Hypergeniture Bk. 01 Pt. 01

"Because I'll probably be more interested in yachting than running a business?"

"I do hope not," Nash tutted. "You have an opportunity to do something good here, and I think you look forward to it. In fact, I think you care more about our 'values' than anyone else in the room."

I looked at the businesswoman with intrigue and a wry smile. "Are you saying I'm the only feminist here?"

The board burst into laughter like a cast of villains in a cheesy movie. One of the older members even said, "I stopped being a feminist when I made my first million!"

Laughter ensued again until Cassandra hushed the room.

"You probably care more about looking like an advocate for woman-kind than we do," she clarified, setting the joking aside. "Don't mind the lot that resigned and turned up their noses at you. They weren't important: not even a single executive among them! But, the press wanted a story, and who could blame them?"

The room snickered as we rattled through the rest of the agenda. I was elected non-executive chairman and Nash got to be CEO. As we finished up, she made the closing remarks.

"Mr Orwell... Your pedigree is not in doubt," she assured. "No one here blazed through their education as fast as you. Perhaps, you might very well be the only genius in the room, but experience counts and you don't have much."

I agreed, blushing a little at the flattery — knowing it was more than a bit false and a bit fake. Still, I could sense there was some genuine admiration behind Nash's speech. We agreed on the path forward and the meeting was adjourned. I was never a fan of long talk-shops and I would run the company at a brisk pace. In a way, I hoped my speed would cover for any mistakes.

I had a strategy, tactics, a plan... As we rose to our feet, I even felt something resembling victory.

Before I could leave, I was pulled into a side office. In there, it was just me and Nash. As she was about to say something, the only other male board member tried to come over and make small talk.

He was quickly dismissed.

"Lloyd," Cassandra rolled her eyes. "He's a tosser but will do anything for a bit of limelight. So, keep that in mind."

"I will," I smirked, enjoying the lesson on corporate politics.

"I don't know much about you, Mr Chairman," the CEO confessed, turning to my future. "I want to help you because I truly did admire Elizabeth and her wishes should be respected. But, I'm not going to go easy on you either."

"You must care a lot about the company, having started it with her."

Nash shook her head. "Liz always did the opposite of what I advised. You can't afford to be as stubborn... So, work with me?"

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed. "Now, I need to get home. I'll have access to funds soon and want to arrange for my sisters to fly down."

"Ah, a man who knows his priorities! Perhaps the company can pay for their flight?"

"I'd rather do it myself, but thank you."

My refusal seemed to have impressed the CEO as she raised a hand to call an assistant into the room. "Before you leave, I've bought you a little present," she passed me a vinyl record.

"Bob Marley? Is that really his signature?!"

"You bet your ass it is!" Cassandra laughed. "My people tell me you love music, or that's what they inferred from your social media. Liz loved reggae if you can believe it, and she actually travelled to Jamaica more than once. I know she never raised you — that you never knew her — but maybe this is a way of filling some of the gaps."

I was grateful and accepted the kind gift. It could have been a strategy to get me on her side, but it also made me feel we could work together.

I knew I'd been played when I left the room, but the game was fun.

• • •

As we made our way back home, I realised I loved the back seat of the Maybach more than the whole townhouse.

Isabelle was happy to drive in circles so that I could sit and watch London through the windows. I kept noticing new things about how people moved — things I hadn't cared to notice in the past. Then again, I usually drove myself and kept my eyes on the road.

"There's a story about a man who looks really hard at a candle," I mused. "He develops some kind of power that helps him cheat at cards..."

"I don't know it," Isabelle responded.

I shrugged, unable to remember the name or who even wrote it. It made me think about the people — about 'looking into the flame' to develop insight.

My body was feeling better. My mind was clearer.

Soon, I'd have access to all the money I could ever need, power and influence. I would have a position that guaranteed me prestige and gave me something to do. My sisters would join me, and I could provide them with the life they deserved. That was the priority — them — not Natasha or that horrible woman from the jazz club. Still, I couldn't get the two out of my mind.

"Alicia."

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm beginning to worry about my cousin," I confessed.

There was a deep silence, elevated by the almost inaudible pressure of the tires against the road. I caught Isabelle and Alicia glance at each other, subtly staring each other down to determine who'd be confessing.

