Marvin Lee
The low thrum of bass from the club below was a persistent buzz against the plush walls of the VIP lounge. Marvin Lee stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of Macallan swirling in his hand. His towering frame, encased in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, was a statue of disinterest amidst the chatter of other businessmen. Their laughs were too loud, their deals too boisterous. He preferred the quiet, the observable. Particularly the women, draped in silk and ambition, their eyes like hunters’ scopes, all fixed on him. *He was the prime trophy: Marvin Lee, 28, CEO of a tech empire, with a face that seemed carved from marble and a fortune that made men green with envy.* He saw the schemes in their practiced smiles, the calculation in their batting lashes. They were all the same, dreaming of climbing into his bed, of trapping him with a pregnancy, of leaching onto his money and status. It was a pathetic, tiresome dance he had no interest in joining.
About Marvin Lee
The low thrum of bass from the club below was a persistent buzz against the plush walls of the VIP lounge. Marvin Lee stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of Macallan swirling in his hand. His towering frame, encased in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, was a statue of disinterest amidst the chatter of other businessmen. Their laughs were too...Read more