Slave to Love (9 page)

“Orgasmic,” her reply is a little more than a whisper, accompanied by a smile, which elicits the same from me. She got the movie reference. The girl got my joke. It doesn’t get better than that.

Immediately Bob takes center stage, first thanking me for my business, and then asking appropriate questions to better understand SpaceCloud past a basic understanding he’s gleaned off the website and from a debriefing by his staff. Kemp can talk about my business nearly as well as I can and launches into a long term partnering conversation. By the time the waiter serves our third round of drinks, we’ve nearly inked a deal on some long term projects.

With just pretzels and nuts on the table, I’m wondering if Bob is going to move this little shindig into one of the on-site restaurants, but when he orders another round and turns his sights on Sierra, I know that is not in his plans for the evening. The only thing he wants to make a meal out of is her.

“You’re really too pretty to be hanging around with this motley crew.” He’s expecting her to say something complimentary, which is a typical response to a line like this.

“I’ve been telling myself the exact same thing all night,” she quips.

Although Sierra meant to deflect his oncoming advances with humor, she inadvertently took the hunt to a more challenging level. Like a big game hunter, Bob Mannon has every intention of dragging out the prize at the end of the evening.

Turning to me, Sierra looks apologetic, “Hale, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to bore you here with a little shoptalk.”

“Not a problem.” I know what she’s doing. She’s taking control of something uncomfortable and masterfully maneuvers it back to an appropriate and comfortable place.

“Bob, let me run you through the details for tomorrow that didn’t end up on the itinerary.” She smiles at him, “We have limos picking up each of the clients and bringing them here for breakfast at your bungalow. For that portion of the itinerary, you’re going to get to see two of your favorite ladies, Monica Green and Beverly Binns. They are going to be here for the breakfast, as all the clients attending, with the exception of Hale, are all theirs.”

“Oh Monica and Beverly, they’re always a delight. They won’t be joining us for the rest of the day?”

“No, we only have a table for ten, so it will be the three of us and seven clients. They are bummed, so expect to get an earful.”

“Do we have a good table?”

This guy is shallow. What’s important to him is bizarre. Sierra is trying to give him vital information, which if he’d only listen, would make him look very good to the clients he’s about to meet.

“The best,” Sierra placates him. “All the Presidents, dignitaries and movie stars have to pass our table as they make their way to where they will be seated and to the stage.” She pauses and smiles, “Don’t worry, I took good care of you.”

I watch as she does a skillful job with this tool, but he has his sights set on one thing for the night. Getting between her legs.
Fucking douche.

“We really need to take a close look at your future.” Here it comes, he’s starting to dangle the bait.

“Oh, and why is that? You want me to take out this guy here?” She smiles at Kemp, putting a hand on his arm.

Kemp laughs, but I can see he is uptight. He’s letting Sierra handle it, as he should, but he’s ready to leap if Bob bests her.

“We’re a team,” she tells Bob.

As the outsider, I feel as if I am watching a carefully orchestrated ballet and if the lead ballerina goes down, disaster will ensue.

Pulling a keycard from his pocket, he slides it across the table to her. “Bungalow 4.”

Sierra laughs and slides the room key back. “If we’re going to talk about my future it’s going to be in your office when we’re all sober.”

“The best deals are made outside of the office,” he informs her.

What a jackass.

“Great. Then the details of my next promotion can be hammered out at Peter Luger’s over big steaks the next time I’m up at headquarters.”

“Oh, so you like meat,” the jerk replies.

I can see the muscles twitching in Kemp’s jaw. Sierra is one of his people and his instinct is to protect, like a lion protecting one of the females in his pride from a dangerous interloper. I totally get that, but both his and Sierra’s futures can quickly come to a broken halt in the next few minutes if he goes after this guy in the way I know he wants.

“I do,” Sierra pauses, as she intently continues to stare into his snake-like eyes. “Except I’ll be the one doing the stabbing.”

Zing.

Slowly, it washes over Bob and when it finally permeates his brain, he breaks out into raucous laughter.

“Sierra, you are such a delight. So bright.” And he reaches across the table to squeeze her hand and palm her his keycard.

“You are relentless,” Sierra shakes her head, still trying to deal with this in a joking matter.

She slides the keycard back to her boss’ boss.

“Relentless.” She’s still shaking her head.

I feel like such a douche watching this and knowing what a jerk I’ve been and what I’ve put her through. This scenario I’m witnessing is making me sick, and I realize that to be handling it with the dexterity and finesse that she is, comes from practice. And I’m angry and like Kemp, want to reach out and protect her. Which is ironic, because not all that long ago, the protection she needed was from me.

Being a business owner, I make the rules and don’t have to live by anyone else’s. Being part of a bigger structure, as Kemp and Sierra are, they have a game to play, to master, learning a set of skills that will insure their survival or demise, including landmines to be dodged.

I feel like I’ve just taken a masterclass in corporate battlegrounds and how to come out unscathed. Sierra is a warrior and I’ve just learned more in the past few hours on how to treat/not treat valued employees.

I am humbled and I am sickened and I want to get her out of here. Now. I can’t watch another moment of this, nor can I let her endure it and not do anything. I can’t do what I’d really like to do, because that would jeopardize her and Kemp.

I want to save her.

Pushing my jacket sleeve back, I look at the Breitling. “Wow, I didn’t realize we’d been here for so many hours.” Looking at Sierra, “What time do we start again in the morning?”

“7:30.”

“Time changes always kill me,” I lie and push my chair back to get up. Sierra and Kemp rise with me and both see the escape route illuminated in front of them, as they agree they’re feeling the time change and that we’ve got a long day in front of us.

