Matthew Spencer was a man who had it all.

He woke up to the sound of fake birds chirping and artificial sunrise creeping up his wall. It was a program on his phone, designed specifically for that purpose.

He ran a rough, calloused hand through his hair and sighed contentedly. His eyes blinked open, focusing on the golden sun that slowly climbed to his left.

Another beautiful day of being me.

The rich aroma of his morning coffee wafted into his nose and he sniffed, then rolled over in bed, feeling quite rested and rejuvenated. Matty knew his morning routine by heart. He would get up at his own leisure, have a cup of coffee, eat a healthy breakfast prepared by his personal chef and nutritionist, and then maybe he’d consider starting work. Maybe.

His phone switched on using the same system that handled his alarm routine. It buzzed with an influx of text messages and missed calls.

Matty Spencer was a popular man. He was a loved man. But he was also a busy man, and he was not about to leap out of bed for anyone.

They knew his phone was off all night. If it was important, they could come to him. They didn't need his attention. They just wanted it.

Although being loved was a rewarding feeling, to Matty, it was also very tiring. He was not a machine, made to constantly please others. He was aware of how desperately they clung to him for his wealth and connections.

The phone lit up again and rattled against the nightstand. He sighed and tensed up. It was as if he were under attack.

He glanced at the phone and decided to scroll through. His mother and a couple of friends had tried to call him. The jingling-coins ringtone told him that he’d received a message from one of the countless gold-digging sluts on his booty-call list. He snickered at that.

They all thought he was unaware of their intentions. He laughed at how foolish they were, knowing that he could play people the way they tried to play him. For all the people he despised and had to be polite to, there were hundreds more willing to grovel at his feet. He knew it was wrong to enjoy this, but he didn't care. Why should he put up with all the responsibilities of being wealthy and popular if he couldn't enjoy the perks?

As his body acclimated to the day, he rose and scrolled through more of his messages. Thank God he kept separate phones, one personal and one business. He couldn't imagine digging through the pile of shit trying to find an important memo from a client or partner.

Good morning texts from countless numbers who didn't even have names attached to them came through like clockwork. Sexts from three different girls—two with pictures. He didn’t ignore those.

A message from his mother consisted of three hundred emojis and a cat picture. A few were friends begging for handouts. And, of course, one girl throwing a hissy fit because he’d rejected her the previous night.

It wasn't his fault he wasn't always in the mood for her. Sometimes he wanted someone else.

If there was one thing that Matty Spencer knew, it was the fact that he was an asshole. He wasn’t so deluded as to believe that everyone liked him, or that he couldn't try harder—that he shouldn't be better, but at the end of the day, he knew he didn’t have to be. It was good enough to be a billionaire, have every girl he reached for, and to be respected and admired.

When he was younger, he’d often cared what others thought of him. He’d done everything he could to please them. It’d only taken being ripped off twice to realize that you couldn’t be a pushover in this world. From then on, he’d lived only for himself. At thirty-one, that philosophy had yet to fail him.

He dropped his phone on the floor and walked to the window, pressing a button and watching the screen roll up. A beautiful view of the London skyline appeared in front of him. He nodded and smiled, pleased with the day, before wandering over to the other side of the room where his coffee would be ready.

He sipped it. Perfect aroma, perfect taste, and perfect temperature. Modern technology was a wonderful thing, coordinating his mornings for him. He streamlined everything in his life to suit his needs. And to think that he’d funded and co-developed all the programs which made his house run so seamlessly. No doubt his shower would be ready to begin, his chef would’ve just received the message to prepare his breakfast, and his maids received an alarm telling them his bed would need to be made. Most mornings he didn't even have to think actual thoughts until eleven or twelve. It was beautiful.

His business phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. A loud tone, immediately associated with one person. His secretary at his office. She knew not to contact him unless strictly necessary. Sighing, he called out to his robotic assistant on his phone. “Mia, answer call.”

Emilia Hernandez's voice came through crystal clear as though she were standing next to him in the room. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Spencer. I’m sure it’s some misunderstanding, but—”

“It's fine. What is it?” He took another sip of his coffee.

