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The courier saluted, pocketed his receipt and with one last glance at Abby, sauntered back out onto the landing. After he hit the elevator call button he stood to one side, where he glanced back at them from under those hooded eyes of his.
Sex on a stick.
Abby pulled herself together and gestured at Suzanne, pointing at her lunch bag, trying to regain some semblance of normality. "Here you go."
"Thanks," Suzanne mumbled, reaching into the bag for the food, not moving her gaze from the view.
"No problem," Abby replied, also unable to force herself to look away.
"Now I know why you're always smiling, Suz," she whispered, "being out here on reception duty is so entertaining."
Suzanne shook her head. "They're not all like him, believe me."
"Shame."
The elevator doors opened. He saluted them one last time before stepping inside.
"He was interested in you."
Abby smiled. "You think?"
"Absolutely."
"I wouldn't turn down the chance to check him out." She watched as the doors slid shut and the numbers on the overhead panel began to descend. "But guys like that always do a runner when they find out what I do for a living. Most men can't cope with a woman who's an investment advisor, unless they're in the high finance business themselves."
"I can see how that might happen." Suzanne nodded, ruffling her curly hair in her hands. It immediately fell back into place.
Abby smiled. If she'd done that, her hair would be a tangled mess and she'd look like the wicked witch of the west.
"Is that why you let him think you were a receptionist?" Suzanne added.
Abby shrugged. "It just kind of happened, but I have been known to tell the odd white lie when I'm on the prowl. It's just easier."
She glanced up as she unwrapped her stuffed ciabatta. "You know, I think that shows a human side."
Abby quirked a brow. "Why?"
"You don't get caught up in the image of all this like the rest of them." Suzanne gestured around the plush offices. "They all love that they are so high powered. You play it down. And you're the only one who offers to get me some lunch when you go for yours, did you know that?"
Abby shook her head. It hadn't even occurred to her. "It's easy to get caught up in it. Working in finance at this level can become all consuming. I love the buzz, but I don't want it to be the be-all, you know." She winked and looked back at the shiny elevator doors. "I wonder if he rides a motorcycle."
Suzanne's eyes rounded. "You mean does he have a big throbbing engine between his legs?"
"Oh please." Abby shut her eyes for a moment, savoring the image that leapt to mind. She laughed and snatched up her lunch bag. "You are so bad."
Suzanne grinned as Abby set off down the corridor, gesticulating with the stuffed ciabatta, her curly blonde hair bouncing. "He wanted you, he'll be thinking about you while he's riding his big throbbing engine."
Abby couldn't help laughing.
Inside her office she propped the calling card against her monitor. Opening her takeout bag, she set her lunch down on her desk then stepped behind it and looked out the window. The view never failed to inspire her—the beautiful façade of the City of London—pristine glass towers that cloaked the interior mechanisms of power and wealth, toil and corruption. A tremor of excitement passed over her, part business, and part pleasure.
She sat down and glanced at the array of computer screens lined up on her desk, stabbing her fork at her chargrilled chicken salad. The words and figures flitted across the screen, unseen. She was as restless and alert as a prowling lioness during the mating season. The August heat always hit her this way and either some action or a cold shower was in order.
She picked up her coffee and blew across the swirling black liquid. It made her think about black satin sheets being rumpled across a bed. She smiled. She saw sex everywhere, but that was no revelation. It was everywhere, and besides she did think about it a lot, she wasn't about to deny that. Especially right then. She wanted to know what Wolf-smile looked like naked, preferably over her while they had hot, dirty sex.
She pushed the lunch debris away and crossed her legs high on the thigh—an attempt to crush the insistent pulse point that was pounding there, which didn't help—returning her attention to her work. She checked the latest FTSE index feed and the BBC 24-hour news channel. That was her anchor, even more so than the FTSE. Her tactic was to watch the news as closely as the FTSE index. Share prices were led by world events. She made many a quick maneuver, salvaging potential losses and earning quick, successive gains, on the basis of world events. As she scanned updating news, an instant message popped up on her laptop. It was from her teammate, Ed.
Ed: e-mail from Tom. What do you think?
