Chapter 2

Handsome was too simplistic a word to describe Henry Sullivan.

He was a Greek god’s dream, built for an exotic and erotic promise.

Sullivan reached number 50 on push-ups, sweaty, drained, and shirtless. His dark piercing stormy blue eyes looked up quizzically at his trainer, who stood over him, clasping a stopwatch.

“Not bad, Sullivan. Fifty push-ups in three minutes. Better than yesterday’s record.” She bent down to ruffle his blond hair with fond admiration. “Continue like this, and you’ll be the fittest man in the country.”

Henry grinned as he stood up to his full six feet height and made his way to his gym bag to get a fitted shirt. He slipped his toned muscular arms into the shirt as he spoke.

“Tell me, Ariana, who’s the best of the best again?”

She smiled. “What a way to ask for an ego boost first thing in the morning.”

Ariana was a tall, formidable woman built like an Amazon, and she had only become his personal trainer three months ago. She had a wimp of a husband at home, but lately, she had been wondering what it would feel like to have a hunk like Henry in her bed, wrapped between her legs. Word on the street was that he was a titan in bed, after all. They were alone in the gym, so it was easy for her to come closer and wrap her hands around his waist, touching his toned, tanned stomach muscles seductively. The sexual tension made her shiver.

“Do you have to go now, tiger?” She asked, “You know, there’s a cheap hotel not too far from here. We could have a good time.”

Henry smiled as he felt her titties push into his strong, broad back. It was always super sexy but tirelessly boring when a woman made the first move. It soured the chase. And men were born for the chase.

He could sense the sexual excitement in her, and while he was flattered, he knew he wasn’t going to waste his time with her. She wasn’t his usual type, and she was married. As a rule, he avoided married women like plagues since he’d nearly gotten his balls chopped off because of one of them. Besides, he was getting fed up with her overt sexual suggestions. She had a job first and foremost, and he had no patience for incompetence. She will be replaced by this time tomorrow.

He turned around and buttoned up his shirt.

“I’ve got a board meeting in half an hour.” He gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the training, I’ll see you soon.”

His phone rang. A female name, Clarinda, showed up on the ID. Henry gave a quick glance before snatching up to take the call. He winked at her before he left.

Ariana watched him go feeling an inexplicable hatred course through her for the girl on the other line.

***

Clarinda gave Henry a rundown of the day’s activities as they rode together in his newly purchased silver car. Tall, dark-eyed, and lush-haired, she was his personal assistant during the day and one of his mistresses at night. Clarinda was an attractive brunette — just the way Henry liked them.

He kept a string of mistresses across several continents, incessantly showering them with superficial, materialistic gifts. Diamond necklaces, expensive bags, thousands of dollars in the bank account, condo apartments, and exotic trips on his private airplane. Many of them have tried to pin him down or trap him into marriage, but Henry had masterminded the tricks and wiles of women and could not, therefore, be bound.

When it came to women, Henry liked exotic species, and the press couldn’t get enough of his colorful romantic escapades. He had dated a former Venezuelan beauty queen, an Italian model, a Russian TV host, a Mexican actress, and an Indian Instagram influencer. He had gone to bed with hundreds of them. So many that he had long ago decided to stop counting. For brazen, rich, successful, virile Alpha males like him, there was and would always be an endless supply of women.

At his penthouse, Henry took his time showering before carefully selecting his outfit for the day. He had over eight hundred suits and ties, hundreds of watches, and carefully selected Italian shoes, all customized for him, arranged and organized within a vast walk-in closet lined with golden mirrors. Henry loved fashion. Most importantly, he enjoyed looking outstanding and elegant. After freshening up for the day and settling for a fitted burgundy suit, he ditched the car, and his chauffeur drove him to the imposing office building of Sullivan Corporation downtown. Sullivan Corporation was the biggest citrus company in San Francisco, founded by Henry’s parents — Joe and Marion Sullivan.

The company started operations in Britain during the Industrial Revolution. Its incipience had been commenced by Henry’s grandfather, Bill Sullivan, whose black and white portrait hung at the ground floor entrance of the company, right behind the receptionist. Henry glanced at the expressionless face of Bill Sullivan, frozen forever in a picture as he walked with long, easy strides into the elevator. His father had taken over the company in the fifties after the death of Bill Sullivan. During the tumultuous sixties, Sullivan Corporation gained immense fame and admiration when it publicly supported Black people in their fight for Civil Rights. The act propelled Sullivan Corporation to mainstream prominence amongst Black people and other minority tribes, boosting sales profits and manpower.

