Chapter 17 Harrison
HARRISON
As we relax and agree on the last deal points over lunch, I calm. Even if they are both great friends, the points must be covered.
CEO Troy Remington runs his family movie studio out of NYC, and Rhett Crown runs global advertising agencies. Again, a powerful CEO.
If the deal goes well, Troy, Rhett and I will have shared teams, shared costs, and monies saved.
We will also have almost endless media outlets, cinema chain access and supportive TV stations.
And that means a nearly unlimited finance platform because we should be able to finance any movie we wish to green light.
It should also mean, from the media and advertising side, we have access to endless car, bank, tech, and other brands to provide advertising for.
Also, an almost immeasurable revenue stream this side of the world and in Europe.
That will give us massive momentum, and that would give us unlimited global expansion potential.
I would be able to start buying up smaller media companies around the world. Anything worth under half a billion, we could buy, align, and expand.
I calm now that we are near the end.
There is only one problem: the young, slick attorney they’d brought up.
He was becoming painful to deal with, and after I rang the small bell that ushered Samantha in thirty minutes ago, he ogled her.
As she smiled at me professionally, I felt calmer.
Then, as she carried out the large silver tray, the young attorney and his hair gel made a soft whistle.
Troy, Rhett, and I would never pull that kind of shit. Especially in a friend’s home.
As we push on and go through the agreement points, Samantha works back down the end of the room.
While she is cleaning up, the young attorney looks up and eyes her. “Who the fuck is she?”
“She is off the menu,” I say way too fast, “and you need to focus.”
Troy and I stand to stretch, and we share a look.
The cocky young attorney looks back at her, and it’s as if he is made of iron. “How so?”
“Because I fucking said so.”
I look at Rhett. He can sense the energy changing.
Walking to the window, I peer out, standing in silence. Rhett stands next to me, and I look at him.
Across the room, Troy and the attorney drink juice.
“Out,” I say low to Rhett. Rhett nods ever so slightly, and he walks back to the juice table.
“Look, we’ve nailed down most contractual details, as you know. Return to the jet and prepare the final agreement draft.”
“I’d rather stay for dessert,” he says as Samantha walks back in.
I turn, and Rhett and Troy catch my killer glare.
The young attorney smiles, and he watches Samantha. Watches her like a predator. It’s not on, and I want him off the property.
As I walk towards him, Rhett and Troy intercept me.
“Agreement now,” Rhett says sternly, pointing to the door.
“And fast,” Troy demands.
The energy in the room has changed, and Samantha senses it too. She shoots me a look, and I look at her protectively.
I am about to tear him in two, but I need to watch myself.
The cocky attorney pauses, but he quickly realizes he’s messed up. I avoid the pup’s eyes, and he leaves in shame. He had his fucking chance. I follow Samantha to the door, holding it open for her and her big tray. “You okay?”
“Of course, dear,” Samantha says before leaning in close. “And thanks, the guy’s a creep.”
Troy, Rhett, and I work on the rest of the complex deal, including what combined companies of ours would handle what, and what new companies we would merge or build together.
Merging divisions, companies and resources into a large conglomerate is complex. We dig in, and we move fast. We are decisive, and I am now more relaxed.
Now that the young pup is off the property, we quickly align our entities, interests, and the investment capital.
When I drive Troy and Rhett back to their jet on our small airstrip, I avoid the pup’s eyes. Troy and Rhett have lightened up, and the three of us hug.
“You must like this one,” Troy says.
“And great to see you, Harry,” Rhett says, an arm on my shoulder. “Well done, too. If we can pull this off and lock down Asia, it will be huge.”
“When,” I say, smiling. I then pause, unsure what to say. “Look, about her...”
My media tycoon friends look at me. They know I’m private as hell.
“She must be special,” Troy says.
I nod. “She is, I think.”
“Then you did the right thing. Fight for her,” Rhett agrees.
“And claim her as yours,” Troy says with a look.
They board Troy’s private jet, and I drive around the lake to my chateau and girl. There is only one thing: She is not mine… yet.
The question is: Can and should I change that, and then close the media deal?
After a long run to cleanse my energy, I return home. As I work out in the gym, William drops by. He asks if he should return when I have more time, but I say now is fine.
As I pump iron, we discuss staff, the estate, and livestock details. There is nothing I need to note down, and we close the meeting casually.
As William turns to leave, he pauses. It seems out of character, so I stop what I’m doing. “Yes?” I ask, catching my breath.
“May I make a simple observation, Master Harry?”
“Of course.”
“Sir, your dedication to remaining single is commendable. Your dedication in maintaining the estate, family holdings and wealth, also courageous. As are your large-scale movie and media projects.”
“But?”
“Your parents would be proud, if I may say so.”
We exchange a look, and I bow my head. “Thank you, William. You can be straight with me. You do know that.”
“I would just like to say, after meeting many of your, how shall I put it…”
“Rides in the hay of the day.”
“Yes, perhaps. I would just like to point out, that I suspect, she…”
“William?”
