Finding Rhythm

EPISODE 2:THE DISCOVERY

THE CREAKING OF the rope handle wailed all over my gym as I pulled on it. I got up from the bench, wiping my face.

I’d done enough exercise for the day. As I walked back to my living room in my sweatpants, I heard a soft, sexy voice chattering away on the phone.

I let out a sigh. I didn’t want to have to do this again. These ladies needed to know how to take a hint. I understand how, after seeing the length of my wealth, they’d want to stick around. Try to trap me in a relationship—something I couldn’t afford myself the luxury of.

It’s not just that I didn’t feel anything for the bevy of ladies I hooked up with, it’s also the fact that I couldn’t introduce them to the dangerous life that I lived.

She was getting too comfortable, I couldn’t remember what her name was. Then again, I never recall the names of my conquests. They are never that important, not unless they bring me good deals or play a good game. I love money-making women, just not enough for me to put a ring on it or a label.

“Why are you still here?” I asked her. She looked up at me, surprised at my presence.

“Oh… I thought you had gone to work or something. When I woke up, you weren’t there.” She answered, her voice had gone down a few decibels, it was quite nauseating, but nothing I hadn’t handled before.

“I see… Well, I’m not sure what you thought this was, I’d like you to leave. You look a bit too comfortable in my home.”

The hot lady stared at me as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

I hardly ever repeat myself, so I left her there. But not before telling one of my securities to ensure she was gone before I got back downstairs.

I had a busy day, my company was entering a new market, a petrochemical market, so I had a meeting with some stakeholders.

I go into my bathroom to wash myself after my intense morning workout. The hot water sprayed on me from different angles, relaxing my tense muscles. I lathered my Molton Brown, tobacco absolute shower gel on my body.

I straightened out the angles and sleeves of my cashmere custom-made Vincenzo suit. It was a perfect fit. The thing about having all the money in the world is that you get to spoil yourself as you please. I worked hard for this wealth, simply lying on the bed that I laid. I stepped into my walk-in fragrance closet. I love fragrances. At night, before going to bed, I spend my time shopping online from my favorite stores.

Yeah, I could just go to a*****e with my security detail and assistant to flaunt my riches, letting the less privileged worship the ground I walk, bootlicking and wishing to be in my position.

Same way, I wondered what it is to be in their position, seeing as I grew up in a wealthy home.

I took over the Shadow Mob mafia from my father so he could go into retirement and be a loving husband to his new wife, my stepmother. Who was younger than me, twenty-four years old? My siblings and I found it funny she thought she could weasel her way into our wealth. Climb her way up the social ladder with a cheat code.

She didn’t climb up the ladder, she swung on it like a monkey on a mission. But I’ve got to say, I respected the hustle. So I was much nicer to her than my siblings were.

Sandalwood and Aquatic are my favorite scents. I had a lot of choices, from the cheapest to the most expensive. I like to mix up the scents: aquatic to stay in the house after an intense workout, to the beach for alone time, and sandalwood for every other activity. I loved aphrodisiac scents, oud, musk, and orris. I collected them like medals from the Olympics.

I sprayed two colognes, mixing scents.

“If we do this, what is the projected ROI and timeline for this new project?” One of the investors for my new project asked one of my board members.

I glanced across the grand Macassar ebony table at Billy, Black Horizon Corps’ Chief Financial Officer, he was exceptional at his job. I trusted him with this project and my company.

“Our financial projection indicates a strong ROI within the first five years. There’s an increasing demand for petrochemical products, coupled with our innovative approach, we are going to drive monumental growth,” he answered confidently. Billy pushed his glasses up his nose and then glanced at me. I didn’t make a move besides stare at the investor, trying to read his face to tell whether or not he was impressed.

“Given the volatility in this industry, how do you plan to mitigate risks? You know to ensure a stable return on investment.” Susan Walsh, another investor asked. Damn Susan, I hated her to be honest, but I loved her money. She was just a privileged woman who had a wealthy old husband with no kids or family that loved him, so all of his wealth fell right there on her lap. She didn’t know what was going on in this conference room, she just wanted to have a say, and of course, there was nothing wrong with it.

