Laced Impulse

by Combs, Sasha

  The conference wrapped up, like most formal events do. The exchange of information, agreements and contract negotiations; then there were the sideline deals. Bianca spoke to a few of the attendees but she made certain to keep a watchful eye on Greta and a man she assumed to be Henrik.

  The crowd was beginning to thin out. Small groups huddled, candidly talking throughout the room. Greta was mercilessly flirting with an Italian man; fanning red locks over her shoulder. Licking pouty full red lips. Posing in a way to expose the mounds of her voluptuous breast. As she stared at the man, a curious expression lay beneath her calm veneer. Until now, Bianca couldn’t recall seeing him at any of the conference events. She dismissed this anomaly. She couldn’t account for everyone in attendance, so she set her focus on the two she’d been instructed to observe.

  Greta’s counterpart Henrik was at the bar, drinking and talking to a delegate from South Africa. The musicians paid to entertain them had already left. For this reason her attention was drawn to the sound of music. Gentle fingers danced across the keys; precise placements caressing the ivory. Notes so serene, Bianca felt compelled to compliment the player. She crossed the room, being certain not to lose sight of Greta or Henrik.

  The man playing the piano watched her as she approached. He smiled, then said...

  "Interesting conference."

  She'd been so impressed by his talent, her thoughts were far off and she didn't register his remark. He smiled then repeated...

  "These conferences can be intensely heady. It's nice that the organizers provided this parting gathering. Relaxation fuels creative juices."

  She looked at him amused then nodded. "Yes. It was nice of them to consider this." Bianca’s eyes were drawn to the piano. She’d taken lessons as a child, but she never possessed the talent to master the instrument. She added. "You play beautifully."

  "Thank you."

  By his Danish accent, she rightly assumed his nationality. He offered her his right hand while continuing to play with his left. His bright blue eyes gleamed his sincere greeting.

  "My name is Sven... And you are....?"

  After days of posturing, endless formal invitations. Doctor this and specialist that. Bianca had noticed, most of the conference attendees had shed their titles, like kicking off shoes or removing tights clothes to breathe.

  Her lips spread wide, charming him with her glimmering smile. She shook his hand.

  "Amya." she said simply.

  "What a pretty name. If I may ask...what does it mean?"

  "I'm not sure. My mom said that she named me Amya because it sounded pretty."

  "She's right. A pretty name for a pretty woman."

  Bianca conveyed her expressions using agency standards; steering clear of cliché platitudes. A blush on cue. Giggle, then a hand flick of her hair. Earlier, she'd observed Greta flirting, doing this exact thing. The Italian had swooned just like Sven was currently doing. His moo moo eyes considered her kindly. Sven had released her hand; resuming the melody that had tugged her feet in motion. The sweeping flow of his music was magnificent. Strumming chords that brought his notes to life.

  She was forming a sentence in her head when a voice startled her from behind.

  "Who is your friend?"

  The question was asked in a thick German accent. Bianca turned slightly, seeing Henrik towering over her. Along the periphery, from where she stood; she’d noticed him moving but when she blinked, he’d moved outside of her visual field. The plan had been to locate him without being obvious. But before the opportunity presented itself; Henrik was crowding her personal space.

  Up close, the German was far more attractive then she'd imagined. Except for a narrow scar that marred his cheek, the man possessed models features and it was obvious that Henrik knew this all to well.

  "Henrik, this is Amya.... Amya....Henrik"

  Sven continued playing during his brief introduction. Henrik's mouth crooked a smile when he said...

  "I don't recall seeing you at the reception."

  Bianca said... "I wasn't. I didn't arrive until midweek."

  "Yes... Had you been there, I would have noticed you. I made a point to talk to everyone.” Henrik openly studied her. He said... “What a waste for your sponsor though. The best speakers were the early presenters. But you did enjoy some of the festivities, right? I recall seeing you at the hotel lounge."

  "Now, now Henrik. I thought we all agreed there would be no talk of business."