“The partners from Watanabe Corp are here. The agenda does say you have a meeting with them.”

“When? It's not on my planner.” He scrolled through his daily tasks.

“About an hour ago. I tried to get hold of you, but it went straight to voicemail.”

“Shit, I must have synced it with my personal one.” Matty groaned. “I don't see any appointment listed.”

“Well, they’re in the office, and they’re pretty angry. I can try and stall, but it’s probably best if you get down here.”

He groaned and straightened up. “Tell them my cat died this morning. I’m distraught. They'll buy it.” Matty snickered to himself. Even the rich were idiots sometimes.

“Of course. Anything else?”

“Nope. Mia, end call.”

As soon as the phone shut off, Matty said, “Mia, call Mr. Johannes. I need to rearrange some things.”

He grabbed his clothes as Mia connected him.

This inconvenience perturbed Matty. He was a busy man—not a rushed-off-his-feet, nine-to-fiver. He didn't have to get up at six, and had no desire for a morning commute—but he was busy all the same. The thought of an eight-hour workday vexed him to no end. He’d carefully structured his life to avoid these types of circumstances, and his foolproof system had failed him.

He ran a vast company selling smart-home solutions, about to enter trade with one of the biggest app developers in the world, and his own system had let him down and caused him to be late.

“Yes, Mr. Spencer,” said Mr. Johannes, as soon as he picked up. “How may I help you?”

Matty shrugged on his button-down and moved to the mirror, running a pre-warmed brush with a light layer of gel through his hair. “Is Terrence here? I’m running late for a meeting. I need a ride.”

“Terrence has the day off, Mr. Spencer.”

Matty’s jaw clenched. He didn’t enjoy inefficient conversations. When he made a statement, he expected a solution. Not a fact. “Well, who is on duty?”

He could practically feel Johannes wince on the other end of the line.

“Nobody, I’m afraid, Sir. There are no chauffeurs available until tomorrow.”

Matty scrubbed a hand through his hair and thoroughly disheveled it. He swore under his breath and ran the comb through it again. “We’re in London. I’m positive there is someone in this city that is capable of driving.”

“Of course, Sir. I shall call in a new chauffeur immediately. We should have one by twelve.”

“Twelve?” Matty groaned and his fingers tightened around the brush. “A fucking taxi would be faster than that. I needed to be at the office an hour and a half ago.”

“I shall call Terrence and pay him triple to come to work right away. But that will nevertheless take at least forty minutes. Considering your present predicament, a taxi may be the fastest option.”

Matty paused.

Could he wait for a taxi? Or for Terrence to arrive? No. This deal was important. Not vital, but important. It would help his company. It would make an exorbitant amount of money. Fuck it, he'd drive himself. “I'm driving. Leave the keys to the Lambo by the front door.”

“Of course, Sir. Anything else before I attend to that?”

“Nothing.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Matty took a quick glance in the mirror, flew down the hall, and out the front door. Standing in the street, holding his keys, he glanced around. It didn’t take a genius to realize something was seriously wrong.

His car was gone. Nowhere to be found. “Goddamn it!” He looked up and down the street once more. Had someone moved it? Had he accidentally stopped it down the road, in front of a neighbor's house?

No such thing. His eyes landed on a bright yellow sign.

A no parking zone? Seriously? And they hadn’t even knocked on his door to let them know they were towing away a fucking Lamborghini?

This wasn't some shitty little suburb or quaint country town. This was an area entirely inhabited by the elite, living in urban mansions worth tens of millions of pounds. Which councilor with a stick up his ass had approved a no parking zone?

Matty took a deep breath. It would be fine. He had plenty of other cars. He'd just waste another minute, go inside, and get one.

The limo would be too ostentatious, but he had a Ferrari that would be quick and look nice and sleek as it pulled into his private garage beneath the building.

He folded himself inside the low-lying vehicle and backed out. At last, on the road. He flew around a few corners, the engine a low growl. Matty wondered how other people did this every day. He loved driving. Adored it. How could you not when you had a car that was so sleek, powerful, and beautiful? But on this busy, smoggy road? Surrounded by these imbeciles? It was like sitting on a golden throne in the pits of Hell. Torture from a luxurious seat was still torture.