"We have had your cousin under protective surveillance, sir," the American chauffeur explained. "She's been going about her days normally."

I felt my mouth tighten into a knot of irritation. "I see... And, I was going to be informed of this surveillance?"

Again, the only reply I got was silence, so I pushed on. "What about the rest of my family? Have you been watching them too?"

The way Isabelle's eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror told me I was right. At this stage, Alicia entered the fray. "Since the Estate is still paying for security, we thought it was a reasonable approach."

I exhaled, knowing I was out of my depth when it came to questions of security. "Alright... I trust your decision, but no more secrets going forward."

For a while, everyone was a little tense as we kept snaking through the urban sprawl of London. We kept to affluent — 'safe' — parts of the city, and I wondered if they'd allow me to get out if I asked.

Probably not...

"I'll have access to funds soon," I mused. "Aside from flying my sisters to London, I want you to do a few things."

"Yes, sir?"

"The woman from the jazz club—"

"Sian Thomas."

"Have you found her?"

Alicia cleared her throat, "Not really..."

"Not really? What do you mean?"

My protector seemed anxious about her 'failure', though I didn't expect her to perform a miracle. "She seems to be a very private person, sir. We've had trouble even verifying her name."

"Okay," I sighed. "Find her for me. I want to see her again; before she finds her way to a reporter."

"Of course."

"It's making me anxious..."

"Of course. We'll handle it, sir."

"Not just her... Everything. I feel better after the meeting... Like I've made an active decision, but it doesn't last... The good feeling comes and goes, and I'm left... Nevermind. Sorry for unloading."

"Of course, sir."

Alicia's refrain made me smile. I reached into my pocket and produced the card I'd received from the PM's daughter.

It seemed like a bad idea, right?

I wondered what the old me would do. I'd never cheat on a girlfriend, but Tash was no girlfriend, nor did she want to be. In fact, I wondered if I would ever see her again. She was a mystery; her mood swings unpredictable and actions heartbreaking.

The old me would jump at the chance of a date with someone as beautiful and refined as Romy Mansfield. She reminded me of the girls I grew up with at my posh coed boarding schools: Rich and always a little too good for me, even when we ended up dating. I always got a high off hooking up with one of them, as if their acceptance made up for everyone else's skepticism.

It seemed like I'd made up my mind. "Alicia, could you make a dinner reservation, please. Table for two."

The women in the front of the car remained silent, but I could sense they thought this was a bad idea. I suspected they might be right...

You only live once, though.

11 • Blue ≠ Orange

I got a good night's sleep. Not perfect, but far better than the nights before.

Alicia was reluctant to book a dinner date with the blonde from Downing Street. She explained that she didn't want me to leave the security bubble, but it felt like there was more to it.

There was no doubt my protector knew about my illicit relationship with Natasha. It seemed like she didn't judge me for it, but she definitely judged me for the quick transition to someone new. I guess I judged myself too, even though I could justify it. After all, my cousin was the one who stepped out without a word.

Twenty-three years of friendship, seemingly gone. I needed a distraction to take my mind off the loss. No, I needed a medicine for the pain and the insecurity.

As for finding the mystery woman from the jazz club, Alicia had a breakthrough. "She was in contact with a charity that supports women fleeing domestic abuse — particularly women involved with powerful men. They are exceptionally good at helping people disappear."

"Fuck... Stop digging, before we blow her cover."

Alicia agreed. "Certainly."

"Do we know who she's running from? Husband? Boyfriend?"

"Would you like us to find out, sir?"

I shook my head. There was no need to rummage through someone else's private tragedies.

Sian Thomas was suddenly much less of a mystery. She was someone with her back against the wall — someone who was about to start a new life... A woman on the verge of escape. Her night with me and Tash must've been a last hoorah, and it was a damn good one. Hell, I was inspired by the revelation, intent on trying new things and seizing the day. Whether it was the relationship with my cousin, the new job, or asking out an aristocrat...

Life could be anything I wanted it to be. I could reinvent myself.

