by Ann Raina
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll also need a notebook with modifications.”
Linda nodded.
“If they access the Internet, I might be able to hack their firewall.”
“No, let this be the worry of our analyst team back in Washington. I’ll provide you with a notebook and equipment within a week. You need USB sticks to download from their computers directly. You know how to erase tracks of such op?”
“Sure.” He stood while she ate, bag in hand. “Linda, tell Bellard that I want a promotion if this job turns out right.”
“I will.”
Michael scrutinized her beautiful powdered face, but couldn’t say if she told the truth.
* * * *
Elena Kittridge closed her purse and gazed from her company into the crowd in the main room of the Wan Ling Chinese restaurant. She was certain to have spotted at least two reporters from local papers and an anchorwoman from WFTV. There was a good chance she had been recognized. She knew she was still worth a report. Oh, she would love to be present when Harold Kittridge, who had so disdainfully dropped her three months ago, watched the news and saw her and the man at her side. It was mean just to think of it, but to her it was a hoot.
“More sake?”
Elena nodded absentmindedly, lingering on the sweet thought of revenge. Harold had been so eager to get rid of his wife to jump into the bed of a twenty-year-old girl. She could have been his daughter!
“Is it true this is one of your favorite restaurants?”
Elena resurfaced to smile an apology and put back a strand of her carefully colored brown hair. “I just thought about old times.” She found her smile returned. Yes, the man from the escort service Lady Summerston had recommended was handsome, had good manners and left her alone if she needed a moment of quietness. “You are right, I used to come here a lot. I like Chinese food even though you never know what’s in the dish.” She bent across the table to whisper confidentially, “I heard that the Chinese eat dogs. Imagine that, Matthew! Dog on the menu!”
“In other parts of the country broiled insects are served as well. It’s delicatessen for them.”
She cocked her head and ripped her eyes open. “I thought you were shocked.”
He shrugged. “It needs more to shock me.”
“Good to know.”
* * * *
The conspiratious smile was unnerving. Michael felt uneasy. “Did you enjoy the evening so far, Mrs. Kittridge?”
“Elena, please. This is a very personal party for me.”
“As you wish…Elena.”
She darted another glance at the men and women from the papers. So far, none of them had made an attempt to get her picture or come over for questions. She did not want her charade to be for nothing. “It would be much better if we had more attention.”
He frowned.
“Ah, young man, you’re by far too modest.” She touched his forearm, eyes half-closed. Her voice dropped. “You’re a charmer, I was told. Maybe you should show instead of tell.” She twitched her brows.
“As my lady commands.”
* * * *
If he found it odd, Elena could not tell. Michael gently, lovingly kissed the back of her hand, never losing eye contact. His lips began a journey up her forearm, then hesitated for a smile. Then, as if he had wanted to do it the whole evening, Michael bent across the table to kiss Elena’s cheek. When she closed her eyes and did not order him to stop, his lips touched hers. It was a chaste kiss, nothing short of a courteous show of feelings. Elena smiled, very pleased that he understood.
She was even more pleased to hear the sudden whispers around her. The audience was watching. And had that been the click of a camera? Oh, yes, there he was—a man with a small camera and an eager face. So, tomorrow morning, at least the local papers would tell the story of Mrs. Elena Kittridge and her new lover.
Her smile deepened. She could pretend to be in love. She grabbed Matthew’s hand and pulled him closer. “You’re as good as I was told. And now you can flaunt up to the restroom. Make it slow so that everyone gets a good look at you. Don’t worry, they are not out to shoot you.”
“Who knows?”
“Ah, I do. I’ll take care of that.”
“Shoot me?”
“Protect you.”
He used the second when he got up to kiss her hand again as if he couldn’t wait to come back, then left the table.
Elena Kittridge smiled at the cup of sake in front of her. It was a splendid evening so far.
* * * *
“George, on a word, please.” Lady Summerston waited at the door to her office for him to enter. She closed the door and leaned against it. Every time she met with her brother-in-law, she felt like drowning in ice water.
George Summerston was the spitting image of his elder brother. As usual, he sported the latest man’s fashion. He preferred dark and light blue and combined sportive jackets with polo shirts and loose fitting jeans, which were nevertheless expensive. Dark blue velvet loafers rounded the ensemble. He was fifty-two, five foot eight and in good shape. Though his face was wrinkled and his hair gray, he did not look his age. Always tanned, he gave the impression of a wealthy traveler, who never happened to stay in one place for long. His smile was warm and winning, a good salesman face. Opposite to Dave, his behavior did not disclose he was gay.
“What can I do for you, Kate?” he asked amiably on his way to the bar.
“I want to talk business with you.”
“Oh!” He laughed and helped himself to a whiskey. “Want a drink?”
“No, not now.”
“As you wish.” Tumbler in hand, George turned to his sister-in-law. The ice cubes made a soft tinkling noise. “Then let us talk business.”
He stood at ease while Lady Summerston walked to her desk. She felt his gaze on her back. Her shoulders ached and she felt stiff for no reason.