  Bianca turned and now Greta had joined their threesome. She still recalled her face to face the other day at the elevator. Greta had been furious with Mot and she’d been too afraid to face the woman. But now... Greta’s manner was tame in comparison. Seeing her again; it was clear that she too was a beauty. Bianca had to force her eyes not to stare.

  "Sven... Our driver is here. You can ride with Henrik and me." The red head said.

  Greta's pale gray eyes made a point not to look at Bianca and her annoyance nearly burst when Henrik made mention of her.

  "Greta... Meet Amya. She too attended the conference. We spoke about her after she was seen dancing with that fellow..." He snapped his fingers, searching for the name.

  Greta stopped his incessant gesture when she angrily replied...

  “Vincent. Gideon Vincent.” She said his name with so much venom and Bianca had not been the one who’d told her about Mot mysteriously leaving the conference. Oddly, Sven had been the whistle blower and she didn’t know how or when he’d come to know this. Bianca had overheard the red heads tyrant. Apparently, Mot had promised her he would attend her lavish event. But her temper lost some of it’s simmer when she turned, seeing that Amya had not left the conference with him.

  Greta did something strange, and the maneuver caught Bianca completely off guard. The woman did a slow pivot on one heel, her eyes lay low, taking in Bianca's shoes. Her deliberate slow appraisal was unnerving and meant to affect a response. Bianca felt heat building in her face. Beneath her skin, the muscles attached to hairs quivered under the pressure. Her body was reacting as it should. Flight or fight. She stood her ground; rightly choosing the latter.

  Showing signs of resilience, Bianca smiled; unfazed by Greta's sharp disapproval of her presence.

  "It's nice to see you again Greta. I guess it's obvious that I'm at somewhat of a disadvantage because I wasn't here at the beginning of the conference. I know so few of those in attendance here and the few people that I did meet are already gone."

  "And you didn't leave with them?"

  Ouch! The word sprung in Bianca's head because Greta was out the gate, staking her ground and punching below the belt. Staying the course, Bianca replied.

  "No... I didn't leave when they left. Actually, this is my first time in France and I'd planned to extend my visit. I have an open ticket and my work schedule for the coming week is flexible."

  "Paris is a beautiful city." Sven replied. "I've visited several times and if you'd permit me, I'd love to be your guide."

  "Thank you Sven. I'll consider that."

  "Well... Now that you've got that settled, we mustn't be late for the party." Greta spoke forming her lips in a pout, while tapping the crystal on her watch.

  "You still need to shower and change. I've already made arrangements for the delivery of your luggage." She said.

  Sven lifted his eyes and he saw confusion on Amya's face. Greta was talking around her, almost as if the other woman wasn't there. In short, she was deliberately being rude and he didn't approve. Sven said...

  "Amya... Greta and Henrik have rented a house. Tonight, they're throwing a wonderful party. It's for the people who attended this event. If you'd like to join us, I'm sure they wouldn't mind one more person being added to the list."

  It was times like this that people needed cameras to record the moment. At the mentioning of her being invited as a guest, Greta's collagen filled lips puckered out like a sour duck. Her eyebrows did a trampoline dance. On the upswing, she made a sound that may have been
a curse. Standing beside her, Henrik's face was a mask of glee. He was getting some kind of sick perverted enjoyment out of witnessing her squirm.

  "Greta... There is room enough for four in our car." Henrik’s suggestion was meant to mollify her anger.

  "I have a better idea." Greta said. "We won't make any changes to our original plan. Sven, you will ride with Henrik and me to our house. Henrik's valet has already taken care of your tux situation. And as for you...." Greta's eyes studied her, clearly annoyed. Her face looked like a person considering the growth of mold in a petri dish. The odor repugnant and offensive. After half a minute, enduring Greta's painful once over; Bianca had prepared herself to beg off from the invitation. She'd readied her lips to speak, when without warning, Greta's mouth took an upward swing. The metamorphous was downright scary.

