It All Started With a Suitcase Full of Cash (#iaswasfoc) Chapter 5 - Oh, What a Morning!

2019-01-01T02:42:50.000Z Honest Cash

After riding him one last time, Dominique lets J.R. out for breakfast (she woke me up in the middle of the night to do her again). In a normal relationship, you might have sex three or four times in a day (once or twice before bed, once in the middle of the night if you can work without the sleep, and once or twice in the morning…) Dominique likes to do all of the above, if her man can keep up with her. (She gets cranky if she doesn’t get in at least three sessions in a day.) Just one more reason to share her. If it was just the two of us spending the week with her, she might not have even let J.R. out already… but the party wasn’t scheduled to officially start until tonight. I was still technically on duty and J.R. just showed up early—he is a very persistent man, and consequently, a great salesman. I go back to being her faithful servant (even giving the cook a break knowing she’s busy with final preparations for the party) and make the three of us breakfast—silently bowing and scraping in embarrassment when I brush against Dominique’s hand while serving the coffee. We take pleasure in taking breakfast in her private dining room—even as her personal assistant, I’ve only dined there on occasion when we were working late. I don’t think J.R. had been in the room since the first time he came to the house, when she gave him a full tour of the house and grounds (sans secret passageways and servants quarters), not that any of us boys had ever seen everything that was on that island.

Smiling graciously, she offers, “Milton, I want you to remember that you have the weekend off. The party will officially start at five tonight or whenever Archer arrives. Whichever happens first. I’m anxious for my birthday weekend to begin. He’s scheduled to arrive on the mainland at four and Ceci will be shuttling him over on one of the 44s but let security know that the helipad will be in use all day because I’m having lunch with a few of the girls. I already moved the Bell inside the hangar so there’s plenty of space to land—although we may still need to use the grass.”

“Just how many girls are you having for lunch?”

“That’s classified.”

“Har. Har.” She really does drive me crazy sometimes…I just wish she would only do it when we were in bed.

“Unfortunately Ceci won’t be able to take over your duties until after she drops off Archer and stows the helo in the hangar, there are still a few details outstanding so until those issues are resolved, I want the heliport to be clear for landing if necessary—I’m sorry, I know you’re anxious to dive into some time off, but I need to make sure all of my business is wrapped up before the festivities begin (or rather, continue, I guess you could say.)”

“As you wish.” I tease, bowing low in jest.

Ignoring my shenanigans, she continues detailing the business of the day, “As for the other guests, I’d be shocked if Godfrey shows—but if he does, he usually arrives Friday evening after normal business hours. I haven’t scheduled any transports for him so hopefully he’ll call ahead of time so he doesn’t get shot at like the last time he visited. I’m not a fan of boats buzzing my private pier. Why he didn’t use the guest pier—there were open boat slips…God only knows.”

“You mean Godfrey only knows.”

“Har, har. Yourself. Normally, I wouldn’t mind your joking, but unfortunately, my relationship with Godfrey is in complete disintegration because of his alcoholism. I watched two of my closest friends die last year from completely avoidable and treatable alcoholism related health issues—so I don’t have the mental energy left to deal with drunks—I’m still in mourning and a little bit angry about the senseless losses of my favorite dance partner and my best gardener. If he does shows, for his sake…I just hope Godfrey’s on his best behavior. Can I get some more coffee?”

“Of course darling. But I don’t understand why you invite Godfrey if he only upsets you.”

“Besides funding Miss Dom‘s until I started to turn a profit, he’s done a lot for me over the years. Did you know he was the one who introduced me to Archer? He also set me up with a condo, a rolodex, and an allowance when I first moved to Chicago. I know you might not believe it, but Godfrey was the one who taught me most of my skills, in bed and out.”

J.R. said what we both thinking, “That I don’t believe. There’s no way that old man taught you anything. I don’t think he has the skills.”

“You have to understand, I was very young, very naïve, very, very naïve, and without any close family. I didn’t find out until I turned eighteen that my parents had pilfered my trust to support the Church of Scientology, so I was literally at the mercy and wholly dependent upon the charity of my friends. Godfrey made sure I had everything I needed, introduced me to everyone I needed to know, and trained me in the art of seduction. It’s still my most lucrative skill set. So I feel like I at least owe it to him to be a good enough friend to care about what happens to him. Even if he is killing himself. Besides, as a seriously confirmed bachelor, his only family is a sister he only speaks to on holidays, and I don’t know the last time he went to Paris to visit her, but it’s been at least a few years. So we’re really all he has. Archer tries to keep an eye on him as much as possible, but because the taxes are so outrageous, he doesn’t have any Taylor locations in Illinois anymore so that makes it difficult. Besides, when he’s not in India with his wife, as President of Taylor, Archer’s on the road most of the year, running around keeping the family’s worldwide operations from falling apart. Oh, and speaking of men who travel too many days a year, Sebastian won’t be here until Saturday—he’s finishing up with signing a new batch of contracts for next year’s soccer season—no, excuse me, sorry, that’s football—I know you’re just waiting to try to correct me because it is the European league…or whatever they call it (no offense, I just don’t care enough to learn the correct terms.) And one last thing, (I promise) please ask the guards to not shoot Lucy when she comes up in the bay. She’s testing out my new toy—I just received confirmation of the delivery this morning. The submarine is finally at the marina and ready to go but it doesn’t do me a whole lot of good sitting on the mainland, when I’m here. Not to sound more paranoid than John McAfee, but I’m on an island and I need multiple ways to get out of here, especially when the winds are really shitty for flying in…So, I’m having Ms. Wu test the submarine out and bring it over.”

She finishes the last of her steak and eggs, puts down her utensils and finishes the last of my instructions with, “Before you start partying, just make sure Ceci has an all access security card and the passwords for the day. Oh, and J.R., Ms. Wu will do the contracts and Ceci will do the programming parts of your project for you. I’ll give them the details this afternoon.”

With that she dismisses us, and (presumably, based on her usual schedule) did her essentrics workout for the day before hitting the shower, and then the office. (Having already done a quick bunch of weight lifting reps during the ten minutes it took me to make breakfast.) It might be her birthday, but there are no days off from working out, looking that good is a full time occupation in itself.

After loading the dishwasher, I return to my suite and busy myself with normal business and J.R. does whatever it is he does when he doesn’t have a sales meeting to run, or a client in front of him to pitch…I suspect he spends his time in front of a mirror practicing his sales script, which is not the stupidest thing he could be doing with his time alone. (Although I’m going to assume there was a bit more day drinking and a whole lot more napping today than on a typical Thursday for the youngin’.) Dominique may be significantly older than him, she could easily be his mother (not that she normally looks it) but even he’s not able to keep up with her. Of course, I’m assuming she might have had a little more sleep than he did last night. I know I certainly had plenty, or at least I thought I had, but now that I think about it, I’m still dragging. I do wish she would take it easy for one day. (I know wishful thinking.) She’s been driving me crazy with emails—I miss the good old days when your boss could either workout or email you—not both at the same time…Well, no rest for the wicked which could, I suppose, apply to any of us. As for me, I better answer her email before she makes it down to the second floor and reams my ass.