CHAPTER ONE
Thorn
The monitor clicked off from video mode, displaying only the logo of Gravity Holdings. I sighed and slid the remote onto the table. The meeting had gone on much longer than it needed to.
Of course, that call would have been over sooner if Daniel would just learn to shut up.
But underlings are like that. They love hearing themselves speak, while I, the boss, lean back and listen.
It’s a gift, I tell you.
Talk is overrated.
Listening on the other hand? There aren’t many people good at that.
So I watched, amused, as my employees juggled huge stacks of paper and stained coffee mugs while filing out the door.
Their problem, not mine. As CEO, I give orders, and then guess what happens? That’s right, other people jump.
Because the meeting was just the beginning. Now that we had a concrete list of to-dos, my employees would be burning the midnight oil figuring out this or that.
Again, their problem, not mine.
The chair dipped as I slung a foot over the desk and leaned back. There were still a couple executives in the room, yapping about this or that.
Daniel, Mr. Unsubtle, jumped up, sending his chair rocketing into the wall. “Five-hundred mill!”
Another guy cawed his agreement.
“This is the deal of the century, boys!” Willy cheered. His stomach and double-chin jiggled, fists shaking in the air. Then Daniel mock-punched Willy in the shoulder, the two of them air boxing like little children.
Really? Really really? Were we frat boys or billionaire executives?
But unbelievably, the jawing and ribbing kept going, the boys twittering like excited birds.
But hey, this wasn’t the time to be a Debbie Downer. After all, we’d just closed a historic round of funding. Three billion for the new pipeline project running from Uzbekistan all the way to the North Sea.
So I punched the comm.
“Helena? We’ll need some bubbly in here.”
The smooth chirp of a woman’s voice piped in through the speaker. “Right away, Mr. Evans.”
And as the celebrations continued, a young intern pushed a silver cart into the room. He kept his eyes lowered, setting out multiple flutes and filling each to the brim with sparkling amber liquid.
I raised an eyebrow at the green bottles. This shit wasn’t that nice. Probably five hundred bucks a bottle. Me, I like them in the four figure price range. But hey, this was office champagne after all. No sense in complaining.
And as soon as the flutes were filled, Motormouth Daniel trotted across the room, helping himself to a glass. Throwing an arm in the air, the dude made a toast.
“Gentleman!” he bellowed magnanimously. “Here’s to more money!”
Subtle, real subtle. But I managed to keep my smirk in check, rolling with the flow of congratulations. Haven’t these guys seen the pic of Mitt Romney chewing on dollar bills? That one photo tanked a presidential run.
But that’s how these idiots are. They don’t think long-term. Naw, that’s up to the boss.
So I refrained from speaking as Daniel launched into a long speech about the deal, congratulating everyone in the room, but most of all himself.
Again, these guys make millions. Cash pouring out of their ears, rivers of money so deep you could drown. There was no humility in sight, not by a long shot.
And I get it, in a way.
To them, the world is their oyster.
But me? I’m a billionaire, and I still don’t act like that.
It’s crude.
It’s crass.
And most of all, it’s uncalled for. Once upon a time, I was a poor boy selling knife sets door to door, hoping to make a buck. From that, my empire grew. But I still remember what it was like standing outdoors in the chilly New York night hawking my wares.
Hoping for a sale as doors slammed in my face.
Joints and tendons aching, trudging through snow on yet another house call.
It was decades ago. But I still remember.
So to me, there’s no sense in being a snob. Because one day you’re on top of the world, and the next, the rug’s pulled out from under you. A boot’s halfway up your ass, and fuck man, but it hurts.
So yeah. There’s no need to go nuts. No need to trumpet your achievements.
In some ways, silence is even more powerful.
But these lackeys aren’t about silence. Some of the guys were literally dancing around the room now, doing jigs with their knees up in the air. Champagne splashed this way and that, sloshing all over the floor. No one cared that we were ruining a formerly pristine white rug.
“I’ll be taking it slow on the ranch in Wyoming.” Tom cackled, guzzling his drink like a drunk. “We got some new giraffes in.”
Gregory’s black, bushy eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he stared at Tom.
“What the fuck? Giraffes? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Tom made a rude noise.
“Hell yeah, and not just giraffes dude. You ever heard of oryx? It’s an antelope from the African plain. On the endangered list,” he smirked. “We just got two of those last week.”
Fuck me. Was I really hearing this? Were my business associates actually smuggling endangered animals into the United States? Were they poaching shit from Africa and bribing customs officials? It had to be some violation of the Endangered Species Act, the EPA, the AST, the OBF or whatever mix of letters. I have no idea, but this shit was probably criminal.