As time went on, the White populace accepted the corporation had come to stay, and sales exploded so much that Joe Sullivan became a multibillionaire. Over the last ten years, Henry had been groomed for the firm’s Presidential seat. His father was determined his ascendancy was going to be done strictly by merit despite blood ties. He had done the same, and so Henry was required to continue the tradition. The purpose was to sharpen his leadership skills and understand the importance of delayed gratification.

At the age of twenty, his father put an end to his enormous monthly income and hired him as an intern. At that time, Henry was studying business administration part-time at the University of California, San Francisco. During the three-month internship program, Henry was being paid just $500 a month, which frankly was insulting for a billionaire heir. Afterward, he became the executive assistant to the Operations Manager, and by the time he was enrolled at Harvard Business School at the age of 25, he was executive assistant to the CEO. Both roles exposed him to the daily operations of the company and the perpetual decision-making processes it entailed to run a business of such vast proportions. By the time Henry graduated from Harvard, burnished, shined, and overflowing with business intelligence, he was ready to take full command.

At 27, Henry became the President of Sullivan Corporation. He was 35 now, and just as he had gained a reputation for being a playboy/ladies’ man, he had also gained large-scale prominence for being one of the most cold-blooded business titans in San Francisco — shrewd and meticulous, brilliant and incisive. Under Henry’s indomitable leadership, the business bloomed and flourished. It had ballooned from a mere family business into a solid multinational. In seven years, Henry established more branches around the country and then created more subsidiary companies in a handful of West and Asian African countries. Last year, Variety magazine named him number one on its annual list of Top 500 business leaders.

Every member of staff in every country knew the company’s end goal because he constantly thrummed it in their ears: To have a Sullivan citrus fruit drink in every home, at every business function or event. It was a goal Henry was obsessed with, and he knew without a doubt that he was going to achieve it.

His legacy was already solid and unmatched, as neither his father nor grandfather had not accomplished what he had. Henry had received numerous business awards and was recognized in the corporate world as a trailblazer and pacesetter. He dominated almost every room with his fine charm and charisma, the scent of success, and dripping money. He wrote for international business journals and was invited to business seminars around the world to give speeches and impact students with his impressive business acumen, and whenever his busy schedule allowed, he traveled, always making sure he caught the eye of a woman or two.

As much as Henry loved work, he loved life more and thrived as a free spirit. He was well-known in business and political settings, and his public reputation was an interesting eclectic mix of shrewd businessman, business academician, public speaker, party boy/playboy, and adventurer. He went on daring life-threatening adventures like skydiving and mountain climbing, exploring the seas and deepest parts of the world.

To Henry, the world was vast, and life was too short not to live on your terms. His father had always warned him to keep a thorough distinction between his professional life and personal life, which invariably meant, “Do not be a party boy within the corporation.” Henry had heeded those words to the letter.

Due to his public position, everyone was naturally curious about his love life. Henry was a true realist. He didn’t truly believe it was possible to live a private life as a public figure, so he brandished and flashed his radiantly beautiful girlfriends in the face of the press. In interviews, he talked about how he hoped to find love someday and settle with the right one. He said this because he knew this was what publications wanted to hear, and this was what readers wanted to read. In reality, Henry was convinced love was a ghostly thing that didn’t exist, and those who believed in it were fools.

Which was why marrying Dorothea Smith was not going to be a complication.

Dorothea was the key to propelling Sullivan Corporation to bigger and greater heights, but that was all she was. It was all she would ever be. But like all empty-headed females, Henry was sure she was possibly trying to scheme her way into something real with him. Like most of the women he met, she was all body and no brain. He reached the top floor, stepped out of the elevator, and nodded to his receptionist in greeting. She smiled back.

“Good morning, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Sleep well, Elena?”

“As always I did. The board is waiting for you.”

Henry nodded. “Of course.”

“But before you go, there is a Dorothea Smith in your office.”

“How did she get a pass?”

“I’m sorry, sir. She said she was your fiancée, and when I threatened to call security, she told me I would be out of a job.”

“It’s alright. I’ll handle her.”

Henry walked in, and Dorothea swiveled around in his seat to face him. “What a fantastic view you have of the city, Henry.”

Henry thrust his hands into his pocket and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Ooh, I brought you some salad for lunch. I know you’re all about the fit lifestyle, and you are on a permanent organic diet.”

Henry scoffed. “You’re playing wife already?”

Dorothea smiled and stood up, tousling her wavy wheat blond hair. In her fitted black pencil skirt that hugged her glorious curves and tucked-in chiffon blouse and black stilettos. she looked like one of those sexy secretaries in marketing organizations.

She walked toward him and clutched the lapels of his suit, planting a light, quick kiss on his lips.

“I am your wife. It’s not like you plan on running out on me, or are you having second thoughts?”

In truth, he was.