Maybe there was an element of self-destruction to it all. Some kind of manic thread that bound my actions together. Or, it could have been for the first time in my life, I gave myself permission to have fun. After all, my grand goal seemed complete: My sisters would have the life they deserve thanks to the money. I could stop grinding to keep my family from sinking into despair, even though I still had Mom to worry about.

The Chancellor had promised a fast process, but I never expected it to happen overnight. They were very keen to put immense amounts of money and power in my hands, and I didn't know why. Seeing the numbers reflected in every currency I could call to mind was an earthquake.

I explained this over a video call with my sisters. Being twins, the girls shared the same full lips and prominent dark eyes. Their faces were a celebration of grand features in a way that seemed almost impossible to unify. There was a symmetry about them and there seemed to be space for the best of everything.

While they looked very similar, there were a couple of ways to tell the girls apart.

Elle usually had her lips slightly parted and chin tilted down. It could've looked silly without her serious if not sullen eyes. If I weren't her brother, I'd have said it made her look sultry... So much soul and maturity was crammed into her slender body that I often wondered how she carried it all. Then again, I guess the same was true for me. A consequence of our upbringing.

Tecla, on the other hand, almost always had her lips pressed tight together. Her eyes were constantly abuzz with naughty energy. She was the jokester and rebel of the two. The class jester who had all the makings of a popular girl — the looks and confidence — but, she preferred to hang with outcasts.

The two were a sight for sore eyes as I explained the weird feeling of being filthy rich. "Rich people, even if they're mega-wealthy, aren't typically bristling with liquid money. Elizabeth Wharry, though... It's almost all cash."

"So, she was a bit dodge?" Tecla asked, still in her PJs with her long inky black hair a total mess.

"Everything about this is a bit dodge, but I don't know if I should discuss it over the phone."

Elle chimed in, "Oh, you're always so dramatic. Still, I love you for it."

"You're not angry at me anymore? About Natasha?" I asked.

"Ugh... Don't remind me, but we'll talk about it soon," my little sister winked.

With hindsight, it seemed Elle was right to argue against my experiment with Tash... I was heartbroken about it all, but she'd never say she told me so.

Before we ended the call, I explained the girls would need protection going forward. I didn't want some sweaty ex-marine shadowing two 18-year-olds. So, I'd eventually have Alicia find a woman for the job. "For now, just know that you're being watched by the firm they contracted for our security. They'll keep a distance, but soon you'll need someone with you at all times."

"Okay, Olly... Talk again soon!"

Isabelle must've waited for me to finish, because she knocked on the bedroom door as soon as I was done. "Apologies, boss," she offered. "The restaurant for your evening is black-tie, so I took the liberty of collecting a tuxedo."

"How did you get my measurements?"

"I guessed... And looked at your dirty clothes in the laundry. It ain't gonna be a perfect fit, but we don't have time for a tailor."

As Isabelle spoke, her voice rose with delight and her accent became more obvious. "Are you originally from New York?

"I am! I'm surprised you haven't checked my resume..."

"I trust you."

Isabelle smiled. "Well, I was with the NYPD, but the work didn't agree with me."

"You don't look like a cop," I remarked.

"Because I'm latina, or maybe beacuase I'm feminine, short..."

"Pretty."

Isabelle's warm skin tone was broken by spots of red as she blushed. My compliment could've gone either way, so I was glad she seemed to welcome it. Still, I excused myself, "I'll be more professional in future."

"No need, boss. We're all friends: you, me, and Miss Le Roux."

Now, my cheeks went red.

It was nice having new friends.

• • •

I didn't really know London's high-end scene, so I let Alicia pick the restaurant.

I left the comfort of my German limousine with my protector following close by. She took a seat with two secyruty goons, near a couple of men who couldn't have looked more like the police. (I assumed they were there guarding the Prime Minister's daughter.)

The place's name was 'Orange', though none of the decor was orange, which seemed like a pretentious effort at an arty statement. Instead, the place consisted of contemporary pieces in shades of blue.

I couldn't have appreciated Romy's true beauty in the cramped halls of her father's offices. She was exceptionally gorgeous — her eyes glowing like the ocean reflected on the moon. Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders as if to frame her face in a halo. Her long neck and high v-shaped jaw-line further defined her features. Angelic came to mind — divine beauty and all that.

