Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
A cunt I lusted after like a bloody animal. I’m beyond speechless.
It was perfection.
Taking the noble route 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-wagging going on throughout 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.
“Alright, no answer is required on your part. However, Overton has half your dukedom lobbying and agreeing with him.”
“Tell Overton to ring me.”
“He will harass you, sir, calling morning, noon—”
“Give him my bloody number, Monica.” Thirty seconds pass since I’ve hung up in her face when my mobile lights up again.
“Thank you for taking my call.” Overton’s weather-aged voice reaches through the receiver. “Mr. Tudor, I would like for us to talk, man-to-man. Please consider what I’ve put into my store.”
“Your business? Were the funds not wired?”
“I don’t seek any of your billions. Give an old chap back his business. You have everything handed to you, you wanker.”
My mouth twists as he makes assumptions about my perfect life. He falsely believes that I’ve turned thin air into a multibillion-euro industry. Fuck that. I’ve been beaten half to death before I was ten years old by an unsatisfied father.
A father who fancies himself a king.
“Tudor, you are royalty, for goodness’ sake. You have it all but to snatch away my tiny toy shop. A children’s store. It’s preposterous!” He charges, “If you get a rush off converting businesses and bringing them to success, why not use your resources in a consultative capacity? All that time on your hands, and you harass small business owners like me?”
True, there was no logic to it. I’d picked Overton’s business out of a stack of prospects.
Unlucky bloke.
Still, his adversity will benefit the entire duchy once I bulldoze the land and erect a shopping center and grocer in its stead.
“Surely you understand simple economics. I incurred your debt, Overton.”
“Cold,” the old man screeches. “You’re callous. I lost my wife. Missed valuable time with my children to—Hello, hello, are you still there?”
“Certainly. As you’ve indicated, I’ve had my entire life handed to me. Thus, one should deduce that I’ve an immeasurable amount of time to listen to your drivel. Now that I’ve compensated you for my latest acquisition, you should recall, you did not lose your wife! She lives a few kilometers away. You pushed her away by building your business and failing at said business, adding heaps of debt to your name.”
“Oh, we’re discussing—”
“Buy your ex-wife her favorite flo-flowers.” Dry air creeps into my throat. I burn in irritation at the thought of Luxury and her flower shop. “Take your family on an extended holiday. Make amends for the time you missed with them.”
“Brilliant advice, mate,” Overton replies sarcastically. “This is all a game to you. Snatch away a person’s life. Take those six pence and shove them in your arse!”
Seconds pass.
“If your criticisms have concluded, Overton, I must bid you good day.”
There’s a deep, sinister sigh on Overton’s end. “You’re ready for me to disappear, eh? Victor, while you’re in Arlington, why not stay at that lofty estate of yours?”
“You were paid for the land. The building was dilapidated, Overton. Might I suggest a psychiatrist, as my personal life isn’t up for discussion.”
“No, but you’ve brought up mine. Rarely do you frequent your Arlington home. Maybe the next time you pass by, it will be up in flames.”
He hangs up.
I sit down. Fucking irrational tosser.
A psychotic laugh erupts from deep within my abdomen. I chuck the mobile phone at the mirror across the room. Fragments crash to the floor. Overton’s words ring through my ears.
I’ve been all around the world. My home in Arlington? It has been years. The entire town knows that.
With a novel in hand, Burt enters the room. His curious gander tracks over to the noise, and he mutters, “I’m at my favorite scene. I’ll send for maid service.”
The old chap shirks his duties while reading the same literature over the years. I call after him, “Add more staff to my home.”
He’s familiar with my paranoia with the Arlington estate. Somerhaven, England will always be my childhood home, but it’s as guarded as Buckingham Palace. I keep the villas and mansions I have worldwide under lock and key. The Arlington estate was once my pride and joy, yet it will continue to be a gilded shrine.