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They all knew him
His stature was enough to grab your attention, tall, strong, waves of dominating machismo emanating from his every action, his large hands casually dipped in his pocket in a blasé manner, and his wide shoulders laid back, his hair styled with gel to represent some golden-age blond Freddy Astaire. He was sculpted much in the same way the sculptures of the god he was named after was.
If one was blind and couldn’t see his stature, then as rare as it came his thunderous deep voice peppered with sarcasm would pierce at your ears until you came to recognize him without prompting. If you were both blind and deaf then your crazing senses would pick up on the cologne that seemed to live in his skin, a fragrance that mingled musky wood with high tones of spring water freshness, fresh saw dust when it wanted to be, star anise when he smiled, Tonka bean, vetiver, nobody could completely tell the components of his cologne or how one scent grew over the others according to his mood, it was simply a mystery as much of him was, but it was his and he was its owner.
He was everywhere he could possibly be and nowhere at the same time, some sort of enigma that appeared, dazzled and disappeared with his trademark nonchalant smile. He played tennis at Wimbledon, Basketball at the Lakers, Kayaked in south America, skated in Reykjavik, and when it wasn’t sport he was showing up at, he was in a gallery with the newest artistic marvel in Vienna, and if that artistic marvel happened to be a woman, then they would ask if the two were dating, she would blush and say she wished he noticed her, he would never speak. When art and sports were not on his agenda, he was with the newest scientific marvel, or the best philosophical sage, which tickled him at times when he found himself considered one. He was having tea with the Turks, a linguistic lord in his own right, perfection seemed to be the code by which he lived by; simply perfection.
“are you going to call me?”
the cherry blonde asks in a shrill fairy voice, tones of magnetic intrigue peppered all over her voice as she smiles down at him, her eyelids battering as a little girl before a winged pony would look. He turns in bed and opens one sharp gold-flecked aqua eye at her, gauging if she was serious and finding that she could never be
“no.”
He gruffly says, shutting his eye to signal the end of the conversation. If she persisted or cried he would offer a shopping spree with one of his less expensive cards and file a restraining order. He smiles dryly at the thought, at the end of it all he would have some sort of record number of restraining orders and wouldn’t have a woman within a hundred meter radius of him.
Aubrey’s jaws drop at the slick sentence that had fully dismissed her, finding herself embarrassed beyond relief to have even thought that Dionysius Plutarch would bother with her after getting what he wanted from her last night. She grabs onto the opalescent bathing robe he had lent her for foreplay and grabs her clothes, feeling vulnerable and indecent, and somewhat unworthy of his presence and attention, like a child who had told a highly inappropriate joke to the Greek god sleeping on his grand bed in fade to grey tones that blended with blues and indigos. She picks her shoes and rushes to the bathroom, feeling that if she didn’t bother him when he was sleeping he might see how good a girl she is and change his mind about calling her.
Onassis opens the pantry and picks out a gift hamper judging from the looks of the lady he had seen Sir Plutarch bring home last night. Handing the hamper to the bell boy for the young lady as she left the house, she seemed more of a jewelry and shopping type of girl as opposed to a tickets and chocolates kind or a vacation kind. Kostas takes it and walks to the woman pulling on her clothes as she rushes down the stairs, nothing new about the scene as he hands her the hamper with a smile
“thank you for coming.”
He brightly says, having found a sadistic enjoyment in that particular innuendo in that tone to the materialistic minded number of women his employer paraded through the halls of the mansion whenever he was home or in the newspapers whenever he wasn’t.
Aubrey almost cries at the words, feeling that it was final now that she had so greatly displeased Dionysius she would never be back here. However her tears are dried by the verve jewelry box with the famous American Swiss logo on it and a golden looking credit card, reason finding its way back to her. She had wanted it, she had wanted to sleep with the virile Greek tycoon just like every woman would, and he, in knowing her deep desirous need for him, had responded, if only for a night. That was enough...
Dionysius reaches for the ringing phone
“Good morning Sir.” Myrtle says formally
“What do you have for me today?” he asks stepping out of the bed
“John Gray wants to meet you in Dundee, you put him on a high priority list, said he was the greatest political philosopher of our times.” She states swinging on her chair as she spoke, it was always worth getting out of bed at four to have these talks with Adonis, her boss
“when?” he asks walking to the bathroom and switching on the extension there, grateful that the woman he had brought home last night hadn’t been those people who took comfort in showering in other people’s bathrooms
“Lunch time or tomorrow would be appropriate considering the time difference.” She says hearing the shower going on behind her, the thoughts of her boss naked filling her mind and causing her to bite back on her lip to suppress her thoughts
One day she’ll be in there with him and it will be the most glorious ever.
“what else?” he investigates
“Meetings mainly, at eight you have a board meeting, at ten the American board is still trying to convince you to open a plant there, at three you’re meeting the Japanese again, the Charity Angel meeting you said you’ll go for has been highly publicized and will be full.” She lists down, trying to calm her racing nerves, the pellets of hot water, and she could only suppose it was hot water, hitting against her skin as if she was vicariously there naked with him in the shower
Dionysius flips his wet hair back and turns to the extension
“Charity meeting?” he wonders opening the door to the shower slightly in case he heard wrong, Myrtle panicking, thinking it might be a woman joining him in the shower as it had happened before
“What charity meeting Myrtle??” he impatiently demands
“The Charity Angel’s meeting, you told Sophie Stanislavsky you would go for and she announced it to the world.” Myrtle states, trying to be calm and collected in case of anything or any sounds that might discomfort or make her want him more
“Who?” he inquires bluntly
“Miss Universe.” Myrtle says, finding that only her boss would have no qualms about not remembering a meeting with Miss Universe.
Dionysius grunts softly and then wipes the water off his face
“Another plastic surgery success story.” He dryly says grabbing his towel, Myrtle holding back a comment to his support.
He hangs up and calls the kitchen
“Beatriz, something with whisky or maybe rum, something that doesn’t leave a scent but wakes me up more.” He announces flatly
“Would you like rum raisins in your pancakes then sir?” she investigates
“And my espresso as well. Nothing meaty either so forget mini burgers.” He adds then hangs up, pressing the wardrobe as he brushes his teeth
“Herman... grey.” He announces,
Herman turning to the dominantly grey suits and deciding on a pearl grey coloured one with a slate grey coat, an ivory coloured vest and an ivory coloured bib front dress shirt
“Colton, the silver chopper, I hear of traffic. I don’t like to be late to fire the late people.” He dryly says and then shaves, stepping out of the room to start his day as he usually did...on his own terms...
