Page 8 of Untouchable Billionaire (The Hardcore Novels: Special Editions #1)
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Siri Wright
Aka Seary
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“Baby Girl, we have a birthday boy in the audience.” James, my stage manager, walks over to my costumes and flips through them absentmindedly. “Do you want to start with him? Or do him later? I’m going to let Red and Lola do the honors tonight.” He whirls around for my answer.
“Let’s do him first. Get the crowd involved early.” I turn to look at him as he walks over to me. “What do you think about throwing in a Surreal performance tonight?”
“Well,” he runs his fingers through my hair, “That depends on which one.”
“I feel like being Beyoncé. How about ‘Dance For You?’”
He smooths my hair while he thinks, then he spins around and heads out the door. “Yes, we can do that. I’ll set it up.”
Cat comes in before the door closes. “Are you doing a Surreal performance tonight?”
I laugh. “Does James have his game face on?”
She nods as she comes in. “Which one?”
“The first one.” I look at her in the mirror as she stands next to me. “I’m feeling nostalgic tonight.”
“Good nostalgic or bad nostalgic?”
I laugh. “Good nostalgic. I had a nightmare about being an accountant, and I was reminded I live a life others only dream of.”
She leans down to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Let me go tell Bart, so he can contact Beyoncé’s agent.”
At the door, she says, “How about you and me taking a spa day on Friday. We haven’t hung out as just friends in forever.”
“I would like that.” I smile at my manager, mentor, and best friend.
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Hardcore
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Walking up to my 4,000 plus square foot, four bedrooms, four bath luxury house in the Red Rock Country Club Community in Summerlin, I wonder again why I bought such a big house when I'm the only one who lives in it and part-time at that.
I lay my thumb on the keypad at the security gate, then again at the front door, and enter the quiet house.
Dropping the bag on the marble floor, my footsteps sound as I walk straight out to the backyard to enjoy the magnificent view of the Red Rock sunset.
Standing there watching the ball of fire drop in the sky, I remember why I bought this big house.
It has the most spectacular, breathtaking view of the setting sun, and I'm grateful again for my good fortune.
The motion sensor exterior security lights illuminate the green carpet of grass as I turn to go back to the house.
The pool water has turned aqua and provides a soft glow on the patio area.
I strip, toss my clothes on a bench, take a deep breath, and dive in.
Swimming underwater to the opposite side, I enjoy the peaceful silence, and the warmth is soothing.
Surfacing, I fill my lungs full, toss my head to the side out of habit from my long hair days as a kid, and blow the water running down my face off my lips.
Knowing I have plenty of time, I dive back under the water but surface to swim on top, letting my hands cut it like a knife as they enter, pulling my muscular frame, gliding effortlessly along, kicking only to keep my balance.
At the end, I do a flip and push off to continue swimming nonstop.
I end up swimming thirty complete laps, which is almost a half-mile, and I feel great.
Putting my hands on the pool's edge, I push up out of the water, throw my foot up, and stand in the cold air.
Goosebumps pop out, and I shake like a dog to expel the water, then grab my clothes off the bench and hurry back into the warmth of the house.
Racing nothing but my cold nakedness, I run to the foyer to get my bag, tuck it under my arm like a football player, and sprint to the laundry room.
The automatic motion sensors turn the lights on in each room as I go and turn them off as I leave.
I drop my bag in front of the washing machine and find a towel folded neatly on top along with a pair of gym shorts and a note from Maria, my house sitter.
"Aurelius, I know you didn't grab a towel from the pool house after your swim.
It's too cold to be running around soaking wet, and put these shorts on.
It's also too cold to be running around naked.
" I smirk. She knows me too well. "Leftovers are in the refrigerator as requested.
Let's do breakfast tomorrow and catch up.
Text me when you wake, and I'll come up to start cooking.
Oh! And do NOT start laundry. I'll do it tomorrow.
I mean it! Don't!" I laugh at that and kick the bag to the wall out of the way, dry off with the towel, drape it over my shoulders, don the gym shorts, and head to the weight room.
