The Billionaire’s Savior

Oh.

Interesting. Is it interesting? Just like that you put an advert out there and get a wife? It might be an idea and what the hell could it hurt. What was the worst thing that would happen? He could get their details, Cleo could do a background check, and best case, he snags himself a real companion.

Worst case? It’s all a colossal waste of his time and resources. And he had quite a few resources…If these randoms could do it, why not him?

Chris slammed his laptop shut, forced himself to get up, go to his room, get into his work out clothes and did a few miles on the treadmill while using the VR hill to pretend he was outside. He needed to get his mind on other things; maybe he’d download the new Fifty Shades from Amazon and see if he could get through that. The first one had been a chore though. Maybe he should take a break from reading the site for a while; it was clearly starting to become a distraction from his problems. Yes, that sounded good. Fill his time with more projects, maybe see if he could invent something else and not with useless words on an electronic screen.

Chris made it approximately twenty-four hours before he broke.

Despite his demands, the Master Class had nothing to give him and Cleo was being oddly resistant to his charms, which had left him bored – again. God he hated being bored. Pacing the worn floor of his apartment, he eyed his laptop with curiosity. What was the worst that could happen if he were to reach out? Well, ending up dead, he supposed. There was always the chance he attracted a serial killer, but so what? It might even be a good thing. He would be with Nicole again.

Apparently that was all the convincing his brain needed because he was across the room and booting up his computer before he even realized it. Suddenly Chris was nervous, what should he say? How much information should he give away? He deliberated for nearly half an hour before he finally came up with a post he could stand, and sent it immediately so he didn’t have time to change his mind.

Single Black Male seeking wife

Thirty year old agoraphobic gentleman seeking companionship with single black female (preferred). Must be honest, straightforward, ready to live faithfully with me in a marriage situation. Love is not a prerequisite.

• do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

*****

Re: Single Black Male seeking wife

Sh*t I don’t know if this is a good idea but I’m down to the wire here. Okay here’s the thing. I’m a videographer trying to make a name for myself. So far I’ve only succeeded in doing that in the bar mitzvah circuit. I have a movie project I’m trying to get off the ground and it would be great if I didn’t have to worry about rent and food for a while…you wanted an honest person; it don’t get more honest than me.

I’m not just wanting to mooch off of you of course. You said you suffer from Agoraphobia? Well I’d be willing to carry out all those things that might be hard for you because you can’t leave the house. Grocery shopping, renewing licenses…whatever you’d like that you can’t do online.

My name is Robyn and I am answering your ad for a wife – I’ll let you decide.

Though, could I get a name in return at least?

-Robyn

Chris read the response twice through and wasn’t entirely sure what he expected. The woman – Robyn – sounded normal and managed to come across as awkwardly charming in a few short sentences. Yet there’s something there, something that managed to spark Chris’s interest through a medium that he had only ever deigned to use as entertainment. He contemplated again just ignoring what had happened; there would be no harm, he had given Robyn no information of great import. In fact, it would probably be for the best if he deleted the emails and went on with his life. He had a vow to himself to consider, and far more interesting experiments to be getting to anyway.

Buggering fu*k.

Chris was definitely not panicking. That would be absurd. Chris Odom didn’t trifle over silly emotions like panic. Especially when he had no idea exactly why he was panicking.

*****

Robyn had had a sh*tty day to top off a sh*tty week in what had been a pretty damn sh*tty year. It was December 1st and she didn’t have a job, she didn’t have a boyfriend, and there was just no way she’d be able to afford going home to see her family over Christmas. She hadn’t gotten laid in over six months, her camera had a crack in the screen, and if she didn’t make rent money soon she’d be spending Christmas in a cardboard box.

Her mood wasn’t helped any by the fact that the club Pamela said to meet her at was damned near impossible to find. Who hid a club in the backwaters of nowhere anyway? Wasn’t it kind of defeating the purpose of having a club if people couldn’t actually find it?

Robyn really just wanted to go home and sleep forever in her lumpy stupid bed, but she couldn’t do that if she didn’t find Pamela first because of course she picked today of all days to forget her keys at home. Maybe Robyn should take her parents up on their offer and go back to Miami and get a degree in something useful. That way at least she’d get to spend Christmas with her family, even if she would do so as a failure.

She didn’t want to get a degree in something useful and join the ranks of 9 to 5 working normal people. She wanted to be a videographer, but her sales pitch su*ked and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to catch a break. Her mom would say something about how some things are just not meant to be, but Robyn refused to believe that. If God, or whoever, didn’t want her to be a videographer then why did they give Robyn the talent and passion for it? That’s just cruel and Robyn refused to believe that the universe worked like that.

She turned another corner and ended up in a dimly lit dead end. She heard footsteps coming up behind her and tensed; getting mugged would be a perfect way to end this day, really.

“You look lost.”

The voice startled Robyn and she spun around on her heels so fast she almost slipped and fell over.

“Easy there,” the guy said, reaching out a hand to steady Robyn.

Robyn swallowed because the guy sounded friendly enough but he looked kind of scary, dressed in black from head to toe with a spiked collar around his neck. He was taller than Robyn by far and the nails on the hand resting on Robyn’s shoulder were painted black.

“You okay?” the guy asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah,” Robyn said, licking her lips nervously. “I’m fine.”

The guy had black hair, spiked over the top of his head, creating some kind of faux Mohawk and his eyes were lined with black and a pale blue that you just didn’t see that often.

“So what are you doing here anyway?” the guy asked, looking around. “Not the best place to be wandering around at this time of night.”

“I’m looking for this club,” Robyn said with a sigh. “The Basement?”

The guy chuckled, looking Robyn up and down. “Honey, if you walk into The Basement looking like that they’re gonna eat you alive.”

Robyn flushed and clutched protectively at her plaid shirt. Everyone had been getting up in her plaid lately, what was the deal with that anyway? The guy hummed and shamelessly slipped a finger into Robyn’s collar to look in under her shirt.

“That’s better,” the guy said thoughtfully. “Okay, take your shirt off.”

Robyn’s fingers were on the buttons before she realized this was starting to look like a bad porno. “What? Why?” she asked, a little belatedly since her shirt was already hanging open.

The guy chuckled. “You’ll see.”

He hummed again and reached up to remove the collar from around his neck, fastening it around Robyn’s instead.

“Wait a minute,” Robyn said, fingers flying up to touch the edge of the collar. “What the fu*k?”

“Trust me honey, I’m doing you a favor. There’s no way they’d let your adorable plaid ass in through the door without my help.”

Robyn blinked. Strange guy thought she was adorable. Huh.

“Okay. Hold still.”