Page 18 of Unwrapping the Billionaire

“We therefore commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

“Do your shit,” I hiss at her. “I get it. I’m a bad man. My ex-wife hates me, and my ex-secretary is snapping at her heels to call it, as well.”

No friends.

No family.

I’m back in that hospital room again with my Mom, watching her flat-line, and not being able to do a thing about it. I’d never felt so alone until the night Grace left me.

I’m choking up with panic now.

“I don’t beg for anything, Future, but make this happen…please.”

Grace shouldn’t have to beg for her father’s company back, either.

“…shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air…”

“Shut the fuck up!” I howl at the priest, as my casket is lowered into the ground.

I need Grace.

I need that moment when I drive into her body and everything feels right again. I’ve never felt so whole as when she’s beneath me, ending me… moaning out my name as she’s gripping my dick and my soul.

The realization has me staggering backward, and then I’m falling,falling, until my shoulders are slamming into the ground, six feet below.

I’m lying in an empty grave—soaking wet and hurting. I look up and Future is standing over me, blocking out the gunmetal sky with her loaded shovel.

“Don't you fucking do it,” I curse at her, but she just laughs and empties the dirt all over my three thousand-dollar suit.

I try to scrabble to my feet, but the ground is as slippery as oil, and I go crashing down again as another shovelful lands on my chest. It reeks of death and my father’s ghost… Somewhere in the distance, I can hear him cackling again.“You’re riding an express elevator down to the hot place, son, and let me tell you, there’s no shade when you get there…”

I open my mouth to scream when another shovelful lands square in my face.

* * *

I’m still coughingand spluttering when I wrench my eyes open. That was horrific. It’s right up there in the Jonas Farley Shitty Life Experiences Hall of Fame.

The lights are blindingly bright. I blink rapidly, and try to focus as a voice starts talking in a cut-glass British accent.

“Would you like to try the wine, sir? The sommelier is exceedingly proud of this vintage. Bursts of dark berries, with just the smallest hint of cardamom and bay…”

Would you like to remove the stick from your ass, and maybe go play in the traffic?I’m in a restaurant—a pretentious one by the sounds of it. The kind I liked to patron when there was nothing in my life other than eating, fucking and making millions…

I’m sat at a large round table, along with six other faces I don’t recognize, and they’re all staring up at the waiter.

Future has taken a vacation from this scene. I can’t see her anywhere… I’m hoping her flight gets delayed, indefinitely.

“Just pour the wine,” snaps the man sitting next to me. “And then keep ‘em coming. We’re celebrating BIG tonight…”

What, your bankruptcy?I glance at the wine’s label as the waiter sets to work. It’s a thousand-dollar bottle of Château Margaux.

“Here’s to you, Nathan,” brays one of his buddies, raising his glass in toast to him.

“And to the dissolution of Parker & Fisk Publishing,” says another.

My head snaps back to Grace’s brother again.

“I think weallneed to raise a toast to my feckless sister as well, don't you?” Nathan Parker laughs nastily, and smashes his glass into the others. “I played the long game, boys,” he crows, “and tonight it came to an eighty million-dollar fruition.”

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