Mike Teller Novels & Stories

Getting a cab as soon as I stepped out onto the street, I told him where to take me and we made it within the period of fifteen minutes, fuck this building was huge, and the windows were all tinted black. Walking slowly into the building with my hands in my pockets, I walked towards the receptionist and tapped my hands on her desk or whatever this thing was. "I'm here to see, Mike," I said and she took a good long look at me before standing up and folding her arms over her chest. "Mike who?" How many Mikes were here? I took out the card and read his name out loud. "Michael James Jefferson, the third in line for dick," I said and she scowled, grabbing the card from my hands and I looked at he

Nathan sneered disdainfully and Mike scoffed internally, "Sir, do you even hear yourself sometimes? You’re a billionaire, not a high schooler.” he thought. As Mike didn't move, Nathan shot him a sharp look. “Mike, Do you want to consider working in the new branch in Africa?” Mike's face turned pale, "No Sir. I will make it done right away" Mike hurried out of the room, muttering under his breath as he walked away, "The man’s a genius in business but a certified lunatic when it comes to Ericka."

His face contorted in anger. “Jared stole you from me!” Mike hissed, leaning across the small table. “He used his billions and his status to take you away from me! I had to sit back and watch because what else could a poor guy like me do against a billionaire?! And now I am drowning in debt, Nara! My life is falling apart!” He suddenly softened his voice, looking up at her with big, manipulative eyes, trying his best to guilt-trip her. “I just need a large sum of money, Nara,” Mike begged, holding his hands together. “Just give me enough money to clear my debts and get on my feet. That’s all I’m asking for. It’s nothing to a Wilson.”

I closed the distance between us, using my height to box him in against the desk. "Look at the plaque outside this building, Mike," I said, my tone lethal. "Read the name on the bronze letters. My father paid for this entire pavilion. He paid for those cameras, he paid for those monitors, and he indirectly pays your salary. You are going to pull up camera four right now, or I am making one phone call and you will be directing traffic in a grocery store parking lot by tomorrow morning." Mike swallowed hard, the color draining from his face. He nodded quickly, turning around and dropping into his chair.

I didn’t even think about Mike after he left. But someone else saw it. Tiar. That afternoon, while I was on my way home, my phone rang. Tiar’s name appeared on the screen. “Hello?” “Are you still on the way?” “Yeah. I’ll be home soon.” “How was work today?” “Tiring. It was pretty busy.” Tiar was silent for a few seconds. Then he asked, “Mike came to your bank today?” My steps slowed. I frowned. “How do you know?”

"Nah, asides the fact that you kept on rambling about things I don't really understand, you didn't do anything else, and trust me when I say I've seen worse." Mike chuckled softly and pulled out his wallet, extracting a thick wad of cash. He handed the bartender a generous tip. "For your troubles." He said with a smile, getting up from his chair. The bartender's eyes widened as he counted the crisp, new bills. His face lit up with a stunned grin when he realized the enormity of the tip – a staggering thousand dollars! "Thank you, sir!" The bartender yelled out, his voice filled with gratitude, as Mike turned to leave. The bartender's face glowed with excitement, reminiscent of someone who ha

This was going to be interesting to say the very least. “Are you any good?” I asked uncle Mike as he stopped next to me. He gave me a look of ‘You’re kidding right’ but he smirked after and said, “Have you ever heard of William Tell?” I thought for a second before I replied, “That’s the guy who shot an apple off of his kid’s head, right?” He nodded.

"I'm going out to talk to some people. Do a bit of research. I'll be a few hours." "Want company?" "Not for this. I'll catch you later." ***** "I'll have a sparkling water." "Coming right up, sir." "And a newspaper." "Help yourself, sir." The barman nods me to the stack of papers and I slide a couple of coins across the bar. Then, scanning the headlines, I wait and watch. It doesn't take long. There he is... Mickey Miller: small-time con-artist, purveyor of news, gossip and scandal of all kinds, the biggest flapping mouth in the City. And about as predictable as it's possible for a human being to be.