Chapter 12
Alexander
I kind of had hoped my physique might impress her. Hard to believe she actually works out here.
“So, you know her?” Carlos leans back in his office chair while I—freshly showered and changed—sit across from him with a protein shake while he flips through paperwork.
“She’s my father’s PA,” I explain briefly. “But he’s stepping down Friday, and I'm taking over. She’ll be assigned to me then.”
“Lucky you. That girl’s turned down everyone here. Even Leonardo. And no one says no to him.”
I perk up at that.
"She looks amazing, has a killer figure, and she's quick-witted. And she'll be working under you? If I were in your position, I know what I'd do with her." He grins and clarifies: "I mean, if I wasn’t married, didn't have five wonderful kids, and was twenty years younger. Then definitely."
“Right. But I’m definitely not getting involved with employees. That’s messy. That always ends badly.”
“Still such a decent guy, Lex.” He chuckles and slides a sleek black card with gold lettering across the desk. “Ever heard of these guys?”
I pick it up and examine it more closely. “MG?”
There’s a coat of arms divided into four. A lion in the upper left quarter, a fleur-de-lis in the lower right, which actually comes from French heraldry. Upper right has the M and lower left the G. “What does it stand for?”
“Millionaires and Gentlemen’s Club,” Carlos says, putting away a file. “Some of our members are in it. When they heard you’d be training here, they asked me to give you that invitation.”
“Exclusive club, then?”
“Very. Only filthy rich guys with manners. Not just money—but brains too.” He taps his temple. “You’d fit right in, no?”
“So, it’s a men’s club. And they gave this to you?”
“I’m a trustworthy man.”
“They paid you to pitch it, didn’t they?” I ask the old warrior.
“No, but I know several of them well. One told me they’d selected you.”
“So not his call.”
“Apparently not.”
I flip the card over. “Coordinates,” I murmur.
“Though that was a phone number.”
“I’ll check it out. No harm in looking.” I nod at him. “Heading home now. If it's nearby, I might stop by tonight.”
“Put in a good word for me, maybe they’ll let me in too,” he laughs.
“If not you, then who?” We stand, shake hands, and I grab my bag. It’s just before ten. Time enough for a small detour.
In my car, I enter the coordinates. The address is right in the middle of downtown.
I take a closer look and realize it's a hotel.
The MG. How fitting, though it actually stands for Montgomery Grey—a real estate guy who died a year ago.
He owned half of England, or so it felt.
His family split the property empire. One of them must have taken over the hotel and decided to open a club there. Interesting.
I’m about to put my phone away but hesitate. I want to look at London's picture again. Her smile lingers in my head, impossible to shake.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the hotel’s valet service and my car disappears underground while I step into a lobby. Elegant men and women are mingling. A single night here costs five hundred pounds at least. Regular tourists rarely wander in here.
At the reception desk, a pretty blonde beams at me. The second I slide the card across, she knows exactly what to do.
“Welcome, Mr. Blackthorn. Thank you for accepting our invitation. May I ask you to follow me?"
“Gladly.”
She clicks away on her heels, and I follow her to an elevator with a red carpet and its own attendant. A young brunette takes over now. “Welcome, Mr. Blackthorn," she chirps as well. “You’re already expected.”
"I'm quite curious," I say as she presses the button and shortly after, the elevator doors open. Both ladies accompany me. They select the top floor—then we zip upward.
When we arrive, the doors open again and both ladies step forward. However, the blonde stays by the elevator while the brunette takes me with her. I only see the blonde bow before heading back down.
The anteroom is luxurious—Appealing art and elaborately designed plants welcome me.
Only the finest materials have been used in the floor, walls, and ceiling.
There's even a small fountain that gently bubbles away.
The room is bathed in a pleasantly warm light, creating a cozy ambiance that seems slightly dim yet erotic to me.
We reach a black double door, and she opens it. Soft piano music drifts out immediately, and the scent of alcohol wafts to my nose.
I follow her into a massive, labyrinth-like room.
Besides pure luxury, there’s also a huge aquarium filled with exotic fish.
It takes up an entire wall, though you can still see clearly through to the other side.
There are also terrariums with trees and plants—but no animals.
They stretch from the floor up to the ceiling, nearly twenty feet high.
I spot a pianist playing at a white grand piano. The entire penthouse suite is surrounded by glass walls, offering a perfect view of London. The countless city lights look like a night sky of their own—which sadly can’t be admired. London is too bright, even in the dead of night.
I keep following the lady. Here and there are a few men around my age, being served food and drinks by pretty, scantily clad women. Quiet conversations take place, while others entertain themselves at the billiard table.
She leads me toward a group of four men.
Among them, I notice Montgomery Grey’s grandson, Cornelius Grey.
With dark brown hair, he doesn’t really stand out from the group.
Only the gold ring with the MG crest catches my eye.
The gazes of his three conversation partners—whom I can’t place right away—shift toward me, which makes him turn around.
“Alexander Blackthorn,” he says warmly, waving over one of the servers. She hurries over immediately with a tray of whiskey glasses balanced neatly in her hands. He takes two of them and hands me one, while the brunette withdraws and disappears from view. "So, you accepted my invitation."
"I just followed the coordinates Carlos gave me." I study his face, trying to read him, though it’s hard in such a place with alcohol and several young women.
"When I heard you were back in London, I had to send for you." His smile is brief. How old is he? Early or mid-thirties, maybe? It’s hard to say. He gestures to the three men scrutinizing me nearby. "Allow me to introduce you."
I observe the three watching me with curiosity.
"This is Alexander Blackthorn, only son of Arthur Blackthorn."
At my father’s name, recognition flickers.
One by one Cornelius introduces me to the men who are there.
All of them heirs of English, French, or American dynasties.
There’s even a Swiss heir among them, though most of them are English.
We stroll around and chat a little before we're alone after the brief tour.
On the terrace outside, models lounge around and inside a roofed pool.
"I see, you’ve built yourself quite a little paradise," I remark. Cornelius is almost done with his whiskey, while mine is mostly untouched.
"That’s just for show. The ladies are off-limits. Relationships with them aren’t tolerated—they’re here to attend to every gentleman here, not one man in particular." He grins and adds, "Although, it can be… entertaining to break the occasional taboo now and then."
Of course.
"So what’s the purpose of this club?"
"Business. Connections. Good food. Good drinks." He nods at my whiskey. "We have wine too, if that’s more your style."
"I still have to drive."
"We’re open from six pm to three in the morning, seven days a week.
Someone is always here. I spend most of my time enjoying life.
But you can also come and use one of the offices.
We also have suites prepared below in case you’d rather leave in the morning.
" His smile tilts, sly. "And if you’d rather not sleep alone—I keep a list of beautiful women who’d definitely appeal to you. "
"Got it." I drain my glass and moment later, a young lady rushes over to get my glass. I decline a refill.
Well, I should be going. But I can see myself dropping by on occasion."
Cornelius clasps my hand in a strong, commanding shake. Right now, he’s one of the most influential and wealthy men in all of England and having someone like that as a business partner definitely has its advantages.