3
“The members list has increased over the past few months, Mr. McGrath,” Gordon, the accountant, announced. “We have an extensive waiting list of potential new clients now. Demand is through the roof.”
Marcus nodded. Verto Veneri was a rampant success in the underworld of the rich and salacious.
Money was no object for the club members, who secretly blanketed their shenanigans under the terms and conditions of the club.
Day-time facades played out as blissful monogamous relationships, yet by nightfall, the couples frolicked and cavorted with strangers—sometimes the same stranger when it suited.
Business deals were deliberated, partners were exchanged, and marriages pushed beyond the confines of fidelity, but most importantly, desires were met.
The Fitz Hotel was co-owned by the McGrath brothers. One of many hotels they owned throughout north and south of Ireland, with several dotted around Europe and America.
Marcus, the eldest of the two, ran Verto Veneri which was a strictly members-only club, with evenings announced by invitation one week in advance.
It quickly became a lucrative investment, hitting the ground running from the day and hour, the elite list became accessible.
After years of wedded bliss, couples often buried their hunger for sexual experimentation and this way, they could have a multitude of different partners without sneaking around behind the other’s back.
After all, they were married, not dead from waist down.
Marcus himself had never married. At the age of thirty-nine, he had zero desire to tie the knot and have a flimsy piece of paper as a constant reminder.
There was no point tethering himself by name and legalities to just one woman, not when he could have the whole lot.
“The numbers have exploded in the south, too.” Marcus pointed out as he studied the documents on his desk. “Further expansion is needed. We’ll buy a few more hotels, Gordon. Find me some options.”
“Of course, there are plenty more hotels to snap up, Marcus. The turnover has more than exceeded our annual forecast already, and it’s only September.” Gordon pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
Marcus swilled amber liquid in his crystal cut glass. “Look into it. E-mail me with the possibilities,” he commanded, downing the whiskey in two swigs.
“Yes, Mr. McGrath.”
Marcus turned away from the gangly accountant, averting his gaze to the streets below. Gordon gathered his papers, stuffed them into his folder and left.
Marcus also owned a commanding portfolio of residential properties throughout the world, including a substantial investment in numerous distilleries where he branded his very own McGrath Gin and Whiskey.
He would spend weeks partying with friends on an impulse, anywhere in the world, with no one to answer to. Just the way he liked it. It was just Marcus and Jamie McGrath, doing what they do best–making money.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. “Marcus, we have a situation with one of the new members.”
“What happened?” he snapped.
“Apparently, one of our long-standing members, Mr. Bingham, had a disagreement with a younger woman. She’s new to the club.”
“What did she do?” he growled into the phone.
“She disrespected him. He wanted to partner up with her, but she refused, said he was too old and called him a creep. That violates the ‘care and consideration’ rule, sir.”
Marcus sighed. “I’ll need her file. Bring her to me, and I’ll dissolve the contract. We can’t have this behaviour leaking out. Seal it.” He threw the mobile phone on the glass desk, removed his suit jacket and sat back in a sleek chair, swivelling towards to the night sky.
She’s probably a precocious little gold-digger, on the hunt for a good-looking sugar daddy.
Isn’t that what all women want? Find the guy with the bugling bank balance and reel him in like a prize trout.
Marcus wasn’t that fool. He hadn’t set up his club to help women find financial security.
The terms and conditions stipulated that couples must have been together for a minimum of one year. Bank account details and utility bills were required as evidence, but over the years, some girls had gone to great swindling lengths to get on the list.
Moments later, a knock on the door brought his thoughts back to the room. A member of staff peeked around the door. “I have a Ms. Craig here for contractual dissolution.”
“Have you given her the file with the signed contract?” he asked with his back to the door, still gazing out at the city.
“Yes, sir.”
“Come in, Ms. Craig.”