A blue light flashed behind him and left him with a sinking sensation. Please let it be an ambulance.

Police.

Shitfuck.

He pulled over and rolled his window down as the officer approached from behind. “I don’t have fucking time for this.”

“I can see that. It’s why you're getting a speeding ticket.” The officer strolled up next to the window.

“A ticket? Are you not aware who I am?” Had he even broken the law? He’d been in a rush, but he hadn't thought he was speeding.

“Someone who can afford a ticket, Sir. Let's not make it into something worse.”

Matty nodded and stared at the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the wheel. “Sure, just—let me have it, and I’ll be on my way.”

With the ticket firmly wedged in his pocket, he drove swiftly, but not too swiftly, to his office building, parked, and tried to balance the urgency of the situation with the need to look professional, and composed. It wasn’t like a few more minutes would make much of a difference.

I need to sort my life out.

He walked up to the desk where Emilia waited with a sympathetic smile, her warm brown eyes and full face fell somewhere between motherly and matronly.

“Can you call and see if there is a human we can hire to organize things? A babysitter for adults, perhaps?” Matty asked.

“Can Mia not handle things, Sir?”

Matty shook his head. “I'm afraid not.”

“I was just thinking of the company image.”

Matty nodded. “Understood.” He paused and let out an exasperated sigh. “I need you to keep quiet about this for that very reason. But, I need an actual person to tell me where the fuck I’m going wrong.”

Emilia nodded and smiled. “I’ll look into it while you attend the meeting, Sir.”

“You’re a star.” Matty breathed a sigh of relief. Now, all he needed to do was survive this bloody meeting.

* * *

Despite the initial setback, he managed to appease the Watanabe partners, and it looked as though a long-term relationship between their companies would be beneficial enough for them to overlook the morning’s near disaster. They seemed to buy the cat story, which amused Matty to no end. However, the adrenaline quickly settled, and the need for a fresh coffee arose as he waved goodbye from the hallway.

The elevator doors slid closed and he turned around to face Emilia. “Any luck then?”

“Well, I did remember that your friend, Mr. Arvin, suggested a PA last time he was here. And that you laughed at him. But I thought maybe you would have reconsidered, so I contacted him and asked for her name.” She handed him a small appointment card.

“Not storing it on Mia this time?”

Emilia shook her head. “Not because of that. I thought if someone were to remotely access your planner they might—”

“Smart move. Maybe you could organize my life for me instead?”

Emilia shook her head once more. “Sorry, Sir. I only really handle times and dates, names and places. And from what Mr. Arvin said, Ms. Smith is a little more thorough.”

“She will be here tomorrow?” Matty twirled the card between his fingers thoughtfully. All it had was a name, a phone number, and a time scribbled on it. “Five p.m.?”

“Today at five p.m., Sir. I said it was a matter of urgency, but to be discrete. She will see you at your home.”

Matty nodded. “Perfect. I suppose I’d better head back. Unless there are any other appointments I’m unaware of?”

“None, Sir.” Emilia stared anywhere but at Matty, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey.”

Her eyes moved up and met his.

“I don't blame you for any of this, just so you know. You’re the warden of this nuthouse, but I won't hold you responsible for the meltdowns.”

Matty didn’t enjoy being bothered with trivial nonsense, and it usually perturbed him to no end. But, he’d learned long ago, not to piss off the help. Emilia was a valuable asset to him, and a loyal one at that. It served him well to keep her happy.

His company’s automated system had fucked up his day for the last time, though. It was time to bring in a professional human, and let them do the job.

“Grateful to hear that, Sir. Oh, and Mr. Arvin said, please pardon my language but these were his exact words: 'Look out, she knows what she’s doing and she’s great, but she can be a total bitch.'” Emilia smiled as professionally as always.

Matty nodded. “I'll bear that in mind.”

“Is there anything else, Sir?”

“No, that’ll be all. Thank you.”