Unfortunately, things only got worse. Because then these idiots started to talk about humans, and the conversation took a turn into the depressing.
“Yo yo yo, listen up, listen up,” tooted one dude. “I’m hitting the slopes in Gstaad. Nothing better than a snow bunny in one cabin and the wife in another!”
The executives cackled and slapped each other on the back. Seriously misogynistic. I mean, I’m no angel, but really, openly bragging about your mistress? Bringing both her and the wife on vacation?
It’s lame, I tell you.
That’s why I’ve never been married.
Because yeah, I have pretty rancid tastes. But I’d never be so fucking crude as to bring my girlfriend and wife to the same ski spot and housing them across the hall from one another.
Then again, this guy’s wife was probably okay with it, the girlfriend too.
I tell you, in some circles, anything goes. So long as you have the cash, no one cares. No one will say a word as long the money train runs hard and fast.
Suddenly, I was jolted from my ruminations as Gregory shot me a snide look and smiled.
“So how about you, big man? You got celebratory plans, Thorn?”
I thought about saying nothing. It’s my nature after all. There’s no sense in bragging, especially to this crowd of idiots. Plus, that asshole Nick Ryver was trying to wrest business from the firm. A pain in the ass, but Ryver’s impossible to overlook. Seventy if a day, the guy’s been in the business for ages, and you’d be a fool to underestimate him. He’s canny, with all the right connects, and wealth of knowledge. Plus, the guy knows people in New York City, whether through money, social connections, or family. And unfortunately, that counts in a city like this.
But for now, I let the thoughts slide. Today was a day for celebration, and Nick Ryver hadn’t been able to bust this deal, even though he’d tried. So my lips let loose, which is unusual.
“Just bought an airline,” was my grunt. “Our maiden flight’s gonna be today.”
Stunned silence before a couple guys started hooting and hollering.
But then Daniel broke in again, that smarmy voice wheedling.
“You bought a plane? Or do you mean an entire airline?”
My look was cool.
“The whole thing,” was my harsh rasp. “Elite Air at your service.”
The men froze. Gregory choked on his third champagne, making a sick gargling noise. You could hear a pin drop otherwise.
Finally, Daniel managed in a raspy voice.
“How did you get a whole fleet?” he choked. “What- how did this happen?”
I smirked. That motherfucker was jealous. Serves him right. Who’s the big dog in the room now?
But my face remained neutral.
“Someone was selling, and I was buying,” was my curt reply. “Easy as that.”
The look on that motherfucker’s face was pure envy. Seriously, the guy was growing devil horns and turning green at the moment. I thought about offering a wastebasket in case he vomited, but hey, I’m no Florence Nightingale. He can help himself.
Suddenly, Charlie burst out with a yip.
“Take us for a ride,” the man begged like a little boy. “I wanna check out your new toy. Come on Thorn,” he pleaded. “Let us see.”
No way. No fucking way. I could hardly stand these guys on land, no way was I taking them five miles up in the air.
But the room was relentless.
“Please,” chimed Marty like a teen girl, eyes literally filling with tears. “I wanna see it soooo bad.”
“Yeah,” whined Ralph. “You promised! Remember last time you said you’d show us your Lamborghini and that never happened,” he sulked, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. “So you owe us.”
I didn’t owe them anything. But just to shut them up, I relented.
“We’re leaving for JFK shortly,” came my drawl. “I guess you could come along and check it out.”
Ralph’s frown turned itself upside down.
“Oh really? Where to? I call shotgun!”
This guy was so stupid, there’s no such thing as shotgun on a private jet. But the other fools were on it in a moment, dissolving into a hubbub of excited chatter.
“I say we fly to my ranch early and do it up big!” Tom grinned, toasting his champagne flute in the air.
Daniel laughed. “Who the hell cares where we go? Let’s get wild!”
I was tempted to put the kibosh on things immediately. Why the hell did I open my big mouth? I bought the airline in the name of privacy and comfort, both of which would be ruined by these fools.
But now, the guys were acting like giant kids. A couple were literally running around the room, arms stretched out like wings pretending that they were planes, humming, “Oooh-weeee!”
Really?
This was a group of seasoned executives, and yet they were behaving like toddlers.
But maybe it was the childlike awe.
Maybe it was the hope in their eyes.
Or maybe I’m just getting soft.
Because with a wry smile, I called my secretary and told her to start making plans. The maiden flight of Elite Air was gonna be in two hours … and we needed to get to the hangar stat.