The Billionaire's Hair

O1: The Billionaire's Daily Routine

The car slowed to a stop and Louis got out to open the door for him. Ernest thanks him as Louis gets in the car and drives away towards the parking area.

He caught sight of motion on his wall and was not surprised to find his son, River, attempting to scale it in the pouring rain. River stood at the remarkable height of 6'1, his wet hair was matted and his angular jawline was covered in mosquito bites. "Tiffany!" he bellows to his right- where Ernest could make out the vague figure of his daughter, Tiffany. Her hair was pulled up into a dangly ponytail and she huffed as she dragged a ladder across the ground towards River.

Holding his briefcase above him to shield himself from the downpour, he marches across the lawn and nearly trips over someone sitting cross-legged on the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Michaelson. Are you hurt?"

His daughter's best friend Chelsea was seated on the floor muttering something under her breath as she looked up from hastily scribbling in a damp notepad. A man who looked to be in his late twenties with a shaggy mane of hair and an unshaven face held an umbrella to her. He wore clothing so dark that only his face was visible in the rain. A face in the dark, Ernest thought briefly before turning his attention to his children once more.

Now, as the safety of his family is something he takes very seriously, his first action would have been to question the identity of the man- but due to the present circumstances, he decides to forego the tiring ordeal in favour of asking his eldest child to explain himself. River seems to have finally noticed him, beckoning him closer and pointing to the top of the wall. "What am I looking at?" Ernest asks.

"Can you not see that cat, man?" The shaggy-haired dude rudely remarks.

"Excuse me, but I don't seem to have made your acquaintance yet." The man gives him a blank stare. Ernest sighs, "Who are you?" The man's arrogant and laidback complexion transforms into one of panic and he coughs, looking away. Tiffany sighs a sigh only a teenager has had the time to perfect and says, "Dad, this is Chad. Chad, this is dad. Moving on, there is a blind cat up there that requires our help."

"Eureka!" Chelsea exclaims startling Ernest who almost forgot she was present. "Eureka?" River asks. "Shut up," Tiffany glares at him and turns to Chelsea, "what is it?"

Rising to her full height of 5 feet and 2 inches, Chelsea orders. "Place the ladder exactly 1 meter away from the wall and then if you climb it- there is no chance of you falling; however overweight you may be." She cast a glance at Chad's potbelly at this. Tiffany picks up the ladder with the intention of placing it near the wall when suddenly her foot slips on the wet mud and the other end of the ladder turns a full 180 and smacks River right in his abdomen. Apparently, possessing 9 abs doesn't do much to support an individual when they are attacked with a 20ft ladder.

Ernest and Chad rush to help him as Tiffany chuckles sheepishly, setting the ladder against the wall- thankfully not knocking out a family member this time. "Now," Tiffany says, rubbing her hands together, "who wants to climb it?"

Glaring up at her from his place on the ground, Ernest huffs "Tiffany, your brother is literally unconscious-"

"So he can't climb it as we planned and Chad needs to get him some first aid, which means there is only one person left who can climb it." Tiffany grins maliciously.

"You?" Ernest offers.

"Me?" Chelsea asks.

"Neither." Tiffany cackles.

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The sheer audacity of his children's natures was somewhat acceptable to the billionaire, but the vexation and exasperation to which his wife met the blind, soaking creature in his arms later that night when they returned was something he was quite terrified of.

Karen Michaelson, on a need-to-know-basis, was usually very docile. She was mostly fine with every possible situation as long as it involved Chateau Margaux (any year was fine with her), or a decent serving of Iberico ham or Wagyu beef. Her patience ran short with her son's tomfooleries and her daughter's buffoonery, only sometimes, but it really was scant to deal with her entire family, including the college dropout she was cheating on her husband with, to show up at her doorstep with a screeching mass of wet fur.

"What have you brought home?" she snarled, staring in wild horror as River picked up the wily cat and showered it with unconditional love and kisses. "River, stop doing that."

Tiffany is yelling some nonsense into her phone as Chelsea, sprawled out on their ridiculously spacious porch, tiredly tore off her wet socks and smacked the college drop out in the face with it. He jumps in disgust and attempts to escape the property before Ernest remembers his existence and questions his presence in his house.

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a/n: this chapter, this book, and every word written in it with any intention of being read, is dedicated to a dear friend, our sole supporter, only well wisher, a brother in arms and most importantly, a bald girls enthusiast, anisha.