The last thing I picked before leaving my house was the straight and short turquoise wig, made of real hair, that doesn't even hit my shoulders, which I'll use this time when I come around MI6. Every time I drop by MI6 or Interpol, I use one. I have a collection of 177 different wigs of all colors and types of hair and lengths, all costing around £50.000, so about £8.850.000 spent of my precious wigs.
I learned how to use them properly with mami's hair stylish back when we were living in the US. I was 13 years old by then. Tasha Thalya Smith, and an amazing women.
Anyways, I hurried out of the house, wig in my left hand, key in the right one, crossbody black Prada handbag and my Chanel black backpack on me. Dior black denim pants on, matching with a Valentino black silk shirt, a Prada black glittery jacket, with my Givenchy high- heeled platform black boots, and my hair in a high bun, my square reading gold eyeglasses with sunlight protection on.
But before I could get in my black Rolls-Royce Spectre, as the gold Bvlgari watch on my wrists marked 7:10 am, a dark green Lamborghini Urus parked in front of my car, and I instantly knew who it was, as Desmond is the owner of Lamborghini. "I see that you are not the type to get late to important affairs, Des-Desmond," I mocked as he came out of the driver's seat. But then I froze when more two bulking tall attractive man came out of the passenger and of the back seat.
One of them had tanned skin, strawberry blonde hair, and a beach-boy vibe to him, and well, that one is definitely gay, so I think he must be Michelangelo, as Desmond said he was a queer Fantasy-Romance R-rated writer, and that's probably a requirement to writing the books, being queer. In a dark purple suit that suits him in a way I don't think anybody would be able to make that work as well as he does. He's slightly taller than Desmond.
On the other hand, the other had sun-kissed dark chocolate skin, angular sexy features, black buzzed hair, dark eyebrows, and a stern look on his face, probably Caelan, as he doesn't look anything like Carla, which means he's the club owner. In a dark yellow nearing light brown suit that looks dashing on his muscled body, and that none of his friends would make it work as good as he does. As tall as Desmond.
While Desmond, well, he's again in a green suit, but in a darker shade than the one he was dressed in yesterday.
Each of them caring one black leather suitcases. Big ones.
"Michelangelo and Caelan?" I tested my suspicious and their eyes widened with surprise. "Did I get it switched?"
"Nope, you got it right," Michelangelo giggled lively, as easygoing as his looks say he is. "What gave it away?"
"You are not straight, and you are nothing alike Carla!" My blunt words got a gasp from them, but they let it aside and didn't complain. "Is that my money?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Yes. £600.000 in each suitcase," Desmond came closer and I felt all of their eyes taking in my fashion. "You like Prada?"
"I own Prada," I said with no expression.
"You can own it and not like it," he rolled his shoulders.
"If I didn't like it, I wouldn't be using the products," I said shortly, sighing, I opened the door of my place again, grabbed the suitcases and set them on the ground, centimeters away from the door, then I closed it again and locked it. Rummaging through my Prada handbag, I grabbed the three keychains and turned to them. "There you go, 5th, 8th, and 9th. If you want to move already, move to the 5th and 9th, Cassie hasn't finished with her moving yet, but tomorrow you can. Ah," I turned to Desmond. "Tell Cassie and Sera that if any of them touch the suitcases with my money, I'll impale them with the severed cock of the last wankers they fucked."
His jaw dropped, and so did his friends. "What?" He gasped.
"Just tell them that, they will know it was me and won't touch it." They are familiar with my passive-aggressiveness. "Is that all?"
"Are you leaving the country?" Desmond asked, looking at me.
"Technically, not the UK though. I have business in London, it's a Mayfair renovation project I got," I lied professionally.
"And the blue wig?" Caelan frowned in disbelief.
"It's not blue, it's turquoise!" Michelangelo corrected, waving his fingers, and only then I noticed that his nails were polished the same shade of the wig in my hand, which brought an amused grin to my lips.
"He's right, it's turquoise. It's for a friend with cancer," I'm sorry, God, I swear I'll pay for my sins one day. "She loves shade of green and blue, and the colors in between, like turquoise." I'm so full of shite, I've been lying for so long now that it doesn't even baffles me.
