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I walk back to our table and notice one of my senior managers, Eric, trying to schmooze it up with a lovely young woman. I'm guessing she's in her early 20s, legs that go on for miles, and a wide white grin that's more expansive and full of life than the Serengeti. Not bad. The man's got taste. For a moment, I look at her tits and her legs and wonder what it'd be like to fuck her.
By the way Eric's leaning in, and brushing his hand against her thigh, I can tell he's thinking the same thing, and he's laying his charm on thick too.
I smile and hang back, wondering if he's going to botch things, but the woman's holding a Manhattan in one hand and tilting her head back in full, open-mouthed laughs. Eric's in his early 30s, and if I had to guess, he probably hasn't been laid in years. Maybe tonight will be his lucky fucking night.
"Like what you see?" a voice asks.
I turn my gaze and come face-to-face with a woman like no other, wearing a tight black dress and shoulder-length blonde hair that cascades down the sides of her face like a river of fucking gold.
The woman who Eric's flirting with doesn't even compare to the one standing in front of me. This one would fucking stop traffic on the Lincoln Tunnel, or even on the Long Island Expressway.
She prods me further before I have a chance to speak. "You don't recognize me, do you?" A smile spreads across her lips, and I can tell she's having some fun with this.
How do I know her?
There's something vaguely familiar about her face. I'm searching my brain and hoping this isn't going to be a repeat of the incident at the bank. Yesterday, I went in to make a withdraw and a woman says the same fucking thing, that I don't recognize her, but of course she poses it as a question, and when I shake my head no she says, "You should, because you fucked me."
She said it loud enough, and let me tell you, it turned some fucking heads at the bank.
Now here I am, looking at this new woman standing in front of me. I'm eyeing her up and down. She's young. I'm guessing early 20s. Her face has delicate features … wait, this can't be. "Natalie?"
"Bingo."
"What brings you here?"
Now my head's really fucking spinning. I haven't seen her since ...
"I heard about your new acquisition, and wanted to say congratulations. It's all over the news."
"You came all the way over here just to say that? Isn't it easier to send an email?" I grin.
Not that I'm complaining that she's here, but it's a legitimate question.
"Email is so … yesterday," she smiles. Seems like she's full of secrets too. God, she looks just like her mother. "Besides, it's been a few years," she continues.
That's a conservative estimate. It feels like a lifetime ago. Almost another life completely.
"How have you been, and your stepbrother, Sloane?"
"You can drop the forced niceties. You and Sloane were never close … none of us were. Even Mom divorced you quicker than any of us predicted. We were never much of a family."
"That's harsh."
"It's the truth and you know it. But if you must know, Sloane hasn't changed, scandalous as always."
I laugh and ask, "How old are you now … 24?" I can't help but notice how much more mature she looks now. She's not the kid—braces and unruly hair—that I remember. She's a woman, a young, beautiful woman. Holy fuck.
"Close," she replies. "25. A stepdad should know these things."
"You look good," I say, ignoring the dig.
"Not as good as Ms. Legs over there, right?" she laughs, changing the subject and pointing back to Eric and the girl he's trying fuck tonight.
I start to shake my head, but she continues, "Oh come on. Don't be shy. I saw you staring."
"I'm many things, but shy isn't one of them," I say, for what I realize is the second time tonight. I bring my drink to my lips and take a sip, letting the warmth simmer in my throat. My eyes lock on hers.
She holds my gaze, changing the atmosphere around us. "Is that so?" she asks.