“If it is about the new handyman, I have to admit that—”
She stood at the desk, the warm wood a support she needed. She turned to face him. “It is not about the new handyman. I’m sure you found the right one.”
“I did very well with the last, didn’t I?”
“I would prefer you to modify your business.”
“I thought the vinery was a very good idea combined with the wellness farm. The sales are rising as we speak.”
“You know what I mean.”
The smile on his face died immediately. He stood rigid with the glass in hand, but did not drink. “We have an agreement, Kate, that the farm is used best for both our interests.”
“Customers ask me about the great number of foreign employees. George, you have to stop. At least for a while. And balance the numbers!”
“Balance the—”
Lady Summerston drummed on the tabletop. “At the moment, seventy percent of them come from non-American countries. I agree that we don’t live by the rules of simply employing Americans, but it’s getting out of hand. I want the next maids and butlers hired to be Americans by nature and not only by their passports.”
“That’s a tough demand, Kate. Right now, I made arrangements to hire three more stable hands.”
“I know, the others found jobs where they got more money. Excuse me,” she cut in his reply, “that I don’t believe this. Usually, I don’t track where my employees go to after they left my house, but in this case I made the effort.”
George flinched as if he had been hit. “Kate…”
“They crossed two states and got hired by Mr. Vendrige. It was not hard to find out that he buys wine from your vinery and that his wife spent two weekends here.” She cocked her head, brows raised. “I will assume that you did this in the best interest of the stable hands, George. I don’t like the idea,” she interrupted him again, “that my customers don’t feel at home just because you bring in more foreigners than are acceptable. And I want them to speak English while in public. That’s also a general rule that tends to be ignored. I won’t tolerate
that. Do we have an agreement?”
“I’ll see to it. By how much do you want the foreign employee rate reduced?”
She pretended not to see how enraged he was. “I want the employees, who are most visible to the guests, to be Americans in general. Gardeners and stable hands and other workers, who don’t get into contact with customers frequently, can be foreigners. Summed up, there should be no more than fifty percent of all employees from other countries.” She eyed her brother-in-law, angry about his stubbornness. “We had this agreement before, George, before you even hired the first ones, but you altered it and not for the better of this venture. It might attract unintentional attention and this, my dear George, would not be in your interest.”
“Not in yours, too.” He put down the glass. “Or do you think any inspection would leave you untouched?”
“You’re the manager of this business.”
“And it’s all yours as you pointed out more often than I can count.”
“Don’t dare threaten me, George. Like in all ventures, safety and caution should come before the thought of maximum profits.”
“I will deliver your message, Kate, but I can’t say they’ll be happy.”
“I don’t expect them to be happy. I just want results.”
“So they do. So they do.” He put down the glass and left the office.
* * * *
Michael hit the switch upon entering his room and his hand went for his gun the moment he saw a figure lying on the couch. He had no gun with him and when his pulse slowed, he realized it was Eric. He was glad the other could not have seen the motion.
The young man woke and squinted at him, right hand shading his eyes. “Sorry, pal, to slip in while you were gone.” His voice was drowsy. When he sat up, he moaned and wet his lips. “My room’s flooded.”
“How’s that?” Michael took off his jacket and hung it over a chair at the table.
“Don’t know.” Eric’s long hair framed his face. He put one strand back behind his ear while the rest touched his chest. “Got in before you and found the bathroom completely wet. Plumber’s already called, but I can’t use my room for some days, I’d say.” He looked up, pleadingly. “Hope you don’t mind me staying.”
“Can’t let you sleep with your toes getting wet, hum?”
Eric stretched and yawned. “Thanks. How was your evening?”
“Can’t say.” Michael took off his shoes and dress shirt, unable to take his eyes off the man on the couch, who looked like a painting by Botticelli. He was jealous and couldn’t explain it. Eric’s broad, muscled shoulders, slim waist and firm, long legs must be the wet dream of every woman. Not to forget the long hair, full and wavy, unusual for a man. For the first time in life, Michael wondered if Eric had more appeal to women than he. It was odd to be out for competition. He made an effort for his voice to sound neutral. “You know, rules etc.”
“I just want to know if you had the same snore fest I had. My lady attended a vernissage and I was just the nice decoration.” He yawned again. “I’ve never been so bored in my life.”
“Well, my picture might appear in the morning papers.”
“Cool.”
“But that was it. We dined in a Chinese restaurant. After that, we spent two hours in a hotel suite, but all she did was talk about her husband. She misses him and she’s angry, which is not an amusing combination. Then she dropped me at a house outside town and was gone. I don’t know if the press will follow her or pester the people living in the house for information.”
Eric grinned. “You walked through the backyard and disappeared?”
“Yep.”
Eric thumbed over his shoulder. “You got a queen-sized bed. Would you mind if I—”
“Yes. The couch is new and comfortable.” Michael passed him by toward the bathroom.
“I promise I’m not a cover thief!”
“The answer’s still no.”
“Protective little thug.”
“I heard that!”
“I wanted you to hear it.”