As soon as I enter, I raise my arms in the air and announce to the emptiness.
"Pumping iron is good for the raging beast that lives within us.
" I work my way around the machines and finish in about 4o minutes.
When I walk out, my muscles feel swollen, and I feel like I can handle anything that comes my way.
Heading into the kitchen, I open the fridge and stick my face inside.
Umm. Homemade enchiladas! I mix an after-workout protein shake and take it with me up the stairs to shower.
Stepping under the water, I lather and think about my goal for tonight.
I simply want to see her dance. If I like what I see, I'll book her and find out firsthand what her deal is.
I hear Kip's voice again. She's as hot as her name implies.
You're looking to score with her? If she comes up with a Fucking Fantasy that impresses me, I might let her work some magic on me.
I haven't fucked anyone outside my studio in Rome for years.
Hell, if she comes up with one I haven't thought of, I might invest myself.
But then I hear Kip again as he so poetically put it.
'I've never heard anyone talk about hitting that ho.
' Why is that? Kip has eyes and ears all over Vegas.
Someone should've talked about popping that pussy.
The thought that Bart could be scamming his Frat buddy makes me determined to check her out. Darren's a good guy.
Turning the water off, I step out and decide to skip shaving.
I'm on leave. No need to be smooth-shaven, but I splash Old Spice aftershave on anyway, squirt some mousse in my hair and run my fingers through it to stand my thick 'dirty' blonde hair up.
Then I go into the dressing room to choose my clothes for the evening.
Pressing the button, the closet doors slide inside the wall until my entire wardrobe is on display.
I walk in and pick a dark purple J Crew shirt and dark jeans.
I'll blend in with the shadows and have a better opportunity to watch this dancer work.
Walking back out, I push the button again, and the doors slide closed.
Then I push the button below it, and the cabinet doors of the opposite wall slide back, and my shoes rise in a stair-step display case.
I grab the black Converse tennis shoes, hit the button on my way out to close the cabinet and go into the bedroom to actually get dressed.
Stepping into my jeans, I am thankful for Albert, my tailor, who customizes my jeans.
The soft, distressed fabric sits snug on my thighs and hugs my ass, but there is plenty of room in the crotch for my balls to dangle.
Putting my arms in the shirt sleeves, I realize my biceps are tight in the fabric, and when I pull the shirt closed to button it, I feel it hug tight across my back.
Hmm. Note to self. Call Albert. I need to be measured again.
I've gained more muscle mass. I leave the first four buttons undone to accommodate my new size.
Opening the safe, I take enough cash to have a good time at the gaming tables if Seary is a dud and an open limit credit card in case I lose my ass gambling early on.
I have no intention of coming back to a lonely house before the sun rises.
I fold the money around the credit card and slide the wad into a money clip, then put it in my front pocket.
Slipping into my shoes, I glance at my reflection in the mirror as I stand, and I hear "Mister Very Big Man with the very big ass," making me chuckle. True dat.
Trotting down the stairs, I head to the kitchen to heat Maria's famous enchiladas.
While I eat, I catch up on the news, then wash my dishes.
Walking across the house to the garage, my mood is light and carefree.
I think I'll drive the Corvette. Sliding behind the wheel, I check the settings and the mirrors, then back out and drive down to the security gate.
Waiting for it to open, I tune the car's sound system to my playlist and turn it up.
The speakers are booming with the bass. Once I'm out on the open road, I push its limits.
The car screams down the interstate. I love flying.
An hour later, I'm heading back to Vegas and decide to visit Fremont Street.
It's alive with lights, music, sounds, and people milling around.
Stopping at a red light, I see an Elvis street performer having his picture taken with a tourist, some young girls with only body paint and g-strings on, and two nuns wearing habits that have their enormous, naked tits hanging out.
I circle around, and at the next red light, I'm enjoying a Michael Jackson impersonator, who is really good, when I hear a TAP, TAP, TAP.
I look out the passenger window and see a young girl smiling at me with her tits about to fall out of her dress.
I roll the window down, and she asks me. "Are you our Uber?"