  "Amya... Apparently, you've made an impression on Sven and Hendrik. If there were to be a vote, the tally would be two to one. I know when I'm beat so I see no need to continue this conversation."

  Greta extended her arm, and her hand was as chilly as her voice.

  "You must attend my party. I insist."

  The two women locked eyes and Bianca didn't sense any traces of sincerity. But she did identify something. Full blown malicious intent. This woman was dangerous and she'd have to watch her back.

  In the midst of their icy exchange, Henrik chiseled them free.

  "Did you think to pack an evening gown?" Henrik's gaze turned lurid, causing Bianca's concern to transfer from Greta to him. She shook her head, then said....

  "No, I'm afraid I didn't." Cheerfully she adjusted her response saying... "But this is Paris. Finding a decent gown shouldn’t present a problem."

  No one spoke, claiming that she was wrong but she also noticed that no one agreed with her either.

  Henrik clapped his hands; breaking everyone from their trances. He stepped closer, coming within kissing distance. Imitating the French; he pressed his lips on either side of her face. Whiffs of his expensive cologne circled like a cloud; emphasizing his maleness. He drew back, ignoring Greta's angry dagger like eyes.

  "I look forward to our next meeting, Amya."

  Henrik purposely drew out her name, while reaching down to take hold of her hand. Again, he started with the kisses. His mouth brushed across the back of her hand. And dammit if the man didn't arouse a physical response in her V spot. She sucked back a moan; curtailing the ripple before it spread too far. A faint echo of a shout pricked her awareness. Thoughts of Mot and her mission. Heightened feelings; she blamed him for kindling. If Henrik’s advances were stirring her desire; Bianca had tagged the root cause. Mot. He was to blame. For all that, he was somewhere else and she was here on her own dealing with a mission that wasn’t at all as straightforward as he’d proclaimed. Regardless of what she’d been told; now that she’d met the players, she had a better sense of her mission. Watching wouldn’t be her only role. Greta and Henrik each had reason’s to undermine her. Bianca would have to be on guard for more reasons than one.

  ***************

  Chapter 6

  While walking to the elevator, Henrik remained at Bianca's side, leaving Greta to be escorted by Sven. Bianca was in the rear and she couldn't hear Greta and Sven's conversation mainly because Henrik was talking; telling her about the little house that they'd rented. The man was a relentless flirt. When the pair parted. She went to her room and called the concierge; hoping to gain some help. Her knowledge about gowns wasn't impressive and she knew even less when it came to buying shoes and purses. After three phone calls, and wasting precious little time; she finally settled on a gown in the hotels dress salon. She hurried back to her room, knowing that she'd need every second to get ready. Thus far, she was questioning her decisions. She'd knowingly allowed Greta and Henrik to leave; thereby, putting them out of her sight. Mot had instructed her to keep them under surveillance. But what better way to observe the pair, than being a guest at their party. Saying no would have appeared out of character for a person dying to experience Paris. She'd observed the way people fawned and cooed whenever talking to either of them. They weren't scientist and they weren't pretending to be. Greta and Henrik introduced themselves as headhunters; looking to score big by hiring a scientist or outright purchasing their formulas. Money flowed, yet no one questioned who controlled the tap. It didn't appear to matter, so she had to follow suit. She had to be as impressed as everyone else whenever Greta winked or Henrik tried to pat her ass. Allowing them to leave without her following them was a risk but she felt the chance was worth taking. Besides, when in the field, making the final call was hers to make.

  Bianca was stepping out of the shower when she heard a rapping sound on her door. She wasn't expecting any guest and the only other person that knew she was here was Mot. She crossed the room hurriedly anticipating seeing him. But when she checked the peephole, instead of seeing Mot; Bianca saw the desk clerk, holding a large rectangular box. She stepped away, clearing a space to open the door. His English was fair, and he knew enough to explain that the package had just arrived. She asked him to stay, giving her time to get his tip. He waved his hand, and in his broken English he said...

  "The gratuity came with box."

