“I. Am. Certain.”
“Oh, alright. I’d not called to give a massive chin-wagging about the inevitable, but I did want to share that I bought Madeline pearl earrings for Christmas.”
“You’ve done well.” I hang up.
Bollocks. Burt has utilized the same Christmas list for the last decade. Pearls for Mum. Something trending on social media for my younger brother, Graham. A thoughtful antique for Grandmummy, etcetera. I must have overlooked Maddy if Monica took care of it.
We were to publicly announce our engagement the day after Jonah Whitson’s assassination attempt; however, Madeline’s grandmother became ill. The one-hundred-year-old was a prominent pillar of the family and a right mate to the Queen. It provided aproperreason to cancel. I’m sure my childhood best friend and the woman I’ve gotten myself into a predicament with has called my assistant for weeks. After Luxury vowed never to see me again, I had Monica hold all personal calls.
With thirty seconds to spare, board members file into the room, claiming each seat. Rubbish. I prefer to reign because they’ve forfeited their vote if their old arses aren’t present.
“I’ve reviewed twenty different failing businesses,” I begin, opening my leather-bound portfolio. “What do they all have in common?”
“Perhaps, they’re bloody enjoying the festive season?” One person chuckles drily.
I hold up a piece of paper. “Their livelihood has been summarized. Entire sources of income analyzed. I’ve made it my mission to know the risks associated with each one.”
I pause as my mobile vibrates. A text notification of Angelina’s lovely, naked body appears, followed by her message:You’re home, and I’m just hearing about it?
I click the ignore button. I’ve been celibate for almost two months, and my next taste will come from Luxury Whitson’s enchanting cunt.
I clear my throat. “Tomorrow, we will take Overton’s shop.”
A unified gasp fills the room.
“That’s preposterous,” begins Hartford.
“Anyone else with a soul that would like to oppose?” I stand up, smoothing my tie. No one says a word. “ ‘Tis the season to prosper.”You heartless wankers. Cruel, just like me.
I leave them all to digest the fact that the old chap everyone heralds as Saint Nick will be out of business. Now, he has an entire year to prepare himself for a new gimmick.
Afew days later, in the hotel's private gym, air moves as I shift between powerful martial arts poses. I’ve yet to rid my mind of Luxury Whitson. How could someone so seemingly innocent and tiny not be within my grasp? Unruly coppery curls and curves haunt me. I visualize the spray of cinnamon freckles that adorn Luxury’s lovely body.
A cunt I lusted after like a bloody animal. I’m beyond speechless.
It was perfection.
Taking thenobleroute at her insistence, I advised that I’d await her call. Each time my mobile rings and I’m deprived of Luxury’s voice, my hands tighten around my phone.
I’m moving from one tactical stance to the next when my mobile rings. Hope creeps in. “Victor, we’ve a problem . . . so soon—” And just as fast, hopes are dashed.
“The proper words are ‘I told you so.’Say that.”
Monica huffs. “Have you heard the massive chin-wagginggoing onthroughout your duchy?”
“I’ve not. Nor do I care.”
“But Your Royal Highness, Overton—”
“Refrain from the frivolous title!”
“Vic-tor, I did not mind sorting through the X-Member mayhem and ensuring that your business always lands on the right side of the bylaws, but do you bloody enjoy it at all? I’m asking as your mate, not an employee.”
“Not at all. Overton, however, is a worthy substitute.”
“For what?” Monica asks.
For Luxury’s call or my forcing her submission.