“Sir, Miss Samantha would appear to be somewhat of a cut above the rest.”
He has a point, and I walk to the window. I look down at the lake, and I am quickly deep in thought.
“You’re not wrong, my friend, but there is a time and place for everything. I have a lot on.”
William walks close in his old-fashioned tweed jacket. He stands with his thick leather diary, and we look across the estate.
“Noted. There is, however, a small chance if the master is slow to, say, close, another gentleman may…”
We exchange a look, and I nod.
Suddenly, there is a noise across the gym, and with a bounce in her step, Samantha enters. We both look at her and pause.
“What?” she asks, confused.
“Nothing, how may I help?” I ask coldly, distracted.
“Dinner.”
William gives me a look, and I close my eyes. “Sorry, please, come in,” I say.
Samantha walks in, wearing her skin-tight, black yoga clothes. “Sorry about the clothing, working out, you know. So, what would you like to eat?”
I look down at her. She is red-cheeked from working out and covered with a light film of sweat. I want to eat her, and I want to lick every surface of her. Inside and out.
“Harry?”
“Sorry, what?” I ask, distracted.
Samantha squints at me, and I shake my head. Dear God. I’m losing it.
And now of all times!
The next day, as I consider William’s point, I try not to think about Samantha. Or her playful manner and her wit. Her likable energy and her spunk. And her tight butt, curves, her taste, her lips, and eyes.
I workout and burn off my rising sexual energy. It’s key I do not let it screw up my duties, or my plans to build the world’s biggest entertainment conglomerate.
After an hour of pumping iron, I run through my estate. I make it around the forest and lake, then I reach the front entrance again.
William has just pulled up in the Land Rover, and he has more than usual in his arms.
I help the old gent with the Rover door, and he steps out with courier packs and parcels.
“Thank you, Master Harry,”
“My pleasure, how may I help?”
“Well, I can get these, but those are rather awkward.”
The back is filled with a ridiculous amount of flowers. “Jesus.”
“Indeed.”
“For?”
“Well, Master, it would appear young Samantha has an admirer.”
My jaw tenses, and I don’t like it. Opening the back, I read the card as William watches. I give zero fucks.
‘Thinking of You.’
I inhale and mumble low, “Thinking of Killing You.”
I lift the two armfuls of flowers and consider burning them. My flowing, positive, free energy that I just cultivated for ninety minutes is gone.
Now, I want arse, but not only hers. Now, I need to know who the hell thinks they have the right. The right to send her…
Anything.
I prepare to burn the flowers when I decide to be the better person. The other me. The one who I did not become.
Instead of leaving the flowers in the kitchen for her, I take them upstairs.
I carry the two large bunches up the marble steps, feeling like a good errand boy. I also feel like a complete loser.
I push on, telling myself it is personal growth. I head down the oak-lined hall and stop at the door.
As I lean against her door edge, covered in sweat, half-naked, and with the huge bunch of flowers, I realize I must look confusing. Even odd. Screw it, I have worse problems, like finding the bastard who sent these.
I knock, and then fun music blasts out. A bouncy Samantha opens the door and fast.
“Oh, my God!” she screams. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have.”
She grabs me, and I don’t stop her.
It happens fast, and we’ve both been working out. As she holds me close and our semi-naked bodies touch in all the wrong places, my skin sparks.
She is in her hot yoga clothes, and her perfect breasts are tight against me.
I feel good again as electricity sparks between us.
I am about to say something, but I can’t. It’s too fast, and it is too perfect. Our hips touch, and now our flushed cheeks touch.
Samantha pulls back quickly, and then she reads the card. Raising a brow, she asks, “So, not from you?”
“Why would I, ahh…?”
Samantha pouts and pulls the flowers from me. “Right,”
Smelling them, she sighs. “Anyway, it’s nice someone cares.”
She looks me up and down, and I return to lean on the oak door frame. We have a moment, and it’s charged. I also see sweat run down her stomach, and sweat is running down my naked chest.
“Thanks, message boy, you can go now.”
I smirk as she smiles. She smells the flowers again and then walks happily into her room. My old room and in my darned own home. She closes the door, and I walk down the hall. I am far from happy. I want to kill.
I first need a shower, but the order does not bother me. Kill, shower. Shower, kill. Either way, let’s get the show on the road.
Standing under the water, my mind churns fast. The flowers were not from Troy or Rhett. It could have been that pup attorney, but he would lose my pals as clients. Even he is not that stupid.
It had to be the bridge fixers.
“Those fuckers,” I say, slamming the silver tap off. I towel off and walk straight to the estate radio on my desk. “William?”
Seconds later, William answers, “Sir.”
“I think we need the bridge construction workers to bring their own caravans for breaks and their own Porta-Potty. I do not want them around the staff kitchen or house. Not even the back or the garage.”
“Sir?”
“Just make it happen, and please… Have them base themselves on the other side of the bridge. Distractions are not required.”
“Of course.”
I walk across my apartment, naked, and I look down. There is no way anyone is going to claim her. Not fucking now.
She is mine.