Page 99 of Owned By a Billionaire

As I continued to sip on my beer, lost in my thoughts, I heard one of them say, “So, mate, do you think he’ll get three weeks? I mean, it was barely a fucking tackle.”

And there it was, Australia and its football-mad obsessives. Londoners had a similar fixation with their own football code, but the fans were louder in my former home.

“Dunno, mate. It’s a fucking joke, if ya ask me.”

I could have moved and really wanted to, but they were big, burly fellows. Their necks were as thick as their heads, and I wasn’t about to offend anyone.

A couple of girls joined them. They also sported tattoos and smelled like a cheap perfume counter. With their plumped lips, tiny shorts, and crop tops, they were an advertisement to the cosmetic-enhancing industry. I suspected they’d buried themselves in so much product that even their souls were coated in polymer.

But then, that was my inner cynic. And I had a lot to feel dark about.

Elise.

Why wouldn’t she just sign the fucking papers? She just had to drag this out by persecuting me as some form of retaliatory punishment.

The girls squealed with laughter. “That’s so fucking true. And he’s not even straight.”

I had to stop eavesdropping, but how could I not when in earshot of such larger-than-life characters? Everyone in that town seemed to go around with a neon sign over them. At night, the place had a sense of danger about it, like the football game had left the stadium and was playing out on the streets.

For now, I had to tackle Elise. Not literally, as physical contact was the furthest thing from my mind. There was only one woman I wouldn’t have minded tackling—in the friendliest of ways—and that was Caroline.

“She’s marrying him. Can you believe it?” the blonde girl said. “After that restraining order? He put her in fucking hospital.”

“He’s kinda hot though,” the other girl said.

I had to leave before my day grew bleaker, despite the shining sun.

From one dysfunction to another, I made my way to Elise’s Manly home. The ferry ride was pleasant as I sipped on another beer.

My phone rang. Caroline.

“Oh, Mark, it’s crazy here.”

“It’s always crazy there. That’s one of Merivale’s many charms.” I chuckled.

“Police are circling like vultures on a carcass.”

“Okay, fair metaphor. I take it we’re not talking about the funeral?”

“That’s Saturday. I don’t want to go, but I must. There’s someone there I’m hoping to see.”

“Oh?”

“An old acquaintance who’s coming from Germany to attend the funeral.”

“Okay. And what does that mean?”

“It means he might have an answer to a question that could lead the police in another direction, or at least, I hope.”

“Speaking of which, I’ve just had my fingerprints taken. I’m a suspect, it would seem.”

“We all are, darling.” She sighed.

“It’s nice to hear your voice.” Her refined tone was music to my ears.

“After listening to mangled English these past days, hearing you is like listening to a blackbird’s nocturnal song.”

“You say the nicest things.” She chuckled. “I miss you, Mark. Are the divorce papers signed?”

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