George X Mr P Novels & Stories

I shouted. “He will like you. Who is out there not to like my princess?” he said proudly. “Dad, this is important. If this proposal had not happened, my life would have been different.” I said. “What are you talking about?” “I will tell you tomorrow when they all leave ok.” I replied. He nodded, and we all went to our rooms to sleep. While sleeping, I took another class of that Mr.X in my mind. Then I remembered I still didn’t know his name.

"I've heard that you have a great appreciation for art. This is a lifelike painting by Mr. Gordon. Please accept it as a gift, Mr. Martin." As expected, Mr. Martin's eyes sparkled with delight. He had been longing to acquire Mr. Gordon's artwork for quite some time but had been unsuccessful in his attempts. Unexpectedly, Xavier had managed to obtain it. Mr. Martin eagerly accepted the gift box, which was flawlessly wrapped, and carefully opened it. "Wow! It truly is an authentic piece by Mr. Gordon!" Mr. Martin exclaimed, his voice rising with excitement.

Edward began, but the guy with the makeup kit cut him short. “I would prefer the term Image Consultant,” Pete said with a scoff. Edward continued as though Pete hadn’t interrupted. “He oversees the entire look and makeover.” “Makeover?” I asked, confused. “You’ll understand when we’re done,” Edward said, continuing. “Since the dress is a custom design, there won’t be a need for Pete to pick out the gown, but he has to find what shoes, jewelry, and accessories go best with it. And beside Pete is Maria. She’s a hairstylist—”

“Fair enough. Call me George.” George appeared to be in his early fifties, with a distinguished appearance that immediately separated him from the younger crowd outside. Silver-grey strands framed his temples, blending naturally into his neatly trimmed beard, and his broad shoulders and confident posture carried the presence of someone accustomed to being respected. He wore a tailored midnight-blue jacket over a crisp white shirt with the top button casually undone, reflecting quiet wealth, experience, and authority. Yet I revealed none of the excitement I felt inside, keeping my expression neutral to maintain the same calm distance that always made people curious about me.

Just as class ended, Carrie noticed the crowd outside and nudged Shelia. At a glance, Shelia recognized Marion, who was leaning against the car with sunglasses on. He exuded a wildness that fascinated and intimidated people. Curiously, Carrie asked, "Who is he? He doesn't look like a student here. Shelia, you've met so many people, and anyone who can drive this car can't be ordinary. Have you seen him before?" Shelia, with a sense of superiority, said, "I met him at an auction before and exchanged a few words. He's an overseas entrepreneur, known as Mr. Houston. He's quite capable."

He takes two steps toward me, closing the distance. “I’m a powerful man, Esther. I hope that you know that. You certainly should. With this power come certain expectations…” He grins. “I always get what I want.” “I don’t even work here,” I tell him, purposefully obtuse. We both know he’s not talking about champagne, whiskey, or tee times anymore. “I’ve seen your picture, Esther. With you in the throes of passion,” Mr. George says. His eyes go dark. “I would now like to witness that sight in person.”

She sat there for a moment, staring at each of them intensely, they all sat up and straightened their postures when they felt her gaze on them. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, without wasting much of our time let's get straight to business. Mr Romans, please brief us on this meeting" She said in a light tone but the authority in her voice couldn't be masked. "Yes Miss West," he said and stood up, connecting his tablet to the projector. Everyone diverted their attention to the projector and he started explaining "This meeting is to discuss further on the designs for the next jewellery exhibition, the marketing, available resources and everything else" he finished and disconnected the tabl

“Here comes the walking fashion disaster.” I had to bite back a laugh. George’s presence was expected and begrudging, seeing as how he was at every goddamn event he could get his grubby hands on, but I schooled my face into a mask of pleasant indifference. “Chris, my man!” George boomed, slapping me on the back. “Hell of a speech you gave there.” I nearly coughed at the sheer force of his slap driving the air from my lungs. “Thanks, George,” I said, bracing myself for whatever pitch was coming—no doubt some attempt to sell a product in the werewolf world to ‘help’ fund our research.

Furthermore, healing a leg and losing weight were two completely different issues. “That’s right! Fane definitely gave slimming pills. Mr. George, there’s a misunderstanding. Please let us go!” Xena reacted first as she cried out immediately. All she wanted was to leave this place, and she would leave Middle Province at once. She would flourish wherever she went. Even if the head of the George family realized something was amiss afterward, it would be too late by then. “I can’t let them go. I can’t verify if your body will have complications later! You were in the toilet for a long time just now. You must have eaten crotons. Look at you! You look so gaunt. I think you’ve gotten a little thin

“Happy New Year, President Xyla,” Georgie Clementine said. “Happy New Year, Georgie,” Xyla Quest replied. “Apart from wishing you a Happy New Year, I also have good news for you. Do you remember Morty Wayne, the mixed-blood youth we spotted playing piano at the restaurant the other day?” Georgie asked. “Yeah, I remember him. Have you signed him on?” Xyla asked with a smile. “Yeah, I went to his house early this morning to get him signed,” Georgie said.