Page 23 of Unraveling an Enigma
My grip on the cell tightens. “I told you I didn’t care about the price. I want it done. Get it fucking done,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Alright. I should have an answer by the end of the week.”
Not bothering to reply, I snap down the screen of the phone. A ragged breath escapes my lips as my eyes wander pointlessly around the old warehouse. My muscles are deliriously exhausted, which has dampened the urge of desire roaring through my veins, giving the effect I was striving for when I arrived here hours ago.
Noticing I only have a little over an hour before my reservation with Cormack, I shower in the old locker rooms instead of driving back to my apartment. I haven’t been back to my residence since it was trashed. Catherine organized a cleaning crew to come in the following day. All the furniture and broken items have been replaced, but I can’t bring myself to go back there yet. It was my private oasis, my home, but now it feels like an empty shell.
The thick pelts of the scorching hot water knead and massage my weary muscles. Closing my eyes, I lean my palms flat against the dirty, mildew-covered tiles before hanging my head low into the stream of water. The sting of the high-pressure water on the back of my neck relieves a headache that has been plaguing me for the past three days.
I generally survive on approximately four hours sleep a night, but even that small amount of sleep has eluded me. During my restless sleep, my hands instinctively dart out to pull Isabelle toward me. It is only when my hands come up empty does the complexity of the situation dawn on me, then any endeavor for sleep is lost.
Climbing out of the shower, I dry myself with a white gym towel I have in my bag. Its material is so old and frayed it scratches my skin as I run it over my body. It reminds me of the way Isabelle’s nails rake down my back when she is in ecstasy.Fuck, why can’t I just forget her?
Ignoring the erection I’m now sporting, I dress myself in the suit I was wearing when I arrived, but I forgo the vest, tie, and jacket. My body is still overheated from the intense workout, so I don’t want to be constrained by a tie.
* * *
The restaurant hostess’s lips curve into a vast grin as I pace toward her. “Good evening, Mr. Holt,” she purrs with a bat of her incredibly long lashes.
“April,” I greet her with a curt nod of my head. The sharpness of my voice makes her smile falter and her shoulders to somewhat slump.
I continue on my quest, not bothering to wait for her to usher me to the booth I frequent every week. Cormack and I have done the same routine every week for the past five years. It only faltered the past month because Isabelle was in the picture, and I couldn’t risk taking her out in public for the fear of Col seeing us together.
For the past five years, every Friday night, Cormack and I eat dinner at this specific restaurant. It charges exorbitant prices for the most minuscule portions of food you could imagine. We drink its most expensive bottle of whiskey it offers and smoke its even more expensive cigars. One would probably wonder why we dine here if we find the food quality is not on par with the exorbitant fare. We do it because we can.
We came to this restaurant when I earned my first million dollars. I invested heavily in stocks with every cent I made fighting. Even though some weeks I was making seven thousand dollars a fight, I always lived as if I were a poor student who didn’t have a penny to my name. I kept my grades up so my scholarship would remain valid, and I ate ramen noodles and canned spaghetti for supper like every other student around me. No one, except Cormack, knew my bank account was stealthily growing at a rapid rate.
With how turbulent the stock market was, it took a little longer than I would have liked to have my bank account show its first million-dollar balance, but once it was there for all to see, the feeling of achievement was glorious and incalculable.
The first time we walked through these doors, we were only young, I was just shy of my twentieth birthday. We dressed in what we thought at the time was respectable clothing. We both wore long sleeve dress shirts and black trousers. We even rustled up two old ties out of some clothing Cormack grabbed in haste when he left his family estate with no intentions of ever returning.
The restaurant manager took one look at us and attempted to have us thrown out by his security officers. After scuffling with two security guards, and leaving one with a broken nose, I courteously informed the restaurant manager that I was going to buy the restaurant and fire his ass on the very first day I owned it. I did precisely that eleven months later.
My hunger for success was embedded in me from a very young age. When I was four years old, I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. My parents were advised that my only chance of surviving was to have a high dosage of chemotherapy combined with a stem cell transplant.
My parents were tested; neither were found to be a genetic match, which is not unusual. Most genetic matches only occur in siblings, and those odds themselves sit at only one in four. Luckily for me, Nick was a perfect match. That may have had something to do with the fact he was conceived in a test tube to save my life.
With a high dose of chemotherapy and the stem cells from Nick’s umbilical cord, I survived, and my fighting spirit was unleashed.
People say when you are five years old that your memories are vague and are customarily more from the stories you were told growing up. Mine aren’t. I remember. After four days of high dosage chemotherapy, I felt invincible when Nick’s stem cells were transplanted. I knew at that precise moment I was going to live, and I promised myself I was going to live my life to the fullest. I also assured my baby brother that one day I'd repay him for giving me the gift of life. Every day I actively pursue that promise.
Nick is apprehensive about accepting my generosity. His reluctance is spawned from watching our mother be a mooch for the majority of his life. My parents were already going through the process of separation before Nick joined our family. He glued them together for a few more years, but like all glue, it eventually dried, and their marriage failed. My mother wanted possessions. My father wanted love. It is very rare that you can have both.
Sliding into the booth, I greet Cormack with a nod of my head before signaling to the waiter to bring us the whiskey and cigars.
“Izz. . .” Cormack attempts to state before I cut him off with a stern look.
“Can I at least get a glass of whiskey before you mention her name?” My tone is as dreary as my mood.
Cormack is the one and only person I consider a true friend. Most are acquaintances, business associates, or staff. I class him as my friend, a very dear friend, but even he is treading a fine line by mentioning her name to me.
Cormack chuckles, not appearing the slightest bit fazed by my infuriating glance. Arching his brow high into the air, his blue eyes stare firmly into mine. “You might want to ask them to leave the whole bottle then, as I plan on mentioning her name more than once.”
Isaac
“Hey boss, I’m surprised you are still here,” Tina says, prancing seductively into my office and propping herself on my mahogany desk.
Before Isabelle, I'd usually spend my nights in my office to meticulously watch the sales come rolling in. Literally, thousands of transactions are made every night in each of my clubs. Even though I charge exorbitant prices for my drinks, not one patron bats an eyelid at being charged inflated prices. They are willing to pay the price for the privilege of drinking in sophisticated establishments like mine. The Dungeon is my greatest business achievement thus far. It is an over-eighteen dance club that grew to the number one dance club in our state within two months of opening. The whole club has been designed with sex and sensuality in mind. That old saying will never die. Sex does sell, and I use it in my business adventures at every opportunity.
