Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Mr Alphahole Billionaire
HENRY
“Ireally am so terribly sorry about this, Mr Baxter! It’s just … This has never happened before, and I—”
“Hannah,” I cut in, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear, before giving up on that entirely and switching over to speaker.
“I’m not interested in long-winded excuses.
Fix it. Simple as that. This is holding up my wife’s partner visa application.
I expect our marriage documents to be in my possession within the next twenty-four hours. ”
“I’ll have to speak to my supervisor about—”
“Actually, I’d like to speak to your supervisor. I’m not in the business of wasting my time, or yours. If you don’t have the authority to fast track our application—which I will remind you has been lost in your subpar system for three months now—then I need to speak to someone who does.”
“I … I can see that all your documentation is here, and in order. I’ll manually process it immediately,” she stammered, frantic keyboard strokes following her words. I breathed a silent sigh of relief, rubbing at the headache forming in my temples.
“Okay, I’ve processed your application. You’re officially married!”
“No. We were officially married on January twenty-ninth,” I said darkly.
“Oh!” Hannah squeaked. “Yes, of course, I just meant that—”
“When can I expect the certificate to arrive?”
“You could come down to our office this afternoon, and someone can print it out for you.”
I sighed derisively. “Hannah. Do you understand how busy I am?”
“Of-of course, Mr Baxter, I … could your wife come instead?”
I glanced up, squinting against the mid-morning sunshine in the direction of the swim spa on the foredeck. Ri, having finished her training, lounged in the hydrotherapy jets. There were red marks around her eyes where her goggles had been and a small smirk on her face.
“She’s also busy,” I growled. “I’ll send my assistant, Olivia Henderson, to collect two copies. Make a note of that. I don’t want to be harassed by your office again with questions about the identity of the person collecting the documents.”
“I … I’ll print them now and have them waiting. Tell her to ask for me.” Hannah’s voice trembled. Ri cracked her eyes, turning in my direction, a question on her face.
“That’s a suitable outcome,” I replied, my voice substantially warmer than a moment ago. “Thank you for your time and your expertise today, Hannah.”
“It was my pleasure,” she mumbled. There was a pregnant pause before she added reluctantly, “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”
Ri snorted indelicately.
“I think I’ve traumatised you sufficiently for a Tuesday morning, Hannah. I hope you have a lovely rest of your day.” I hung up and stood, stretching the stiffness from my muscles, the tightness from my skin.
“You look like you need some hydrotherapy,” Ri called, patting the side of the spa. “It’s taxing, terrifying poor little government employees half to death.”
“Just let me add that task to Liv’s workflow for the day,” I muttered, grabbing my phone and navigating to CatChat, our company-wide app. I needed a moment to compose myself before I climbed, mostly naked, into the spa with her.
I was still reeling from her little confession in Romanian the night before. ‘I’d much rather stay here with you and kiss you silly until I fell asleep in your arms.’
What was I supposed to do with that information? Had it been a tease? Was it how she really felt? I couldn’t ask her because that meant admitting I understood what she was saying.
Better to pretend I hadn’t heard it at all. Easier said than done, I thought with a sigh, closing the admin app and removing my glasses. A text message popped up just as I was about to put my phone down. I picked it up, squinting at the blurry words.
Atlas: Do you ever intend to show your face in the office again?
Atlas: Or are you still busy getting balls-deep in your blonde bride?
Atlas:
“Are you done, big important boss man?” Ri teased.
“Done.” I muttered, ignoring Atlas’s juvenile messages …
and the rush of fluttering in my stomach that they elicited.
I slipped out of my T-shirt and shorts, padding across the timber deck in my swim trunks.
Ri’s attention was scorching, and I tried to pretend I didn’t know she was looking at me almost completely unclothed.
I slipped into the warm water. Almost instantly, the feel of weightlessness melted the tension from my body. I floated across to the other hydro jets and settled myself against them, which put me directly in Ri’s line of vision.
“That was hot,” she purred.
“What was hot?”
“Mr Alphahole Billionaire!” Ri pulled a funny face, dropping into a ridiculous, baritone. “Do you understand how busy I am? Fix it, simple as that! My wife!” She threw her head back and moaned in a way that scratched a part of my brain that I hadn’t realised was itchy.