Michael peered around the corner. “If you wanna share beds, ask another.”
“I did. They wouldn’t let me in.” Eric grimaced. “Might ruin their manly appearance or something else stupid.”
“I only wonder why you didn’t leave any space for my stuff in the bathroom.”
“Oops, sorry.” Eric grinned broadly. “Tall guy like me, you know…”
Michael shook his head. “You’re a pain in the ass, Eric.”
“Heard that before.”
“Small wonder.” He went back to brushing his teeth and wondered how he should manage to escape attention while Eric shared his room.
The blonde was above him, long, wavy hair framing a delicate, heart-shaped face. Michael saw dimples on her cheeks and tiny freckles all over her pointy nose. She smiled at him and whispered words he did not understand. He lifted his head, but instead of an explanation, she kissed him on his lips. There was nothing chaste about it. She devoured him with lips and tongue. One more second and she would mark him with her teeth. He pulled away, but she followed, pressing her lips on his. Guttural sounds escaped her throat. Her hands kneaded his chest and ventured lower, lower until she had his member hot in her hand. He grabbed her bust, getting aroused the more with every second of her soft flesh touching his. She moaned and laid back her head, enjoying his attention to the fullest. He positioned her hips above him, ready to bring his rock hard member between her legs.
“You look ready to throw your anchor, but it’s not the time for the beach right now, Matt!”
Michael shook awake and grabbed the hand on his shoulder. He twisted it around and heard a painful grunt. When he opened his eyes, Eric half knelt at the bedside, grimacing.
“Let go of my hand,” he pressed, voice thwarted by pain.
Michael let go and sat up. His breathing was ragged. “Don’t do that again!”
Eric stumbled backward, face turned an unhealthy red. He flexed his fingers. “Don’t be so damn prudish! And next time I don’t come to wake you. By the way, you talk in your sleep.”
Michael felt his heart beat in his throat. He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry.” He tried for a smile and failed. “Did I say something interesting?”
“You urged someone to go on.” Eric waved a hand at Michael’s midsection. “Must have to do with this.”
“You’re a second Sherlock Holmes.” He got out of bed, painfully aware of the bulge in his boxer shorts.
Eric’s good mood was back instantly. He shook out his hand and inspected the damage while he gazed at Michael out of the corner of his eye. “You haven’t got laid for some time, huh? I mean, it’s like that every morning now.”
Michael passed him by, sighing silently that Eric still shared his room. He didn’t want to tell him that he had already pondered about going downtown to find a whore, but thought better of it. The pressure in his loins turned painful every time he thought of the women he had had at home. The beautiful blonde was just one of them. He had set his hopes on Mrs. Kittridge, but her concern had been reporters and revenge. She also still loved her husband too much to betray him. And of the ladies, who had followed the next days, only one had taken him to bed. He had been careful not to hurt her with his eagerness. It hadn’t been a satisfying night for him. The others had been more concerned about showing off with him than having sex. He doubted his appeal, which wasn’t comforting either. “I’ve had better times. And,” he added at the bathroom door, “I don’t want your comments, Eric. You got that?”
Eric raised his hands in an I-give-up gesture. “If you ask me—”
“I don’t.”
“It’s all the better for the next date. You gonna come, no matter what she does.” Eric grinned.
The bathroom door closed. He liked the morning more than he could tell.
When Michael got out of the bathroom, leaving steam and the smell of soap behind, Eric turned to him, face as serious as it would get. “You kn
ow, you should tell Lady Summerston you want a date that’s more than a trip to the opera. She’ll understand.”
“You’re on intimate terms with her?”
“No, no one is, but she doesn’t consider us machines.” He frowned while Michael tied his shoelaces. “You don’t trust her, do you?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“All right, you’ll see. She’s special. All set?”
Michael stood and straightened the sleeves of his dark blue pullover. “What for?”
“It’s Thursday. Ms. Monroe joins us for news and such.” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Usually, she takes her time to browbeat us if we did something wrong.”
“Sounds like a really good morning.”
* * * *
Ms. Monroe handed envelopes to each escort man. Michael thought her to be in a better mood than the day she had taken him to Washington. Her voice was flat, down to business, fitting the dark gray two-piece and red blouse she wore. “As usual, the real names of the ladies are known only to Lady Summerston and me. If you have any questions considering the arrangement, please, let me know and I will handle it.”
Michael checked the card Ms. Monroe had written by hand. It was a list of three dates. The first lady, who had chosen him, had booked the Sunset Suite for an afternoon and probably night and expected full cooperation for whatever she wanted.
By now he knew the names and the interiors of the rooms and smiled. That, at least, sounded like an interesting prospect to spend the hours.
After breakfast, Michael used the moment Ms. Monroe left to follow her into the hallway. “On a word, Ms. Monroe?”
“I’m quite busy, Mr. Hathaway. So if it’s not about the arrangements you got, I have no time for pep talk.”
“Indeed, I have a question about the first lady I expect. Is she new to the wellness farm? Does she have special interests? Things, I should know about?”