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He snarled and left the room, grasping at his cane and pointing at his clothes. The small woman grabbed at them, bringing the cloth to her nose. “Where is Taliah?” She at least fucked to the point of near orgasm.
“Gone home, Sir.” Home? Good god.
He headed through the corridors, bypassing yet more unserviceable debauchery that was occurring, and slipped into the office. Gone home? At what point did sub’s like her go home? In his day they would have stayed all the hours god sent and fucked themselves into oblivion, barely coming up for air. This place was a disgrace. He was disgusted. His clubs had become nothing but a hormonally charged infringement of society. Etiquette had been lost. The va va voom, apparently, va va voomed elsewhere.
Annoyed, he grasped a decanter of cognac and poured a large glass, then turned back out into the hall heading for the front door. He would not have his clubs upturned by moronic children who believed themselves in charge, no matter family connections. They were not. He was. And his finger triggering the fire alarm would say so much.
The loud ring of chaos started immediately, pursued by varying screams and moronic shouts of concern. He leant on his cane and watched as the place erupted into a cacophony of naked people, all of them launching themselves, quite inelegantly, towards the front door. Good. They would go. And then not be allowed back in until they had been tested for worth.
He sipped from his glass and opened the door for them, amused at the antics of morons who could not make up their minds if they needed clothes or not. In the midst of near death, he assumed clothes would be of no importance – seemingly not. Shirts and garments were grabbed and shoved into place, most of them not belonging to the owner currently wearing them. He snorted and drank some more, enamoured with the kafuffle, widening the door for exit. Until, finally, silence ensued.
He slammed the door.
And locked it.
Then picked his phone out of his robe and walked back to the office.
Three rings occurred before she answered him.
“Where are you?” she snapped, voice dripping with annoyance. His soul shivered in response.
“I am well, my love. In fine fettle.”
“That’s not what I fucking asked.” Hmm. She was presumably somewhat perturbed at his disappearance, and avoidance of answering her calls.
“Lilah, I need you to close all my clubs.” Silence. “Lilah?”
“I’m thinking.” He gave her a moment’s pause, which was always wise with her tongue’s venom - regardless of a phone call separating them. “Why exactly?”
“They are disgraceful.”
“Hmm.”
“You are my lawyer. Remove Thomas from the ownership and reinstate my privileges.”
“No.” He was aghast. “You don’t need that. Your privileges are fine. You can close whatever you choose.” He was fine?
“Did you not give Thomas full control as I asked?”
“No.” He smiled into the phone, amused at her forethought and enamoured with her enduring ability to be in the depths of his own mind. “It was a stupid request, made when you were attempting decency. Your business head is at its most ludicrous when you’re like that.”
“I am disturbed by your diligence.”
“You are disturbed all the time. Where are you?”
“On holiday.”
“In London? You hate London.” How did she know where he was? “Because I’m here, too, and I’ve just heard the church behind Eden chime.” How she read his mind was also perturbing.
“You’re here?” He peered out the window, narrowing his stare, and then laughed at the cacophony of idiots still running around half naked.
“No, at Alexander’s.” He sucked in a breath at the mention of the man and then scowled at the thought of them together. Jealousy was still an annoyance when it came to their dalliances, not that they dallied at all. They simply had something that was unusual. A meeting of minds that he was not privy to. He drank some cognac and sat at his desk, feet kicking up onto the leather top.
“I am drinking. Would you care to join me?”
“No.” He frowned.
“Why not?”
