The Billionaires Little Black Book

It was another charming spring day in London. The kind where the air is clean and crisp however a slightly cool breeze pierced through. For Misty, this day was the same as any other. She had been down on her luck recently and life had not been going to plan. Having recently been made redundant she was unable to pay her rent and had bills coming out her ears. “Oh, look the sun is shining, what another glorious day!” she thought to herself sarcastically.

She was different and possessed a weird sense of humour humour as well as a notorious disregard for the rules. Her old tabby cat Mr Bojangles jumped on the bed for his usual late morning stretch, Misty turned around and asked candidly, “so, where is your share of the rent?” This single cat mum life was not the life she had signed up for.

“Oh, screw it! Let’s go for yet another bloody walk,” she exclaimed, half expecting her furry companion to reply. Misty threw on her old green maxi coat (not a garment for the aspiring fashionista). She paired this with her finest fluffy slippers, odd socks and at this point figured there was no harm leaving her baggy old man pyjamas underneath. She turned to look in the mirror and thought, “How wonderful, I look positively mental.”

Sauntering downstairs, she proceeded towards her favourite coffee shop and purchased her usual coconut milk latte. It was both overpriced and pretentious, the perfect acquisition for a millennial who thought it was acceptable to parade around London in pyjamas. As she continued towards the park, she told herself, “I won’t go too far.” Of course, she could not risk anyone laying eyes on her in this eclectic ensemble.

With drink in hand, she continued to perch on a small bench and sipped the beverage delicately whilst observing the usual strangers roaming the park. There was of course the yogalates mums in their over-priced gym gear teetering between finance boys getting in those daily steps. It reminded her of this documentary she once watched where insects would weave and dance between each other in order to attract a mate. “No different to those Cardi B wannabes twerking on any available males lap in the clubs,” she thought.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye Misty noticed on the side of the bench a small black Moleskine book. “It probably belongs to one of these finance wankers,” she thought to herself. After twenty minutes or so no one had claimed said book, so she tentatively scooped it up from the seat and immediately noticed the initials CJM embossed in gold. She naughtily opened and began to read. This was a diary but not the ‘dear diary, why so blue?’ kind. Just lists and lists of phone numbers next to initials, but no full names. As she proceeded it became apparent this little books scribbles were all written in code, one that was far too advanced for poor Misty to decipher. As she turned the last page there was a note,

‘If found please call CJM on 0121 444555’.

Misty was feeling particularly generous this day so proceeded to take out her mobile and dialled the number. A gentleman answered, in a deep New Yorker accent,

“Hello, you’ve reached Charles Moroney,” he said.

“Hello,” she replied delicately, “I have come across your little black book in the park.”

“Oh, thank god!” The relieved gentleman exclaimed, “Are you free later? I can meet you at the Mayfair Bar, say, 3 pm.”

“Ok perfect, I shall see you then,” she replied. Then he hung up.

Misty had never been to a prestigious venue such as ’The Mayfair Bar’ before. She began her stroll home dreaming of who this mysterious creature could be. Once through the front door she realised it was already lunch time and a quick dash around the house was in order for her to make this lunch date. Transforming her look from near homelessness to absolute goddess was going to require some serious sorcery on her part. Hair needed to be washed, legs needed to be shaved – you know the drill. Once bathed she threw on a black mini dress with long sleeves and tossed a leather jacket over her slender shoulders.

“Now for make up,” she thought, “the aim here is to not look like I have been gang banged by clowns.” Misty proceeded to casually apply blush, mascara and a slight dab of nude lipstick. It was not her usual look, but it was only a lunch date so there was no need for a full on ‘street walker’ effect. Time was scarce so she hastily pulled on a pair of black boots, booked an uber and dashed out the door.

Upon arrival she noticed a slender brunette guarding the entrance to the bar. This girl was intimidatingly beautiful, practically model material. As Misty began to approach the hostess expression sank into a frown as she snootily looked Misty up and down before saying,

“Sorry, the bar is full.”

“I am here to meet Charles Moroney,” Misty replied with as much of an authoritative tone as she could muster.

“Oh, I am so sorry Miss,” she said, her frown softening and the original hostile attitude melting away.

Misty was guided through the crowded bar towards a handsome gentleman who was quietly sat in the corner. He was mid-forties donning an extremely expensive looking dark navy suit which complimented his perfect head of grey hair.

“Your guest is here Mr. Moroney,” the hostess announced as we reached the handsome stranger’s table.

“Thank you Heather,” he replied whist casually slipping a £50 note into her hand.

“£50 for that cheeky bitch,” Misty thought to herself, “he must be on another planet.”

As he looked up, she could sense she had seen this man before, however, could not pinpoint when or where she could have encountered such a devilishly handsome gentleman who was almost definitely twice her age.

“I am so sorry, but have we met before?” Misty asked tentatively.

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” he replied, “My apologies but I don’t think you told me your name?”

“I’m Misty,” she answered, “Are you sure? Your face just seems so familiar to me.”

“Yes, its familiar to a lot of people, you might have heard of my company ‘Green tech’,” he stated.

That was when the penny dropped. “Oh, holy mother of Azerbaijan,” she thought. This was Charles Moroney, the billionaire and technology entrepreneur . A famous bachelor who had a reputation for working hard but playing harder. This beautiful specimen just happened to have dated every top model and was particularly renowned for his extravagant parties as well as his incredibly cut-throat business manner.

“I don’t have much time, but did you bring my book with you?” he asked.

“Oh, of course,” Misty replied whilst handing him the small Moleskine journal.

“Thank you very much, this is for you,” he said as he slipped Misty an envelope, “You have saved me a massive headache.” Then before she could reply he slipped out from behind the table and was gone.

Misty sat in disbelief for five minutes then suddenly remembered the envelope. As she cautiously opened it and reached her hand inside, she noticed there was an exceptionally large wad of money. Turning herself into the corner she proceeded to count, there was $20,000 in total. As much as she was excited about having just met one of the most prominent men of this generation, she could not help but think, “damn that’s going to buy Mr. Bojangles an awful lot of cat food.”