  "Oh..." she said in surprise, while the man made his exit. Bianca lay the box on her bed because it was too large to open on the sofa. She didn't see a card on the outside, and she hoped the sender wasn’t trying to maintain their anonymity. Lifting the lid, she lay it to the side, then went to work, parting the tissue paper. Her hands drew back, clinched at her throat.

  "My word..." was all she could think to say. At the shoulders of the gown, she lifted the dress. As her eyes marveled over the design, papers sprung up in motion. Her focus had been on the gown and not the neatly stacked papers beneath a small flower adorned note card. She scrambled, attempting to gather the falling items. She reached for the card. The note was hand printed. The words as touching as his music.

  "Please, accept these humble offerings as my gift to you. Wear the dress and later, when you return home, enjoy my music."

  The box held a beautiful gown and the fabric was unlike anything she'd ever seen. The sheet music was the piece he'd been playing when they’d first met. Sven had sent the gifts to her. But why? She didn't know but she ached to ask him. Without question, his dress out shined the simple gown she'd purchased in the hotel’s salon. The dress was a coral color. A hue she’d never considered in the past, but against her hand, the color complimented her complexion perfectly. Why, why, why? Questions sprung to life but no answers followed. She dropped her hands to her side, wondering why Sven had singled her out. Why had he bought a dress, she was sure had cost him plenty? And the music? What was up with that? The composition was a work of genius. She could play music and if she searched her brain, she could even read the notes. But as for playing the piano... It had been a long while since she’d played at her last recital but her performance had been nothing like Sven’s.

  Bianca dressed hurriedly, not wanting to be late for the party. As promised, Henrik sent his driver and she saw no need to decline his offer. Before leaving her room, Bianca checked in with her handler. She didn't know if her room was bugged or if she was being overheard but at this juncture, it didn't really matter. The phrase she'd spoken was inconspicuous, lacking substance. “The city is wonderful, so I thought I'd attend a party tonight.” She told the person on the other end the names of the party's host. To the receiver, the message was loaded. She confirmed that her location was still Paris and her mission was going as planned. By telling TC the names of Greta and Henrik; she wanted him to know who she was with and where she was going.

  Bianca rode in the rear of the town car, making note of street signs. In her head, a mental map was forming. The little house that Greta and Henrik had rented, was more like a palace. When the car came to a stop, she peered out, taking in the four story dwelling. From the street, the place looked magnificent and when she walked inside, she had to suppress her aw
e. She'd never seen anything so grand in person. Even the White House paled in comparison. The foyer was adorned with antiques and furnishings that bespoke of the owners wealth. The chandelier alone was worth at least half a million. And Henrik had spoke of a little house. He’d told her that this place was perfect for their small quaint gathering. Small indeed, she’d thought while admiring a French Impressionist rendering.

  Broken from her musings, Bianca looked to the butler. A very attractive middle aged man dressed in tux and tails; he led the way, taking her up an ornate wide spiral staircase. The formal ballroom was located on the second level of the house. She could hear sounds as they approached. Light laughter. Music. Rustling of clothing. Clinking glasses.

  The butler opened a large heavy door. He stepped aside, allowing her entrance. Due to his formal approach, she half expected him to bellow out her name in the same manner the joint houses announce the entrance of the president.

  When Greta talked about her party, Bianca had expected to see people who'd attended the conference. Except for herself and Sven, the room was half filled with complete strangers. In fact, after she quickly counted; in all, there were twenty-seven people in the room. Before she could get her bearings; Henrik crossed the floor wearing a tux, fitted specifically for his build. The man was a vision. A blond Adonis and ridiculously drop dead gorgeous. He smiled as he approached, knowing full well the affect he had on women.

  "Amya..." He sang her name. “You’re absolutely beautiful in that dress.” Hendrik grasps her hand, in his. He drew in close, greeting her with the customary kisses. Again she was bathed in his arousing scents. He said something in German, and she searched her mind, rooting out the meaning. Beautiful flower, she thought in her head.