Billy was about to answer her question, but I raised my hand to shut him up. I wanted to take this one myself, I found amusement in watching her face twist up in confusion with the use of big words. She would pretend to understand, be impressed, and be sold.

“We have implemented a comprehensive risk mitigation strategy encompassing assessments, an econometric model, and financial hedging instruments. Additionally, the volatility inherent in hydrocarbon pricing is countered by our strategic emphasis on methane, synthesis gas, benzene, and aromatics. I answered, not breaking my gaze away from hers. She flashed me a smile, looking impressed.

Called it.

I cleared my throat to address everyone, “We have an exit strategy. Our core objective is organic growth and increasing our market share. We’re open to strategic partnerships or potential acquisitions to accelerate growth. We believe an IPO could be a viable exit strategy in the future. Any more questions?”

I honestly couldn’t wait for that meeting to be over. I was looking forward to a calm evening at Le Rubis Rouge, my favorite place to go every Friday after working hours. My chauffeur, Stephen, glanced at me through the rearview mirror. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sir, I have to take the car to the mechanic’s tomorrow. The engine is misfiring,” he said to me.

I didn’t need the details, but of course, I knew he needed some cash to get it done.

“Here… Take it to the mechanic. Get it done tomorrow morning. I’m not going out during the day. We’ll use my car in the evening. I have to go to the Den.” I tell him, handing him a card to use for payments. He knew the pin. It was the card I gave my home staff to use for various expenses.

At last, I smiled at the next best thing I found comfort in besides collecting fragrances. The audience clapped as she walked up to the stage. She grabbed the microphone from the stand and sat down.

She began humming a soft, haunting tune that ran shivers down my spine.

“I’m trapped in the shadows, hear my silent screams,” she sang.

Her voice was velvety smooth with an edge to it—a rasp—it gripped my soul with its cold yet warm fingers. Delicate and defiant, it commanded my attention. Every time Aria had me perplexed when she performed.

I drank out of my glass of Bourbon; the woman looked gorgeous in the sexy red dress she was wearing, it complemented her features. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her, listening to every word she sang with intent.

Her choice of outfit was aligned with the words she sang. She was screaming bloody murder and sticking out her middle fingers at the world, and she was doing it so beautifully.

“Darkness creeping—oh, it’s a growing despair. but I’ll face the demons, I swear.”

She put the soul in soul music, I could hear the pain, the fear, and the anger in her voice as she sang her heart out. The dead silence in the room was the most powerful thing. If a pin dropped in the speakeasy, it would be heard except, of course, the thrilling voice of the songstress drowns out its impact.

A couple of petal pushers, as I liked to call them, started going to tables. I dug my hand in my inner pocket and counted a grand. Here at Le Rubis Rouge, instead of tipping the performer directly like you would tip a waiter or waitress, you purchase flowers—red roses, and on some days, white roses, to be exact—and throw the roses on stage to show the performer some love. The performer in return gets the cash. I’m not sure whether or not they do receive the tips, but that was the system.

A baby-faced petal pusher with big blue eyes approached me with a smile. She always collected my tips, I suspected she was assigned to me or something. Surely, it couldn’t be a coincidence, there were nine other petal pushers.

I placed my cash on the tray. “That’s a hundred long-stem roses,” she said softly to me.

I nodded my head. “Be sure to throw fifty on stage and give her fifty.”

The lady nodded her head, smiling from ear to ear.

Aria smiled as roses were thrown on the stage, and whistles and claps erupted in the speakeasy. I smiled and clapped. Beautiful—everything about her was beautiful and graceful.

Her eyes scanned her audience, a bright smile on her face flashing her pearly whites. They landed on me, and she looked away.

I paid for my drinks, straightened my suit, and left the speakeasy. The only reason I came there was to watch her perform. I had come across the place by chance. A client of mine wanted to meet up at Le Rubis Rouge. Aria had been called up on stage in the middle of a conversation with the client, and she performed that night.

She had pulled at something deep within me—her voice, her music—they were enchanting and alluring. She was like a siren of soul music.

“Where are you now? If you’re done for the day, come out to my car. I’m out front,” I said to the person on the other side of the receiver.