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The meeting room was small but still big enough for our purposes. I really wanted to let our work speak for itself. We had gone through enough to get it. Mitch was more the sales guy anyway. Not in a sleazy or oily way. He could always just find the very best way of presenting. He was the ultimate optimist, really.
His mostly positive attribute could get a bit creepy once you’ve seen it literally applied to a plane crash. Mitch went into full spin-control when a nascent airline we were covering started having trouble with mechanical air. They tended to drop before really lifting off too high so one really got hurt, but still, it looked pretty bad. In swooped Captain Charm and fixed everything right up.
“You feeling okay?” I asked, noticing Mitch didn’t seem his usual bouncy self.
“Yeah, just a bit tired is all.”
“Just don’t fall asleep during the presentation and we’ll be fine.”
“I do my best, but since you are also going to be talking, I make no promises.”
“Smart-ass,” I smiled.
“Nerd.”
“Fair,” I said with a quick nod of agreement.
Ulysses Whitman was a walking stereotype. Three hundred pounds of good ol’ boy in a five-seven frame, stuffed into a distinctly Western suit accentuated by hand-tooled cowboy boots. The black cowboy hat with a bull skull hatband was the cherry on top of the absurdity sundae. Mitch and I cast each other a glance as he came in and sat down across from us at the conference table.
“Whoo-ee, ah haven’t had exercise like that since mah last cattle ropin’!”
“Took the stairs?” Mitch asked, before I could.
“Naw, but that there hallway sure is dang long!”
I couldn’t argue with him there. It was a bit of a hike from the elevator to the conference room. Particularly if you happened to miss it the first time and did a full rotation of the floor before ending up back up at the elevator.
The reappearance of the shiny metal doors was the final proof that things had really gone pear-shaped, a summation of the nagging sense that the numbers on the doors started looking wrong a while ago. It was like walking an endless hall in a dream.
“Well, take a breather, Mr. Whitman. We have all the time you need,” Mitch said, pouring on the charm as well as he could in his condition.
“T’ank yah, m’boy.”
When Whitman had rediscovered the miracle of air and his face went from a noticeable red back to a color in no way resembling that of a boiled lobster, we got down to business.
“Ah’m gonna get right to it,” Whitmans said, recovering enough to take control of things. “Y’all have a dang impressive client list. Especially considerin’ how young y’all are. Ah’ve been lookin’ for a good insurance firm for a while. A group of folk who can take the big pile of cash ah already got and protect it till it can get even bigger.”
“We’ve certainly got experience there,” I said, saving Mitch the effort.
“That ya do. Ah mean, why else would White & White be with y’all? Even as lawyers ya don’t get to billionaire status without doin’ somethin’ right, right?”
“Right,” Mitch and I chorused.
“Specially considerin’ their reputation for philanthropy.”
“They can be quite generous,” I agreed, mostly because it was true. Mitch was the ass-kisser out of the two of us.
“Very generous, indeed,” Whitman pondered.
It was a bit of a leap, but I hoped that maybe his predictive rumination might have been an insight into what he was thinking in terms of our deal.
“Ah’ve never been one to put all mah eggs in one basket, temptin’ as that might be. How about we start with $500,000 worth and see how that goes? If y’all do good, I’ll think about havin’ you boys cover the lot.”
“Sounds absolutely perfect,” Mitch said, managing one of his usual 500-watt grins.
I always thought he looked ridiculous when he did that, but the clients seemed to like it. Whitman was no exception. The problem was clearly with me. There were many times a day when I wished I could just be happy. The burden of that knowledge often got to be oppressive. Then I caught a few seconds of reality TV and have my appreciation for my lot in life instantly restored.
She was still there. Waiting patiently as I came out of the meeting. Smiling sweetly as I drove home, trying to beat the rush hour traffic, when I parked in my assigned spot outside my townhouse. She wasn’t in the kimono anymore. Or my bedroom. Nothing fancy like that.
We were nowhere but the fields of my mind and she wore nothing at all. Her wonderful tits were out in their full glory. Her tight little pussy was already glistening with excitement.
I desperately got my pants off, my rock-hard cock jumping out into the open air as though it was spring-loaded. Unable to get to the bedroom, I settled onto the couch, pulling my pants and jacket off on the way.
