciate it. I need to take care of some invoices.”

  “No problem, Boss.” Joey shut her door, and Ava could hear the men’s voices as they began to carry the boxes of top-shelf alcohol, craft beer, wine, and champagne in. Mondays were alcohol delivery day, and Tuesdays were food. Bobo Flamingo’s was almost as famous for their food as they were their crafted cocktails and music scene.

  Pulling up her spreadsheets, and announcing, “Alexa, play smooth jazz,” Ava got to work.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Ava was elbow-deep in processing everyone’s paychecks for the month, when there was a light knock on the door. She almost didn’t hear it at first. “Alexa, pause.” Yes, that was the door. “Hello?”

  The door cracked open, and Michele Luna, the headline singer for Bobo Flamingo’s, stuck her head in. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course!” Ava was surprised. It wasn’t like Michele to come in when the club was closed, unless she was choreographing a new number. Maybe she was there to pick up her paycheck?

  It was then that Ava noticed how awful Michele looked. Normally, she wore makeup, stylish clothing and jewelry - onstage or off. She was often heard telling the other performers, “Honey, clothes can be changed, but style is always with you.”

  But, today, Michele’s usually smooth face had bags under her eyes, and she didn’t have a stitch of makeup on. A baggy brown dress took the place of her usual style. Ava was alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  Michele pulled out the chair opposite Ava. She took a deep breath and was obviously trying not to cry. “It’s my husband.”

  Michele and her husband were a classic love story. They’d been raised on the same block as children and had fallen in love as teenagers. Everyone warned them against getting married at eighteen but they didn’t know that Michele was already pregnant. Now, at twenty-eight, Michele and Mario had three children. Mario used to do construction during the day while Michele sang at night, but ever since her album had risen to the top of the charts, Mario had been a stay-at-home dad.

  She was Bobo Flamingo’s’ most popular performer, by far. On the nights she sang, people literally lined up outside the club for hours in the hopes that they could get into the standing room only stage area.

  “What’s happened, Michele?” It was clearly something serious.

  “He had an accident.” Michele bit her lip in an attempt to stay composed. “He fell off a ladder changing the lights on our patio. Hugo found him, and he was taken to the hospital.”

  “Oh my god, is he okay?”

  “No. They think he has a broken back. He’s getting an MRI right now.”

  “I can’t believe this. He is so strong and healthy!” Ava was terribly upset. What an awful accident!

  “I know. But..” Michele couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. “What if he never walks again? We have three young children. What if he can’t play with them or teach our youngest to ride a bicycle?”

  Ava got up and came around the desk to comfort Michele. Hugging her, Ava said, “I’m so sorry, amiga. Whatever you need from me, you have it. Just say the word.”

  Pulling back to reveal eyes puffy from crying, Michele said, “My work…”

  Ava shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But... the shows?”

  “Seriously. Michele. Go be with Mario. Everything else can wait. I’ll hire someone to fill in temporarily until we know what’s going on with Mario. You have brought in so much business since you started that we are happy to keep paying you until you can return. La familia lo es todo. And, you are family.” Ava meant it. Family was everything.

  Hugging Ava with gratitude, Michele said, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  As the door shut behind her, Ava sat back down and sighed. What a horrible thing to happen. Well, I’d better start auditioning performers, she thought, as she opened a new window on her computer.

  Chapter Three: Havana Homecoming

  At least I’m in first class, Caleb thought, as the American Airlines jet sat on the tarmac in Miami, waiting for clearance to take off. The flight itself was only an hour long, but they’d been sitting in the plane for at least that long, waiting.

  Caleb was used to taking the family jet whenever he had to travel. But, ever since his dad died and he and his siblings had to basically earn the right to inherit the family fortune, Caleb had been cut off from the luxuries that come from being in a billionaire family. While he understood it intellectually, as he sat here in a big metal tube with two hundred other people impatiently waiting to take off, he couldn’t help but be resentful. Now they decide to teach us the responsibility that comes with wealth?

  The captain’s muffled voice came back on the loudspeaker. “Uh… It’s your captain speaking again. Sorry for the delay. We have a weather system off the coast and we’re just waiting for it to pass before we can take off. It’ll just be a few more minutes.”