Bob falls into step with me, right behind Sierra and Kemp, as we exit the Polo Lounge. He doesn’t even attempt to hide raping her ass with his eyes and I just want to smash him like the insect he is. We stop at the elevator and he brazenly slips the key into an outer compartment of her purse before bidding us goodnight and heading toward the path to his bungalow.

Sierra just sighs and shakes her head. Silently, the three of us enter the elevator. Staying near the door, I ask the others what floors they are on. Kemp is on two, Sierra three.

At two, Kemp bids us goodnight and I ride with Sierra to three. She turns right out of the elevator and I fall in step beside her.

“You’re down this way, too.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“No.” I laugh.

“You’re not?” She seems momentarily confused.

“You know I like to see you to your door safely.”

She nods, smiling and then takes me totally by surprise, slipping her small hand into mine and threading our fingers together. It is an excellent déjà vu.

Digging out her key, she smiles up at me as she inserts it in the slot, “Thanks for walking me to my room.”

I just nod. There’s so much I need to say, especially after this evening, but the words are escaping me. Finally, “I like to know you’re safe.” It’s my former military training and I want her behind that locked door, with the safety latch on.

Her smile is making me feel things that are so foreign to my M.O. and I want more than anything to go into the room with her.

Instead, I put my hand on her cheek and smile because her face actually fits into my palm. Leaning down, I press a kiss to the middle of her forehead. “7:30. I’ll see you then.”

And I wonder how I’m going to wait that long as I start my way down the long hall toward the elevator.

My face fit into his
big hand. Swoon. Just freaking swoon.

Touching my cheek, I close my eyes, trying desperately to recreate what that just felt like. Falling back onto my bed, I actually laugh aloud. I’m thirty-three, not fifteen. Yet, I’m still holding my cheek.

“It’s been too long since I’ve been laid,” I mumble as I laugh alone.

“What a fucking night,” I begin my monologue and yes, I am talking to myself aloud, like a crazy person. “Bob Mannon is a huge whore. What a fucking sleaze bucket. Kemp needs that man’s job yesterday and that slimebucket needs to be put out to pasture with all the other useless old corporate whores. Robyn can keep him. Ewww. How the hell does she fuck him? God, I need a shower.”

I think of poor Kemp. He looked like he was about explode a few times tonight. At one point, I actually saw Hale touch his arm to warn him down from blowing. I know he wanted to be protective, but it wouldn’t have done either of us any good. Catch-22. So, I used humor to deflect it and made a joke out of it, but seriously, does he think I’d throw it all away for a ride on his nasty old dick? What a moron.

And the joke is, I was sitting between Kemp McCoy and Hale Lundström, two big handsome dark-haired, blue-eyed men who make women drool. And he really thought I was going to stroke his ego and his dick and lose all credibility with my boss and my client because of the title on his business card.
Asshole.

Getting up off the bed, I grab my purse from the desk and fish out the keycard to Bob’s bungalow. Ick. I’m getting the willies just touching it and spastically, as if it is singeing my hand, I toss it into my empty metal garbage pail. It lands with a ping.

“Score,” I declare to no one and then laugh. “That’s the only score you’re getting tonight, mister.”

Heading into the bathroom, I look at my eyes in the mirror and decide, I look really tired. It’s 12:30 A.M., but my body thinks it’s 2:30 A.M. Still feeling a little drunk and very hungry, I roam back out in search of the mini-bar and find it hidden in the armoire under the television. I always hate taking anything out of a mini-bar because the prices are so ridiculously inflated. But with no dinner in my belly and too much alcohol, I grab the large bottle of Fuji water and a package of chocolate covered blueberries, convincing myself they are significantly healthier than the Pringles, which I’m sure, like cockroaches, will survive the destruction of mankind.

Fishing around in my suitcase, I find my white tank top, aka pajamas, and pull off the clothes that I have been in for way too many hours. There is no better feeling in the world than ditching a bra at the end of a long day. My sigh of relief is loud and long.

Wandering back into the bathroom with my water, I check out the Natura products, opening the little shampoo bottle to take in the wild chamomile fragrance.

Should I shower now or in the morning?

Morning wins out as I peel my contact lenses from my very dry eyes and start to wash my face. The sound of the phone ringing literally makes me jump. It’s so loud, reverberating off the bathroom tiles. I’m confused. It’s then that I notice there is a wall phone mounted next to the toilet.

It’s nearly 1 A.M. Who the heck is calling?

“Hello.”

“Atta girl.” It’s Kemp.

I laugh. “Atta girl? Atta girl what?”

“Atta girl,” he repeats and I remember he’s half tanked. “You did good tonight. You really impressed the boss.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” I wonder if Kemp has spoken to him.

“Trust me, he’s very impressed with you.”

“Okay, well, that’s good I guess.” I really have no idea what to say about it and it’s probably best if I keep my opinions to myself this evening. “I’m glad it ended up well and happy to see that Hale committed to additional business.”

“Yeah, that was sweet. Susan and her team are obviously keeping him very happy.”

“So it seems.” I want to puke. Susan and her team? Seriously? Umm, Kemp, maybe me working with him on his special project has something to do with it. Geesh.

“Alright, well get some sleep,” he mumbles and I picture that he has just rolled over in bed and will be passed out cold in a nanosecond.

Shaking my head, I look at the phone in my hand after he hangs up. He was checking up on me. Fucker. What he really wanted to know was if I were still in my room or had I gone to Bungalow 4. I know he was happy to find me in my room, but damn, he should have known I would never compromise my integrity and my career – and certainly not so openly. If I were going to do something stupid, I’d be smarter about it.

I finish up in the bathroom and consider searching the room for the room service menu to check out what they serve all-night, but decide it’s probably best just to turn the air conditioning down really cold and get horizontal under the big, fluffy comforter.