Garbed in a spotless white robe, Michael stands with his head hunched over, his eyes concentrated on Today´s newspapers. They travel across the words rather quickly until they stop at the last word.
Then, he closes the pages and snickers when the amusing headline catches his eyes again.
Who knew that the seemingly unruffled red head had so much energy locked up within?
Interesting.
As is his ritual, he visits his workspace, secluded by a door in his bedroom. There is another wider, and more practical workplace downstairs, but he only uses it for serious business.
He scans the white sticker notes pasted on the big blackboard on the wall and gives an encompassing look at the pristine environment, compared to the bedroom beside it.
Lazily, he slides into his seat - the only chair in the small room - and makes a phone call.
"Blue…" He pauses after he and the sultry voice speak at the same time. "Yes. Good morning to you." He stretches and partially stifles a yawn with his hand.
"Report."
An hour later, he ends the call and studies the new notes he has added to his portfolio. Remnants of sleep still remain in his eyes and he sticks to blaming his assistant's serene voice for that.
Yawning again, the next thing in his routine is to spend another hour in the gym. Being a man of principles, such hours are not skippable. Health is wealth.
In the gym, he works out before a mirror, staring at the movement of his thin lips, the sprouting hair in unwanted areas, and the hair that needs a touch in one or more places.
There, he makes the decision of visiting a spa before his next schedule at 2 pm. Afterall, today's routine can allow for excesses.
Summer will end in a matter of weeks, is what he ponders as he steps out of his billion dollar mansion by eleven am. There's a difference in the air. Most plants have stopped to flower and the heat is less unbearable.
The people in the spa greet him warmly and with a lot of respect. The prettiest women attend to him, a flurry of courtesies and dazzling smiles.
Heaven, at least.
After what can be deemed as the coziest session ever had yet, he emerges looking sharper. His hair has been trimmed on the sides and his signature wavy hair is made more prominent. The line cutting across his left eyebrow is cleaner as well and his facial hair is now better to look at.
There is a strut to his walk, his shoulder squared and his head held high as always. The devilishly handsome man.
He sees it in the awe of the ladies, the turn of heads in recognition and revels in the admiration. Well-fed.
One of his drivers picks him up from there and transports him to the meeting place. And if there is anything else that he is known for, it is never being late.
Michael Gild is ushered in by another pretty lady. An arrogant smirk lifts the corner of his lips. Just one of the blessings that this path of life had given him – countless pretty things to look at.
He meets his assistant talking to a ratchet -looking man and she has a look of relief when she sees him. Odd.
"Sir," Blue gushes as if she has just run a race.
"Yes," he answers his assistant and gives her a once-over. She opens her mouth and closes it, visibly at loss for words.
"Is there a problem?" He prompts with a raised eyebrow.
"Ah… Not really. It's just that…" She trails off and throws a cautious glance to the huge brown door before her.
"David Sanders is not here yet."
Oh. And there is this other thing, he despises lateness.
A calm smile from him eases Blue Alton a little. "I am a bit ahead of time, though. He still has all the time to show up and I am sure he will be here before we know it."
Next, he makes for the door. I better be right .
The space he walks into is a conference room. It stirs a sense of dejavu at the back of his mind.The room being just as he remembers.
A projector on the far opposite of where he stood. Two brown ornate vases of unidentifiable plants stands by the opposite corners of the room, bright squared overhead white lights. Black, swiveling chairs and a long brown table, with black squares cut across it.
The dull colored room looks like it has been recently cleaned out.
What happened to an office? Am I that much of a threat?
Forty minutes later and Sanders shows up damn well late, and much to his chagrin. If this isn't him at the receiving end of this bargain, he would have postponed the deal with an excuse, leaving the other to fret.
You are lucky, he thinks.
"Michael Gild!" David greets in a familiar booming voice.
"David Sanders." He takes the palm offered to him. It is smooth but damp. He desists from shaking it with much energy. Gross.
"My pleasure to have you here," David says and just as he thinks that the handshake will never end, David releases his grip. Thank goodness.
"It is a pleasure to be here too." The man is even fatter in an all black suit but does not waste time in getting down to business. What becomes even more shocking is when he does not apologize for his lateness.
Michael has been here sometime two years ago, but with many other big fishes also. Had he been late then too? Try as he may, he cannot recall.
David rings a bell.
"Are the documents with you?"
"Of course. Why would we be here then?" Sanders´ voice still booms like there is a speaker lodged in his voice box.
A knock is heard and the ratchet guy from earlier comes in bearing a suitcase. He props it on the table and leaves without a word.
David slides the suitcase towards him without crosschecking.
Imprudence.
He takes it, pops the confidential tag open and inhales the whiff of freshly printed paper.
"Perfect," he comments after going through it carefully.
Michael drafts a mental note to thank Simeon Walton for his magnanimous gesture to him and to thank Anderson for connecting him to the man in the first place.
"Thank you."
David, in this case has just been an easy means of transportation of the crucial files as circumstances has allowed and is only handing it to him in person to honour his high status. He can feel David´s curious eyes on him though, probably trying to guess what papers he could be looking at.
"Have all your shares been accumulated?" David asks.
Yes. These are the last batches, thanks to Simeon. But, he answers curtly, "quite."
It is no information that David has had his shares long prepared for the journey ahead. However, Michael does not view him as a contender.
Not in the least. The fat man just does not have what it takes and seems not have learnt his lesson yet.
"Melanie and Loreen are vying for your throne," David clucks like he too does not have his eyes on it.
"So, I heard." He had gotten an edge over Loreen the day before. Melanie James is distant from him, tucked in New York.
Fortunately for her.
"Those women think that they stand a chance," David continues. Michael's eyes narrow. "Their place is in the kitchen."
Ah, he realizes. David is that kind of man. "Is that where your wife is?"
"That is her place."
Poor woman. It is a pity that he has no time to play defense, still silently mourning a non-existent apology for lateness.
"We will see about it." Those women could win, but not when he still exists.
"What do you mean?"
His teeth flash in a bright, quick smile and Michael gets to his feet. "I have other things to attend to. Permit me to take my leave. Nice doing business with you, David Sanders."
David gets to his feet but not as smoothly as Michael did. "Nice doing business with you, Michael Gild."
Uncomfortably, Michael registers the sound echo and bounce off the walls.
He is in high spirits as he exits the building with Blue. But what he does not expect is the paparazzi flocked outside. That he is here is privy information. Who had given his location away?
In question, he turns to Blue. She manages a nervous but sympathetic smile and looks away. His jaw tenses and releases. There is nothing that can be done anyway but to face the onslaught of questions.
"There is a glitch in line two," Alfred, the manager of his telecommunications branch reports less than two minutes from his settlement in his office.
"For how long?"
"Ten minutes now." Michael winces. Time costs money.
"Have you alerted the diagnostics team?"
"Yes. I have. But the baby is proving to be a hard nut to pull out." Both chuckle at the unusual joke and they converse a bit after that.
"Keep me pasted," Michael dismisses him eventually.
While he starts the computer, his mind strays to the account on renovative ideas for his newest petroleum refinery in Texas.
It strays to the deal he has to strike before weekend and wanders somewhere else.
"Slow down," he chides himself quietly.
Then, he gets to work.