»opulence{miles kane x alex turner}

e m e r g e n c e

my entire existence revolves around commas i use far too many commas

this is sort of a filler like it's quite short and a bit shite if i'm honest but the next one will be banter filled i promise hold me to it

i also chucked a few OC's in here this time how fun

(((also pls vote if you liked it bc it fuels my ego)))

It had been a week since the Turner party- a week since Miles had been scuttling around the ballroom collecting sponsors, and the dragging lack of work was starting to show. At the end of the night, when he'd finally crawled back into his car and drove home with a rather concerning amount of alcohol still in his system, Miles had six possible inflows for this money that he needed so desperately. Just over a week later, after making countless phone calls and lowering his voice into as much of a purr as he could muster in an attempt to persuade the money out of them, he had two.

In his mind's eye, all he could see was Chicago. He'd been there twice before, once with one of his model girlfriends on a visit back to her parent's home, although she didn't accompany him back on the account of the fact that Miles tended to be rather fickle with his emotions and had decided he'd fallen in love with someone else while he was there. Neither relationship had lasted long. Those two weeks in Chicago the first time had been scotch-sodden and blurry, full of speeding tickets and clouded nights. The second time, however, was rather the opposite. It was black suits and straight faces, since the Kane played a key role in a large business development for a new office building in the centre of the city. It was much less exciting the second time, though he had a hearty pay-out at the end and since it had likely funded the room he was currently sitting in, he was in no position to complain.

Miles was in the office- his office- trying to decide who to ring next and plead with. For a house that he lived in alone the man had rather too many offices, especially since he'd employed two additional men to help sort the finances and make sure that his reputation was as upheld as possible. On the surface Miles told himself that it was simply because there was no way he'd be able to get all the work done himself, but really it was just so the house seemed less quiet. The three of them were noisy and messy and had Miles been capable of associating a degree of fondness towards anyone, they would have been in the running had they not consistently irritated him beyond belief.

It was moments like these, however, when his thoughts needed sifting and considering that he found himself regretting employing anyone at all. The idea initially had been that the men who worked for him lived in the (rather too large) office block that had been built at the back of Miles' extensive mansion grounds, since it was easier than commuting every day. There was a greater degree of freedom than with most jobs since they practically worked from home, and especially since the office building itself was spacious and light and had more facilities than most modern houses did. It had cost Miles a rather large fortune to have constructed, and since he was struggling to work in the office of his own house due to the man who was perched on top of his filing cabinet and talking loudly into the phone, there was a very prominent notion of regret that he couldn't quite shift.

Figures were swimming through his head and refusing to stick, and after reading the same sentence five times, Miles sighed loudly and threw the sheaf of papers down with a flourish. His glare shifted from the yellow-tinged papers on the desk to the blonde man in the leather jacket and red jeans whose booted feet were banging against the metal drawers every time he swung his legs. It was rapidly approaching mind-numbing.

"Robert, please, will you give your arse a chance?" Miles asked, irritation evident in his tone. There was a heritage issue with Miles, because although he was living the life of a billionaire in the heart of London, the occasional local phrase wormed its way back into his dialogue. If he had thought consciously about speaking, it would have been easier simply to tell Robert to shut up.