1. THE CALL

The soft moans of two adults filled the presidential suite of the third floor of a penthouse, the masculine voice was louder, overshadowing the muffled sounds of the female who seemed to be wanting more as he hit her from the back. He went on faster, thrusting in and out of her butthole. His member suddenly slipped off her hole, he was about to fill her back when the loud ringing of his cellphone interrupted them.

Callan groaned, he loathed being disturbed at a time like this. He had been working his ass off at work, and now was the time he had to have some fun, and someone was disturbing him with calls? Gross.

"Do you want to pick that?" The brunette whose ass was still raised in the air asked him. She was in need and would regret it if Callan didn't finish with her tonight. Not everyone got to have a romp with the mighty Callan Barlowe, she had managed to catch his attention and she didn't want that opportunity to slip off her hands.

"Yes," wholly naked, he ambled across the room, moving to grab the phone from the bed. He picked up the phone and another call came in. He swiped up to pick up the call. "Hey mom," his deep baritone voice reverberated through the room. "What's happening tonight?" He asked, crinkling his eyes in confusion.

"We have dinner with Arnold Sullivan and his daughters. Have you forgotten we are meeting with them today?" His mother's voice pierced his ears. "He has beautiful daughters that you will like. His first daughter is very beautiful, I already spoke to her and she seems to be interested in you too."

Callan scoffed, bobbing his head. "She does not even know me."

"She does, everyone knows my son. I will be expecting you by eight, I love you." She ended the call before he could counter her words.

He sauntered over to where the brunette was, his eyes bloodshot red with fury. "Are you leaving?" She asked him.

He squinted his eyes, "How is that a business of yours?" He retorted, pulling out the drawer attached to the dresser in the room. He shoved out some stacks of cash and handed them over to her. "Leave before I finish in the bathroom." With that said, he strolled into the bathroom.

The brunette fumed with resentment as she watched Callan lazily drag his feet into the bathroom. He wasn't done with her yet, but she had to leave. There was always a second time, and she hoped she'd get the chance to be in bed with Callan again.

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Callan swayed his lanky body when he got into the bathroom, he slid into that bathtub and had a slow bath, wondering why his mother wanted him to get married at all costs. He wasn't interested in getting married, all he knew was to work hard, sleep with hoes and make more money. Getting married was never part of his plan, and he hoped he wouldn't see a lady that would suit him from all the seven daughters of Arnold Sullivan.

He finished from the bathroom and sauntered back into the vast bedroom. The room was the finest  on the third floor of his 5-floor penthouse. He specially set that room aside for his wanton desires. 

He donned a pair of black trousers with a white button-down T-shirt, and a black jacket to fit. He proceeded to the long-length mirror to fix his bowtie, he admired his well-structured manly body in the mirror. There was evidence of his continuous and relentless gyming. He smiled, he was the perfect definition of looks and a killer body.

 After that, he combed his hair and dashed out of the room when he was satisfied with his looks.

Callan was met in the hallway by Rosa, his assistant. She hurried to lead him down to the first floor, calling out his schedule for the night as they headed towards the elevator together.

"And lastly, you have a meeting by 2 am." She finished, combing her curly red hair with her fingers. She stood close to him, almost not reaching his shoulders. Rosa was a woman of average height and body size; she was tall, and slender from the upper body down to her massive hips. "That's all for tonight, sir." She smiled at him, adjusting the glasses that perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Rosa, I think you should go home now." Callan spat sternly, his face void of emotion.

"But sir, you have to meet with the…"

"Rosa, I am not meeting with anyone tonight. I have to be somewhere with my mother." The elevator came to a halt. Callan kneaded his fingers against his creased forehead, his long frame hovering above Rosa. "Go home, Rosa. We will sort things out tomorrow." 

"Yes, Boss." She smiled. Though she wanted him to attend the meetings, she was also glad that she could sleep well throughout the night. "I will see you tomorrow then."

The door to his Rolls Royce was already opened when he arrived at the parking lot, Callan slid in and told his chauffeur, David, his destination. Soon, the car was out of the penthouse, hitting the busy night streets of Marylebone Road.

Callan fixed his dark glasses on his eyes and leaned backwards on the seat, reminiscing the things that had been going on in his life lately. He'd been stressed out from work, he had a lot on his table. He suddenly felt a twinge in his chest when he knew that he had to obey whatever his mother wanted him to do. She was the reason he could be called Callan Barlowe today. After he lost his father when he was just a few years old, she made sure she worked her ass off to make them successful, and the result of her hard work was what he inherited that made him one of the youngest and richest billionaires in town.

He was jolted out of his reverie by the ringing of his phone, checked and again, it was his mother, Elizabeth. He smiled, bobbing his head. His mother would not back off from this. He trusted her never to relent.