"It's a pretty wig, I bet she'll look amazing," the soft man purred.
"She will," I nodded. "Now I have to go, I'm late for my flight."
"Why don't you just go on a jet?" Desmond chuckled.
"I am going on my jet, but I have a schedule," I scoffed. "Ruffian."
He gasped, "I'm not a ruffian."
"That's not what the constellations are telling me, Des-Desmond, the Ruffian," I mocked him and his zodiac shite, opening my car's door.
"Didn't you had a Bugatti Chiron yesterday?" Desmond asked.
"I still do," then I pointed to my parents mansion in the other side of the street, now that he already knows I own it, thanks to the girls' big arse mouth. "It's in my garage in there, together with other 36 cars." I have more in Lyon, and in London, and I'll move all of them when I'm done with the reformation of the garage in Rosewood Manor. "And 13 bikes," I got inside the driver's seat of my Rolls-Royce, and they followed me.
"You know, you bought that car from me," he purred.
"Then make good use of my money, ruffian," I countered before closing the door, locking it, and blocking myself from the outside world, throwing the stupid wig in the passenger seat.
Connecting my iPhone to the speaker, I put Single Soon by Selena Gomez to play on my Spotify, adjust my seat, locked my seatbelt, and began to drive myself to the airport where Marina Varșovia, my private pilot, is already waiting for me.
❁ ❁ ❁
Ignoring Konrad Hudson, uncle Heath's annoying secretary, I got inside his office, wig on, glasses staying, five shopping bags on my arms, three on the left from Loro Piana, Ferrero, and the best Scotch whisky brand, and two on the right both from Givenchy, my crossbody Prada on. That is, only to walk in to him having his nut blown by someone.
"Getting those flames sucked from your body, are you, Phoenix?" I mocked and he let out a startled yelp, making whoever was under his desk, sucking his old flaccid cock, hit their head on the top of the desk.
"Daddy," a woman groaned is a high-pitched slutty voice, after a second, "careful, you came all over my mouth."
"I truly hope you're into a daddy kink instead of being incestuous, boss," I couldn't help mocking that too, and he turned bright red with pure embarrassment. "You do remember you have a wife, right?"
"Shut up, Countess," he growled, "it's my wife here."
That makes me profoundly relieved.
"Oh? Is lil raven here?" Harriet crawled out of the desk, cleaning her mouth that was still smeared white with his release on her mouth. "AH," she beamed, eyes on the Givenchy shopping bags pending from my arm, "AHHHHHH," she does love it, indeed. "Is that for me?"
She's young. They got married when she was 24. Uncle Heath is 72 but looks 50, and she's 31 but looks 25, no wonder they have a daddy kink going on, he's old enough to be her father. Well, her grandfather even. She has white skin, baby blue eyes, with golden blonde straight long hair, 1.76m of height, and a skinny model body.
"Yep, Phoenix bought them directly from me for you, as I'm the owner of the brand, I got unreleased products. A handbag and a high-heel, all black, since he told me you're into black now. I know your taste, so I handpicked them. They are yet to come out in December."
I handed the two shopping bags to her. Only then I walked to uncle Heath's desk, now that he had gotten a hold of himself and zipped up again.
"Your Loro Piana shoe from the unreleased collection, the best Scotch whisky I found, and the Ferrero Rocher with 150 truffles."
His eyes glowed, "Look, baby girl, we already have the best snack for the date under the stars you asked me. Scotch whisky and chocolate!" His words making her jump around like a golden retriever.
"I love you, daddy. You don't find it weird that I call him that?"
"Nah, It's one of the best kinks out there!" I'm secretly into it.
"Ugh, you're the best, lil raven."
"Now, can you hand me the mission I've been asking you?" I asked sobbingly with a small pout, that made Harriet's eyes wave with desire to pay back my kindness for always getting her whatever she wants from the brands I own, it's a two way road, I don't feel bad for using her to get what I want from uncle Heath.
"I don't know what is it, but you should give it to her, daddy!"
Yes.
Fuckity fucking fuck, yes!!!!