  Caleb could hear the groans from the other passengers. From the coach section of the pl
ane, some baby was crying and a voice shouted: “That’s what you’ve been saying for the last hour.”

  The flight attendant handed Caleb another beer and asked if he wanted another bag of pretzels. Shaking his head “no”, he returned to watching a rerun of “Big Bang Theory” on the television screen in front of him. Pulling out his phone, he checked to see if Gina had texted him back. She hadn’t. She must still be at work, he thought.

  Looking out the window, the rain running down the outside of the plane put him in a contemplative mood. He’d been in Miami for a couple of days and had made some calls to see if he could locate his birth mother. There was a shockingly large number of women in Miami named Gabriella Garcia, Gabriella Diaz, and even Gabriella Garcia de Diaz. He didn’t have time yet to go through them all to narrow down which one might be the one who’d written the letter. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t even know if his birth mother was still in Miami. The letter had indicated she was trying to get back to Cuba. It was possible that she and his father had reunited and had made a life together in Havana.

  It had been much easier to locate the name of Ramon Diaz, Havana firefighter. Caleb and Gina had gotten into a huge debate about whether or not Caleb should call Ramon first before he went to Havana.

  “You absolutely need to call, dude.”

  “I think that’s a horrible idea. What am I going to do, leave a voicemail? Hey Ramon. I’m the son your wife gave up for adoption twenty-five years ago. Can I come over?”

  “That’s better than showing up on his doorstep. What if he has another wife and family? What if they don’t know about you?”

  She had a point. He’d been staring at the number scribbled on a scrap of paper for days. He knew he should call. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Just then, the plane started to move. There were cheers from the back of the plane. The well-dressed woman across the aisle from him muttered “Gracias de Dios,” as the captain came back on. “We finally got the clearance for takeoff. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for departure.”

  * * *

  The paperwork getting into Havana was a nightmare. First, he had to show his birth certificate and explain that he was in Cuba on a family visit. Then, he needed to show that he had non-USA health insurance. Plus, he’d had to bring cash and traveler’s checks because US debit and credit cards didn’t work there.

  Finally, after all of that, Caleb had gotten a taxi to his hotel. He was used to staying in luxurious accommodation, but since he was now cut off from his family’s funds, he was going to have to stay within the budget that came with being part of an IT startup. Meaning, not much.

  “Casa Lourdes Havana 1913, por favor,” Caleb told the cab driver as he got in. Hopefully, the TripAdvisor reviews were accurate, and the hotel was as good as promised.

  The cab wound its way through the narrow alley streets dotted by locals leaning up against doorways. Pedi-cabs were as numerous as cars, and Caleb felt like he’d stepped back to the 1950s. The roads were wet and the air smelled like a combination of soggy cigars and mint.

  “Esta aqui.” The taxi stopped in the middle of the alley and the driver gestured to a tiny doorway that had a wooden sign with blue and white letters. The sign was the nicest thing about the building. Caleb handed the driver a few pesos and said, “Gracias,” as he stepped out into the alley.

  Feeling utterly and completely alone, Caleb looked up and down the alley. Okay. Let’s get this over with, he thought.

  * * *

  Pulling open the black door to the hotel, Caleb breathed a sigh of relief. The inside of the hotel was small but charming. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was definitely quaint.

  He checked in and found his room quickly. Sweating from the slight exertion, the humidity, and maybe some nerves, Caleb stared at his phone. It was time to make the call. He was hoping that Ramon spoke more English than Caleb spoke Spanish.

  “Hola?”

  “Hola. Esta es Ramon?”

  “Si.”

  Taking a deep breath, Caleb figured it was best to just say it straight out. “Mi nombre es Caleb Elliot, pero mi nombre de nacimiento es Ramon. Soy tu hijo.” My name is Caleb Elliot, but my birth name is Ramon. I am your son.

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then, Ramon said softly, in English, “Oh my God. It’s you.”

  Grateful that the conversation could continue in English, Caleb answered, “Yes. It’s me.”

  Ramon’s voice was choked up with emotion. “Where are you?”

  “I am here, in Havana. I came to see you.” There was a pause, then:

  “I can’t believe this. I have dreamed of this day for so long.”

  The men talked briefly and then agreed to meet at a little café within walking distance of his hotel.

