Page 85 of Handsome Devil
No Kill Corp. Animal Shelter. NYC Registered #2233, $329,000.
She was going to make the shelter a rescued animals paradise. I pressed my lips together to suppress a smile. My wife was coming out of her shell. Becoming mischievous and daring. I always knew a great warrior lived behind those demure dresses and perfect curves. I chose well. Someone the complete opposite of Andrin. Who wanted to save animals, not kill them.
Ping.
Kopi Luwak Coffee, 6 lbs., pure, unfiltered, at Café Rem, $14,998.
Ping.
Viking Tuscany Stove. >>. At AJ Madison. $36,827.
Great choice. I’d wanted one of those for my Mamaroneck summer house.
My chest quaked with stifled laughter as I watched ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment charges gliding down my screen, chasing one another. It wasn’t too long before my phone started ringing in my palm.
Hans.
My private banker at Lombard Group International.
What did she do, attempt to buy the American Museum of Natural History?
I slid my finger over the screen and pressed my phone to my ear. “Yes?”
“Mr. Blackthorn, sir,” Hans greeted in his usual, exaggerated manner. “How do you do?”
“Fine. I’d ask the same of you, but I pay you too much interest to pretend to care.”
“Fair enough.” He forced out a rusty chuckle.
I pressed a finger to my ear. The pub was noisy and full of people.
“It appears someone is currently trying to use your personal Amex…”
“That someone is my wife. What’s the issue?”
“Oh! My warmest congratul—”
“Yeah, yeah, get to the point.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, she’s attempting to purchase a Gulfstream G450.”
“I’ll ask again—what’s the issue?”
Quiet quilted the other line. Either a cat got his tongue, or he was too much of a pussy to say it.
“Spit it out, Hans.”
“She’s added a special charge of an additional one hundred and three thousand…”
“Approve the transaction.”
In this Russian roulette of fucking with each other, I wasn’t going to blink first. I wasn’t going to blink atall. Came with the territory of embracing my own psychosis. She needed to know tiny skirts and giant bills did not sway me one way or the other, even if she didn’t like the necessary extra security on her tonight.
“The surcharge is for a customization, a design.” He cleared his throat.
“Right,” I said slowly. “Why wouldn’t she want a custom design? Do you think my wife should travel in a generic jet? Something bland and boring? Like a peasant?”
I was fucking with him, knowing he’d gladly surrender every hole in his body to me in exchange for managing a portfolio like mine. Usually, I derived endless pleasure from taunting people.
