He starts shifting awkwardly. “It’s rather therapeutic. Thought I’d have a listen on the way from the garage. Get my day off to the best start.”
“I never had you down as an opera man, Egor.” I laugh, shutting the door and letting the window down. He’s a six-foot-eight Russian with a few too many scars on his rugged face.
“I don’t mind it, sir.” He coughs, embarrassed.
“I have some tickets for Les Misérables. I was going to chuck them—”
“Don’t do that, sir,” he blurts, horrified.
“I’ll leave them at the desk with Herbie for you.”
“Very kind, sir.”
“Have a good day, Egor.” I zoom out of the circular driveway in front of my building, and I’ve not even made it to the end of the road before my phone starts ringing. “Mother,” I answer happily, joining Park Lane.
“Darling, how are you?”
I smile. “Since you called yesterday and asked? Couldn’t you have waited to find out until our dinner date?”
“I can’t get on with my day until I’ve spoken to you. Checked you’re alive. Don’t ridicule me for it. You might be thirty-seven, Tyler, but you’re still my baby.”
I pull to a stop at some lights. “I’m alive,” I assure her, my attention being pulled to my right when a car pulls up beside me. A nice car. With an even nicer driver. “And kicking,” I murmur, lifting my shades a smidgen when the hot blonde casts an eye in my direction. She smiles coyly and forces her attention forward. My grin stretches. “Still six at The Savoy?”
“Yes, darling. See you there. And don’t keep your mother waiting.” She hangs up, and I watch as the beauty in the next lane struggles to keep her attention on the lights, waiting for them to turn green.
“Go on, sweetheart,” I muse quietly, turning in my seat a little to face her. “You know you want to.” On cue, she looks discreetly over, chewing her bottom lip. I wink, releasing my shades and letting them drop to my nose before racing off from the lights. “Call Gina,” I order my car, as I continue to dip and weave through the early morning traffic.
“Morning, Romeo,” my PA answers, as prompt as always.
“Morning, gorgeous. Tell me how my day’s looking.”
“Busy.”
I huff on a small laugh. “Why do you always punish me on a Monday?”
“There’s no rest for the wicked,” she sings. “And you, Ty Christianson, are wicked.”
“You in the office yet?”
“Just getting off the elevator.”
“Sal there?”
“His car’s in the car park.”
My nose wrinkles. “He gets earlier every day.”
“And balder,” Gina quips, forcing a burst of laughter to erupt from me. She’s right. My business partner and best friend is losing his hair by the day. Poor bastard.
“I’m just rounding Marble Arch. See you in a flick.” I hang up and sigh when my phone immediately sounds again. The display screen on my dash flashes up. “Betsy.” I groan and open the message from my hairdresser, knowing she won’t be asking if I want my hair cut. I’ve had my female fix for today. Or, at least, for the first half of today. She’s asking if I’m busy this evening. Of course, I have dinner with Mother, but I haven’t decided what I’m doing after that. So I don’t answer and commit myself, saving my reply for later. Never commit. Ty Christianson’s rule numero uno.As is routine, Gina is the first thing I see when the elevator doors open, her arm extended toward me with my coffee in her grasp. And as is also routine, I take a brief moment to appreciate the lovely form of her curvy hips and great tits, which are today squished into a blouse that is definitely bordering too small. I flash her a smile, that she returns knowingly, and take my coffee. “Thanks, gorgeous.” I head down the corridor toward my office, Gina hot on my heels. “You look ravishing today,” I say over my shoulder.
She ignores my customary compliment and fires straight into details of my day. “You have a nine o’clock conference call with Paco Rabanne to touch base on the new campaign. They still want Idris Elba, by the way.”
I roll my eyes. “They can’t have him.”
“You’re scheduled for a meeting at eleven with the Dior team so they can bring you up to speed on the music front.”
I come to a stop at my office door, turning back to face Gina. “What about the music front?”
“The track you want for the ad isn’t obtainable.” She raises her eyebrows, knowing exactly what my response will be.
“Everything is obtainable.” I push my way into my office and drop my briefcase by the chair. “Is that what the meeting’s about? So they can tell me they can’t get the track?”
“Guess so.”
I pull the knees of my trousers up and lower into my chair, resting back and taking a sip of my coffee. “Cancel it. Tell them I’ll meet with them when they have a proposed remedy to the problem.” I despair sometimes. They’ve worked for me long enough to know I’m not interested in hearing about setbacks, only solutions to said setbacks. There’s always a solution.