Standing to greet me, I noticed that my date was almost as tall as me; model-tall and model-beautiful as well as being rich, well-connected... Like her father said: 'Very eligible.'

"I didn't think you would call," the English rose smiled slyly as we took our seats. I doubted that was true. After all, she had turned on the charm when we met with her father following up.

There were no coincidences. Maybe she liked my money and nothing else, but she looked more than a little interested in me. Surprisingly, we found things we had in common. She disliked her parents, knowing that her father only married her mother because she had a title.

"Well, she'll have a title," Romy explained.

"Someone has to die first?" I asked.

Brash talk seemed to delight the British teen and her eyes glittered. "My grandpapa. One day Mamma will be a countess, and when she dies..."

"You'll be a countess?"

Romy nodded with a disturbing amount of excitement. "Exactly!"

This girl was a little psycho... Which meant she could be a lot of fun.

We ordered the tasting menu with wine pairings. It consisted of some ridiculous food — things I'd never have ordered in a million years. Duck, crab, caviar, mackerel, pigeon apicius, cherries and liquorice. These were matched with expensive wines that cost three figures a bottle.

The food was delicious, albeit too rich for my taste. Romy ate and drank at a leisurely pace — polite, refined, and brimming with the confidence of high birth. She asked me questions about my life that were posed half out of genuine curiosity and half because she was trying to hook me. In exchange, I told her stories of Tash, Tecla, and Elle. For some reason, I didn't mention their names or that they were family. I spoke of 'my friend' and 'this woman I know'...

"You don't seem to be friends with an awful lot of men," the blonde smirked.

I shrugged. "There are plenty of work friends and people from university or school. I lost touch with many of them when I got into my current firm."

"They were jealous?"

Having not thought about it before, I was reluctant to accept the point. "They found good jobs too..."

In truth, I was beginning to feel down as the conversation got a little too personal. Even in the company of this perfect girl, who could be a bandage on some of my sores, my mind wandered. Picking up on my melancholy mood, Romy gave me an amused look.

"You've got a dark cloud hanging over your head, darling. You're the gloomiest billionaire I've ever met."

Shaking myself awake, I forced a smile to put her off the scent. "Do you meet many billionaires?"

"Yes, and you are the saddest..."

"My life has changed a lot," I explained.

"For the better, I hope!"

We clinked glasses, and I dared to be a little suave. "Well, it's gotten better since I met you."

My date giggled shyly. "Oh, dear. You don't have to pretend, Mr Orwell—"

"Oliver."

"Olly, perhaps? It is a cute little nickname, if you don't mind me using it," the blonde swooned, reaching to take my hand. "You don't have to pretend we're in love. Not yet."

"I see—"

"We could do whatever we want... Be whatever you want. Do you get it? Do you get that you are filthy fucking rich and can do anything? You don't need to pretend it's more than being horny and wanting to fuck, knowing you can fuck anyone. Any. Time. You. Like."

I shook my head, "Life doesn't work that way, even for the rich and famous. Maybe you're too young to realise—"

"I'm eighteen."

"You're only eighteen—"

"Well, I know more about this life than you do... Olly," my date smiled. "Do you fancy yourself a hopeless romantic? Is that where all this hesitation is coming from, hmm? I could buy you roses if that's what it'll take because I must confess that I find you very attractive."

I downed the rest of my wine in one big sip. The fragrances hit my nose like a tidal wave, and I almost choked as the booze drained down my throat. This girl was insane — entitled — and she wanted me to be a little more like her. She tried to convince me that her way of living and seeing the world was the right way and, yeah, in that moment, it sounded like a pretty good proposition.

I could have an endless supply of girls like her for the rest of my life. I didn't doubt it. Blonde, nubile, exciting, well-born, and well-mannered...

I glanced at my hands and realised all the shaking from days gone by had disappeared, and I was steady as a rock. Looking into Romy's bright blue eyes, I accepted there might be some merit to her fanciful ideas.

"You're a sweetheart... Sweet like hard candy, and probably very bad for me. The truth is that I've never been able to afford impulsivity... Or selfishness."

"Let's ditch our security and head back to my place," the blonde urged. "My mamma isn't home, and I have the nicest bedroom..."