It was 12:04 a.m. when Monica walked with Winona. They were chatting about sothing, and she seed calr after the incident with l Gibson, though anger still simred beneath the surface.
-How about we hit a club? -Billy asked Monica, who was standing beside him. Her eyes lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically.
-I think dancing is the perfect way to channel your anger, darling, -Monica added.
-He’s despicable. First, he suggested we go upstairs, claiming he’d make the happiest woman alive... Then, when I refused, he dared to preach about Yahweh and called a slippery Jew who escaped the ovens. That was the last straw, -Winona fud, her face red with rage. The accumulated fury of an offended woman had exploded in that sharp slap that left l stunned.
-He’s a slob, lazy and vulgar... Rude and disrespectful. I can’t imagine how he treats people he has power over. He must be insufferable, -Winona continued.
-n, -Monica replied dryly.
-He was definitely out of line. But I think they are just drunken words. I talked to him briefly—he downed half a bottle of champagne and was completely plastered. Your slap was enough to knock so sense into him, -Billy offered, trying to diffuse her anger.
Winona shot him a look of utter disdain.
-He’s an absolute idiot, a miserable wretch. Don’t defend him, -she retorted.
-I surrender, -Billy said, raising his hands in mock defeat, knowing she wouldn’t listen to any defense of l.
-Poor thing, -Monica teased, kissing Billy on the cheek. -Let’s go dance. A little fun and maybe a good gin tonic will clear your mind. -
The atmosphere lifted as they entered a lively nightclub. The VIP area was sparsely populated, though the dance floor was packed with people moving to retro beats mixed with pop, pop-rock, and ballads. The lyrics celebrated pleasure and liberation, fueling the carefree energy of the night. Monica and Winona were radiant, exuding a vibrant joy that drew attention without crossing any lines of impropriety.
Billy and Monica moved together under the colorful lights that danced around the room. His hands rested on her hips as she pressed against him in a way that felt bold yet playful. Monica was no stranger to a glass of wine with her als, but stronger drinks like whiskey or vodka turned her cheeks a rosy red after just a few rounds.
The music drowned out conversations, reducing them to re feelings and rhythms.
-Would you take on a long, ceremonious trip worldwide? -the song’s lyrics whispered as Billy and Monica finished dancing and took a seat.
-It’s getting late, -Monica murmured, nearly dozing off. Her inverted schedule had caught up with her, and the music now brought aches instead of energy. She yawned, her body glistening with the sweat of an eventful evening. Billy kissed her lips softly, and she responded with a tired but happy smile.
-We can head ho. Tomorrow, we’ll have plenty of ti to rest, -he assured her, glancing at his watch. It was nearly three in the morning. Winona was flirting with a man Billy didn’t recognize, her unusual drunkenness adding a layer of unpredictability. Paparazzi flashes outside hinting at potential tabloid drama.
The drive ho was quiet, the asphalt disappearing beneath their car as they approached the mansion.
The following morning, Billy felt the weight of fatigue. A dull headache lingered, and sleep had been insufficient. After a shower, he planned to rest a little more but first prepared his workout gear. Monica was still deeply asleep, likely until noon. It was 9:30 a.m.—not too early, but not late either.
At the gym, Billy was greeted by his trainer, who pushed him to his limits with every rep.
-One second, I’ve got an important call, -Billy said, stepping aside. His trainer nodded and turned his attention to another client, a wiry young man sharing the session.
-Anne, I’ve been waiting for your call, -Billy said as he answered.
-I’ve finalized so of the arrangents with Apple, -Anne began. -We’ve restructured. So engineers were rehired at Microsoft Gas, others at ID Software, and a few at Pixar. But we still laid off 600 people, offering generous severance packages. -
Billy winced. That was a lot of people. He wondered if the severance would truly suffice for those struggling to find work, especially older employees often discarded by the system.
-It’s more than I expected, -he admitted.
-About 300 were relocated to critical roles. The rest... well, business is business, as you say, -Anne replied bluntly.
-So, my proposals were taken into account? -Billy asked.
-They were, -Anne confird. -I spoke with Steve and secured a $100 million investnt once the company stabilizes. He’s also negotiating with Bill Gates about licensing microchips for their computers, which could expand our product line. They’re even considering making Microsoft Office available on our new Macintoshes. -
-That’s promising, -Billy said.
-Not entirely. We’re running low on funds. After reallocating resources, we have just enough to maintain ongoing projects. No room for new investnts unless we start turning a profit. -
-When will the Star Wars revenue co in? -Billy asked.
-We haven’t recouped production costs yet. Most of it went toward paynts, but by year’s end, we’ll see the surplus—especially with George negotiating lucrative toy licenses, -Anne explained.
-And Autodesk shares? What’s their valuation? -
-They’re valued at $3.2 billion, but the market is still evaluating them ahead of their public debut, -Anne said.
-So, we’re stable for now, -Billy concluded.
-Yes, but we can’t afford risks. Steve ntioned an ambitious idea to rge with Apple, but that was dismissed outright—such a move would be disastrous right now. And let’s not forget, The English Patient was a hefty investnt, -Anne reminded him.
-I’m confident we’ll succeed, -Billy replied, though doubt lingered. Still, he trusted that the upcoming months would bring the financial breakthroughs they needed.
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