“I don’t sound like that.” I grouched.
She giggled, her toes peeking out of the water, painted a deep, sparkly sapphire that I wondered if she’d chosen to match her wedding ring.
“No, you sound like a man, all the time. But just now you sounded like a man who gets shit done, and then throws his wayward wife over his shoulder and drags her to bed for an afternoon of back-to-back orgasms.”
I coughed violently, which only made her giggle more, the sound tingling through my chest. I quite liked it when I was the reason for that sound—even if sometimes it was because she was teasing me.
If I was honest, I quite enjoyed the teasing too.
“So, what am I apparently so busy with today?” she asked, stretching her lithe body. Her breasts appeared above the water line, and my gaze strayed to the gentle curve of them in her modest racing one-piece.
“I … uh …” There had been something important we needed to do together, but the sight of her breasts had wiped my memory clean.
I’d seen them multiple times on her Tickle posts, and in a much more advanced state of undress.
But there was something about them, damp, clad in lycra, her nipples tight against the fabric … and within reach …
“We have to provide a history of our relationship, for your visa,” I rasped. She sat straighter, breasts sinking beneath the bubbles, and thankfully letting me clear my head. “We need to come up with a narrative and a timeline together.”
Ri’s grin turned cheeky. “Well, obviously you stalked me.”
My mouth fell open. “I … what?”
“We need to keep it as close to the truth as possible, right? So, you saw my profile on Tickle, liked what you saw, did a deep dive into my activity on the app, and then you slid into my DMs.”
“But you hadn’t started creating on Tickle until after the ‘official’ date of our marriage,” I protested, my face on fire.
“Oh, Henry,” she floated closer, patting me on the cheek. “I was on your app for months before I started making content! And do you know how many random guys popped up unsolicited in my DMs?”
“I don’t think I want to know,” I muttered, flexing my fingers under the water. The urge to grab her wrist, to pull her into my arms, was getting too hard to ignore, even if the urge was wildly inappropriate and crossing a line we shouldn’t even be toeing.
Oh, like the line you crossed last week when you kissed her groaning mouth and were a hairsbreadth away from tearing off her T-shirt?
“No, you probably don’t. But it happens.” She sidled closer again until she was sharing my spa jets, her leg occasionally bumping up against mine under the water. “And if they need proof, well … I know someone who can create months’ worth of conversations inside the app.”
I pursed my lips. She had a point. It worked on more than one level—creating our love story inside a platform I could manipulate. Having me approach her was also clever—the authorities might question whether she was soliciting for a husband on Tickle if she’d initiated contact with me.
“You know it makes sense,” she cooed, as if reading my thoughts. Her hair drifted over to brush against my shoulder, and I shivered. “So, now we come to the big question.”
“What’s that?” I asked, my words tight when her fingers accidentally brushed my thigh under the water.
“What was your pickup line?”
“My pickup line?”
She smirked, blue eyes glinting with merriment. “You know, the first message you ever sent to me. What would it have been in this little scenario we’re concocting?”
“I don’t know …” Was that water or sweat trickling down the back of my neck?
“Just say the first thing that comes to mind!” She nudged me with her hip.
“What’s your star sign?” I blurted, flustered and aching in ways that were not appropriate for her to know about.
The silence that followed was so drawn out that I chanced a glance at her. The expression she wore almost made me laugh, it appeared so truly horrified.
“Are you for real?” she squawked. “What’s your star sign? Would that really have been your opening line to woo me with?”
“No!” I protested, turning towards her. “You put me on the spot! I’m much better when I have time to formulate a considered tactic.
If I had approached you via DM, I would have looked at your user history, noted the kind of content you gravitated towards and probably made some mildly sarcastic remark that doubled as an interesting factoid. ”
Her lips curved sinfully, exposing straight, white teeth.
“So … you would have nerded out on me. That would have been cute, actually. It certainly would have gotten my attention, unlike the usual, ‘hey there pretty lady, I’m looking for a sugar baby, willing to pay $4k a week—no anal, just my hot cock in your tight cunt, and the occasional titty fuck’ openers. ”
My fists clenched under the water. “A man sent that to you?” I asked through gritted teeth. “When you were just a subscriber?”