  Fifteen minutes later, Caleb walked into the Café El Dandy. Normally, he would have noticed the photos of Old Havana on the wall or the smells of coffee mingling with smoky meat. He definitely would have noticed the pretty girl sitting alone, sipping juice and eating a bowl of fruit. But today, there was only one thing Caleb saw when he walked through those doors. He saw his future. There was a man sitting at a table near the window, who looked exactly like himself, but about twenty five years older.

  Ramon had the same dark hair parted down the middle, just like Caleb. The same long nose and cleft in his chin. The eyes were the same, although Ramon’s were tinged with sadness. Deep lines furrowed between his brow. His was the face of a man who had seen much pain and sorrow in his lifetime.

  Caleb was frozen in one spot, but as soon as Ramon saw him, his face broke out into a broad smile. Tears came to his eyes, and he jumped up from the table so forcefully that the chair almost knocked over. The older man raced over, threw his arms around his son, and exclaimed, “Mijo. My son. You have come home.”

  Chapter Four: Amigas y Mas

  “I do not want to do this,” Ava said to herself as she grabbed the bag on the passenger seat of her car. No one wants to go to the gym, thought Ava’s inner athlete. But, you can’t stay a badass if you sit on your ass, she thought. That was the mantra that helped Ava stay in great shape. Flexing her bicep, as if to prove the point to herself, she opened the car door.

  Fortunately, Ava was meeting her friend Salima at the gym. They had regular workout dates set three times a week. When one woman tried to cancel, the other one talked her out of it. They were friends, workout buddies and business partners. But, no one knew about the last part.

  Ever since Ava had received the money from her angel investor so that she could start Bobo Flamingo’s, she’d made a point to give back to other women who needed funds to start businesses. Ava had given out more than ten “microloans” in the past several years, and Salima had been one of the early recipients. Ava lent her the money to buy horses and carts for a carriage business in Old Havana called Callo de Caballos. Salima paid the loan off within a year, and they’d become best friends after that.

  Pushing open the doors to the gym, Ava headed to the locker room. She hadn’t seen Salima’s car in the parking lot, and it appeared that Ava had won the race to see who was first. Checking her messages as she put her phone in the locker, there was a text that Salima was running ten minutes late. “Cool. She has to buy coffee next time.” The rule was, if you’re last three times in a row, you have to buy the coffee.

  Ava decided to get in a short run on the treadmill while she was waiting. Putting in her ear pods, she chose her most intense playlist and started a brisk warm-up jog.

  As often happened when she ran, Ava’s mind started to wander to work issues. What am I going to do about replacing Michele? It can’t be some mediocre performer. I wonder if I can get Dayme Arocena to fill in for a while? She might be on tour in America, though.

  Just then, the door breezed open and Salima rushed in. Ava was always so impressed at how trim Salima stayed, despite having had two children. She was an avid horse rider, as one would imagine the owner of an equine
-based business would be. Between that and her workouts with Ava, it had become a friendly fitness competition between the women.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Salima said as she set her bag to the side and jumped on the treadmill next to Ava. “The hay delivery guy was late, and, well, you know.”

  She definitely did know. Running a business as a woman in Cuba often meant that you weren’t treated with the same level of importance as the male business owners. Vendors often tried to hit on you, get you to exchange sex for discounts and other disgusting things. Part of Ava’s role as a micro-lender was to help the women learn how to run a business. It wasn’t just about giving them seed money, it was about helping them to have the tools to grow.

  Right before she opened Callo de Caballos, Ava had taken Salima to a self-defense class. It wasn’t legal for citizens to own guns, and the punishment for having an illegal weapon was very harsh. So, Ava learned how to defend herself through a series of defensive maneuvers. She also kept a knife behind the bar and knew how to use it. Every woman who received a loan from Ava also received self-defense training. It was very important to her that women be able to protect themselves.

  After finishing their runs, the women headed over to the weight lifting area of the gym. Spotting each other, they took turns using the weight machines.

  “So, Michele came by. Mario had a serious accident and broke his back.”

  “Oh my god, is he paralyzed?” Selima stopped mid-lift.

  “They don’t know yet. But obviously, Michele has to stop work so she can take care of him and their kids.”

  “How awful. What are you going to do? People line around the block for her!”

  “I don’t know. I’d love to get someone famous, but I’m not sure it’s possible on such short notice.” Ava took over where Salima had been sitting.