THE BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET WIFE

5; Mr. Bianchi.

CHAPTER 5- “Mr. Bianchi”.

Alessandro Vittorio Bianchi.

My eyes flickered open, and I was instantly welcomed by the rays of light peeping in through the window. The action was accompanied by a throbbing headache, a reminder of the events of last night as it all came rushing back, like a truck crashing into one.

A deep sigh escaped my lips as I flicked my eyes close again, then extended my hand out to pull in the body of the woman with me last night, not quite into leaving the bed yet. However, I was met with an empty, cold, making my brows draw in and my lips to tug downwards into a frown.

I peeled my eyes open again, my frown now prominent as I eyed the empty space from which I could still scent that addicting scent from the night before, lingering heavy on the sheets and pillow.

Pushing myself to a sitting position, I looked around the room, taking note of the absence of the clothes belonging to the said woman, leaving me with one thought regarding the matter.

Ignoring the headache, I made my way to the adjoined en suite to take a shower. After the said shower, I stepped out with a towel wrapped around my lower half of the body, then made my way over to the bedside cabinet so I can pick up my phone and call my assistant, however, as I picked up the phone, something that was placed underneath it got my attention.

A note. One that was definitely not there the night before when the phone was placed there.

With furrowed brows, I picked up the note with my other hand, a messy handwriting coming into sight with a note addressed to none other than me.

‘I apologize for last night; it was a mistake. You were not so bad though.’

That was it, nothing less, nothing more. She did not even leave behind her name initials or anything. And what exactly did she just write? A mistake? I was not bad?

As if on a mission to baffle me to the extent none other has ever done before, my gaze fell on what was underneath the note. A small scoff, bordering laugh escaped my lips as I picked up the dollar notes there—300 dollar notes. Really? 300 dollars?

Did she just tip me after the left behind note?

Shaking my head at the audacity, as well as quite intrigued if I am honest, I held the dollar notes and note in one hand, then called my assistant on the earlier picked up phone. He picked up on the first ring, and my voice instantly came, bare of the amusement from earlier.

“Come in.” With those words alone, I ended the call, tossing the phone aside on the bed. As I stared at the money and note in my hand, I could not help but find myself scoffing again, my lower lip drawn between my lips as I tried to categorize how I feel exactly regarding the matter.

Insulted that she said I am not bad? Or that she only deemed me worthy of 300 dollars? Or that she even thought of tipping me to begin with?

Did I seem like a caller boy?

Perhaps, I should be enraged, given for the first time in my life, someone has looked down on me.

Then again, on another hand, I am honestly amused by the audacity, and intrigued as well by the mysterious woman.

As I pondered over what my reaction should be exactly, perhaps a mix of it all, there was a knock on the door. The slight smile that was on my face earlier disappeared, as I spoke. “Come in,”

I heard the door open almost immediately, and the familiar voice of my assistant came. “Here is your change of outfit and essentials, Mr. Bianchi,” From the corner of my eyes, I saw him drop it on the bed carefully. “I will be waiting outside.” He closed the door behind him as he walked out.

I dropped what is in my hand on the bed, then turned around and got dressed for the day. Once fully dressed, I picked up my phone, then eyed the money and note—contemplating on whether to just leave it behind. However, a thought crossed my mind, and I found myself picking up both and slipping it into the pocket of my suit pants, before stepping out.

Just as he had said earlier, my assistant was waiting outside in the small living room that accompanied the VIP rooms of the club, a place I certainly did not expect to spend my night, if ever if I am honest.

I could tell my assistant shared the same thought, for I could see the question in his eyes as to how I ended up here, but he did not vocalize it. Instead, he asked. “Would you want me to ask them to bring breakfast here, Sir?”

“Don’t bother,” I waved it off. “I am not in the mood,” And, I am not a fan of breakfast to begin with—it is my least favorite food of the day, and I avoid it almost completely.

He knows that, I guess the only reason he brought it up is because me spending the night here is already surprising enough—I guess he wanted to see the extent to how many surprises I can give him in less than 24 hours.

Making my way out, he followed behind me. Instead of going up the path that will lead back to the club, I decided to take the private pathway instead that lead to the underground parking lot, as the last thing I want is to be back in that crowd of loud music—I am already nursing a hangover.

My car was waiting outside, and the moment I appeared the back door was opened for me. And once I was in, it was closed behind me. My assistant got in the passenger seat, while the driver revved the car to life. It was quiet for the first few minutes, until I broke the silence.

“Gerald Walker,” I called out the name of the man whom I met last night at the club for a meeting, an older man whom I have been considering a business with him. “Cancel the deal with him.”