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I’m a journalist with an array of awards including the Pulitzer Prize for Public Service. I specialize in interviews with the world’s most powerful women. Interviewing Leo, the formidable self-made billionaire that the testosterone-laden Wall Street has nicknamed Gorgeous Ice Block is a special feather in my cap. The 28-year-old stunning beauty is both feared and worshipped.
I know her from writing about her charity projects for years now. But till today, she utterly refused to give me or anybody else a personal interview. So I’m excited as I enter her 60-odd story glass and steel construction Boswell Building on Madison Avenue in Midtown Manhattan.
I’m hardly past the revolving door than a yummy, muscled, eye candy PSD steps in front of me, blocking my way. Ms Berkley? he asks. I nod. Dexter Connelly, he introduces himself, I’ll take you up to Ms Boswell’s office. This way please, he adds gesturing to the private elevator. I follow. He palms a panel on the elevator side for two, three seconds, and the doors open. We step in and the damn thing literally takes off, making my guts drops to my feet. Seconds later, we’re on the 59th floor and Dexter Connelly ushers me out of the elevator directly outside a massive door. He punches digits on another panel and leans his eyes close and there’s a gentle ping! May I? Connelly leads me into the luxuriously furnished Wimbledon tennis court. Ms Boswell, Ms Berkley is here. And he’s gone.
LNB: Em, hi! [the Mighty GIB rises from behind her desk on the other end of the tennis court and walks towards me, her dark curls bouncing and the turquoise eyes are beacons on her face. Impeccably dressed in trillions and exuding amazing power. Once again, I’m struck by how relatively small she is, despite the overwhelming presence she beams out. Five-six in stockings, no more. It’s the first time I’ve entered her office so I’m struck dumb by the size and have taken root, trying to assess which parts of it I should photograph] Come, let’s settle down on the couch.
EB: Hi, Leo. Great to see you again. Wow, talk about expansive, [I lift my arms and sweep them in a wide gesture indicating the tennis court of an office. She smiles as she leads me to the couch on the other end. She takes a chair opposite me] This is impressive indeed, Leo.
LNB: Yadda, yadda, yadda. Em, you have a couple of minutes and five questions, and are already wasting both. Coffee? Water? Something else? And here’s the NDA for you to sign.
EB: [I sign the NDA not to reveal more than stipulated on it, place my phone on the coffee table, turn on the recorder] I’m good, thanks. Well, you’re right. I’m here to hear everything about your latest resounding slap on the financial world’s cheek. Tell me about the Boswell Investment Technologies YANA.
LBN: [Nods with a Mona Lisa smile] Stands for Your Algorithmic Numerical Analysis. It’s the new genius mint, if I may underestimate. So tell the competition that, right?
EB: How does it do the minting?
LNB: That’s Marco’s turf. He’s the hardware ideas, implementation strategist, and the algorithm configurations master. I’m the pretty little thing that is sent out to flash thigh, then cleavage, while I take down minutes of the meeting. [We both burst into laughter at the idea of the Mighty GIB out flashing ice columns and orbs] Anyway, Em, I’m truly the marketing and sales planner, executor and competition slayer- in-chief. Not to forget the last word with expenditure. Details of how we configure the algorithm are Marco’s turf. Look, I’ll give you a couple of pamphlets, prospects, brochures, and folders with stats and stuff to fill out your reportage, ok?
EB: [Right. I’m here for her as a megaphone for YANA but without being told more than any visitor at the reception desk would get. My jackpot is the fact that I actually entered this office and sat down with Gorgeous Ice Block in person to talk about her brand new envy of the global bourse, YANA] There’s rumour circulating that the said competition are on the attack with the world’s best cyber criminals from Moscow to Djakarta. True?
LNB: Where there’s smoke, Em, there’s fire. And in the cyber world, what seems to be emanating from Djakarta may well be sitting in London or next door on Fifth Avenue. Luckily I have two unbeatable geniuses of my own – Dr Marco Quantorelli and our own family Einstein, Ms Nikki Royce. A duo you can’t beat unless you can part the Red Sea.
EB: [We laugh again. Here in her office, informal, she’s a completely different person than the ferocious animal at press conferences or the boardroom] Alright, I have one more question. Has your relationship with that hot British investor, Adrian Xerxes Cranford of Xerxes Financial Consultants become more… shall we say personal? [She unfolds with crackling smooth grace to her feet. Damn, I’ve crossed the line]
LNB: We’re business partners, Em. Need a snapshot before I throw you out? The panoramic window offers breath-taking views up Park Avenue to Central Park and down Park Avenue to the MetLife Building. Help yourself.
A three-letter word made me a murderess at the age of eight years. But having experienced the curses of that word, I was done with men as I grew up. All men. Except to outplay them in the New York financial arena. Then Crowned Sex enthroned in gorgeous velvet charm and lustful gallantry storms into my life. Spewing volcanic lava on my monumental arctic ice block. With the unapologetic fierceness of a savage god. Wearing crackling thunderbolts straight from the god Zeus. Explosive has nothing on it.
Adrian isn't hot, he's fucking hellish. He embarks on melting my ice block at the speed of lightning. But I was done with men. I was done with sex. For ever. I. Was.
ADRIAN
I scented her darkness from the moment I was told about her. The sight of her sealed my decision. She was the woman created for my own darkness. I set off to protect her even from herself. Protect her to claim.
Fuse her darkness with my own. For. Myself. I'd fended women off me with bazookas when I was done but they weren't. I wasn't prepared for the battle I soon fought. Not only with her but also with her family. And New York's billionaire gangsters who own entourages of corrupt cops and politicians. With every battle I won, she started new darker wars around me. You ate or you were eaten. Not even starving was an option.
NOTE: Although the blurb is in the first person, the story of Leo and Adrian is written in the third person. This story contains adult material including explicit sex and violence. You've been warned.
“If you feel I should stop, say you’re mine.”
“I am, I am! Just don’t stop, Adrian.”
He stopped, chortling deep in his chest, eyeing her from under his brows as his head lifted with her jerky thrusts. Adrian’s molten lava eyes radiated something utterly demonic but captivating, hypnotizing. They now seemed to shoot her senses with the wickedness every single cell in her craved. Those eyes concentrated on her flawed body, her utterly broken soul, crushing the fierce pride she falsely nurtured for her protection.
He made her feel invincible. Armored, even against his demonic wickedness.
He licked behind her ear, whispered, “Stop being your worst enemy, wildcat, and simply receive and revel in pleasure. Your whole body’s made to receive it. From me.”
Von K'Ory is married to an aristocrat and politician of Franco-German descent, has a large extended family. She lectures Economics and Sociology in Austria, Germany and Switzerland. She’s migratory and – weather willing – lives in Germany, France, Cyprus, and Greece.
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