Chapter Thirty One - Not Good With The Technical Stuff

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North Patterson boldly walked into the sky high condominium, with a flair of drama that was over exaggerated and childish, knowing he would be forgiven for it anyway.  "Hi, honey, I'm home!"

"In the kitchen," came the gruff, short reply.  North sighed as he was greeted by the smells of seasonings and stir fried vegetables.

"You know, you could just have a cooking unit do all of that for you," North chided the large, golden man standing behind the small induction hob.  Why he insisted on using the relic, North would never understand.

"I don't like others handling my food," he replied, coldly.

"It's a robot," North muttered.  He received a glare in response.  "Ah, why have you not answered your device this morning?  You should always answer your manager, you know, I made several calls." The man pointed with a manicured digit towards the sorry sight of a broken acrylic tablet upon his H.C.D. Desk.  "And you could't use the holograph?"

"Stopped working."

"When, exactly?"

"Two weeks ago."  North groaned beneath his breath.  The greatest male entertainer of their generation might as well have been a complete dinosaur.  It was not that this statuesque god was lacking intelligence, he just wasn't interested in the technology around him.  His manager was sure that he'd actually broken the tablet on purpose, as the many phone calls were probably annoying him and as for the H.C.D..?  Well, it was likely that there had been a problem with it for several weeks before it failed completely and Rush just simply couldn't be bothered to have it fixed.

"Well you have an interview in two hours, I'll have someone come and fix it in the meantime," North advised him.

***

Rush Haven leaned back against the chair in the reception area, one leg loosely bent before leaning upon the other and yawned lazily.  Several women sighed in unison at the vision.  This gentle, golden giant, with hair as black as midnight and eyes like two pools of swirling chocolate was the stuff their dreams were made of.  Who didn't dream of running their fingers over his taut muscular arms and firm chest?  He was a renowned actor, sought after model and with genes to die for.

They all turned green eyed towards the elegant, crimson-dressed woman, who arrogantly sauntered up to their idol with possessive arms.  Her red painted nails, lightly touched upon his arm as she gracefully sat beside him.  "Darling, I missed you," she near purred.  He coldly glanced at her fingers with a flicker of annoyance.  Knowing not to push her luck with him, she removed her hand.  "Come now," she whispered close to his ear, "the public are watching and who, if not your wife, has the right to touch you?"

"You are not my wife yet," he replied, "so act with at least a little decency."

"Only nine months until the wedding, my love," she reminded him.  Honor Harlow was a beautiful, talented actress and descended from an elite line of licensed entertainers.  Her mother was the last generation's number one entertainer, her haunting voice still echoed through the playlists of many music fans and her father was now Vice-Chairman of First Entertainment. Her red curls were long and lush, falling down the graceful curve of her back like a fiery waterfall.  Her green eyes were sheltered between long, thick lashes and framed by slender, perfectly shaped brows.  She was tall, though her eye level was only to her fiancés shoulder and curved to resemble Venus.  She was blessed that her daddy had convinced the Matchmakers to pair her with the only man she had ever desired.  And soon he would be hers in more than just name.

Rush was not interested in answering her.  It was not that he despised her touch, but it simply didn't rouse him, so he avoided it along with any other who dare reach for him.  He disliked the warmth of others. As for his duty in producing perfect heirs, well that could be dealt with in a clean scientific manner, much like all those other tasks North insisted that technology was made for.

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