Marcust Pick Up Line Novels & Stories

Sonnet took advantage of her spare time to call Marcus. She expressed her desire to bring Maxwell to meet him. "Oh, just come over anytime," Marcus said warmly. After he hung up, another phone rang. Marcus looked at Maxwell who sat across from him. Maxwell put down the mobile phone in his hand, took another from his pocket, and connected it. "Darling!" He yelled crisply. Marcus blinked. Not that he has not seen Maxwell pretending to be stupid, but today, the way he called out to his wife was sickly sweet!

Marcus grunted. "Yes sir, that has already been done but—" "Good, get out," Marcus barked and went to sit down on his chair. "You have a call on line six!" The secretary squealed. Marcus cocked his brows at her. "Who is it?" He asked grumpily. "I think a Mrs Walters," she replied. Marcus sat up immediately as he felt his heart jump out of his body. "You are sure? Is the line still active?" The secretary was confused by his sudden change in mood. "Y—Yes sir?" She answered.

Marcus said. He did not say from whom. He did not need to. There was a specific and particular quality to the way Marcus said there was a call, the characteristic register of a man who was delivering information he had not been asked to gather but had gathered because the gathering was what he did, had always done, the specific and long-trained instinct of a man who understood that information, delivered at the right moment to the right person, was its own kind of care. "When," I said. "Half past seven. He called from the Westchester number. It lasted four minutes and twenty seconds."

My breath hitched as I dialled his number waiting to hear his voice. The thought of him had my nipples hardening in my pyjamas. What is wrong with me? Before the call could come to an end. I heard his sultry voice. "Who's this?" He sounds angry in a hoarse tone. I gulped on an unknown lump and bit my bottom lip before answering. "Hello sir. I'm Maria McCain calling from MTC. I'm sorry I haven't been able to reach out. I've been working…" He interjected. "Do you know I can cancel the deal because of this act of yours?"

"Vraiment?" "Yes." I turned back to the mirror and pushed the bobby pin into place. "But I need to handle something first. But for now, let me finish getting ready." He smiled — the first real one in days — and pushed off the doorframe. "Okay. Also. Marcus called." I turned around. "And?" "The number that called Grand-père the night he died was from New York. Right here." He folded his arms. He says he's still digging. He thinks he can get a name or a more specific location with time."

I carefully carried him to his room and tucked him into bed, laying him down in a comfortable position. Afterward, I reheated the food Monica had prepared before leaving earlier in the evening. I ate quietly, my thoughts heavy, then shut the entrance of the mansion before heading back upstairs. Just as I entered my room, my phone rang. I rushed to pick it up before it stopped ringing. It was Celesta. “Hello, buddy,” I said, chuckling when I heard her scoff. “We haven’t spoken for days, Marc,” she complained unhappily. “Weren’t you on vacation with your husband? I didn’t want to disturb you,” I said with a smile.

Freddie didn't pick up the call. He watched how Marcos's name displayed on the screen until it stopped ringing. Then he put it face down to the table and looked at his notepad. Marcos De Luca. Calling him at ten thirty at night. He stood still. Then his phone rang. A text. "Pick up Freddie. We need to talk." He stared at it. Another one came through thirty seconds later. "Or don't. I'll come to you instead."

Marcus let out, and if he was feeling that way, I wonder what he thought I was feeling like. "What if we set a trap for her?" I ask even though my mind does not seem to find a solution. "It has to be something she would never see, something she would never be able to decipher," he said, stroking his vein and leaning forward. My phone began to ring, and I looked down at the unknown number blaring back at me. I pick it up and press it to my ear. "Hello." "Drexon Moreaux" Maljore's voice is chilling, and it sends waves into my brain. Marcus looks at me as if he is waiting for an update, but I don't say anything.

SATURDAY... (MARCUS REYNOLDS) Marcus sat in his penthouse apartment, lights off, curtains wide, cigarette burning slow between two fingers he didn’t realize were trembling. On the coffee table in front of him sat three phones... two dead burners and one sleek black one with a single number dialed. He stared at it. His jaw twitched. He pressed call. It rang twice before her voice came through. “...Hello?” That voice. He closed his eyes and grinned.

Lanie “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I mumbled into my cell phone as I searched for a parking place. It had been a few days since I’d seen Andrew, and it made me antsy. Something about a client file that he needed to spend some time with. “Better than a woman, I guess.” The voicemail picked up. “This is Andrew Marx. I’m unavailable right now. Leave a message with the pertinent information and I’ll call you back.” The beep filled my ear, causing me to jerk back.