Slave to Love

by Julie A. Richman

  Just the physical contact, the first we’ve had in days, feels so good. I let myself realize, for the first time in weeks, how much I’ve missed her, even though she has been by my side the entire time.

  “I hope you’re right.” I never like to be too confident until everything is completed.

  “Hale, it will do you good to realize I’m always right.” She smiles at me and walks away, making her way through the room to ensure all the guests have everything they need. Talk about having people eat out of your hand, as she moves from table-to-table, the male dominated crowd is entranced by her.

  I had totally underestimated her and how she would react to the three weeks of my aloofness and my super focus on the event. I was afraid she’d be insecure and clingy and needy. But not Sierra. Sierra Stone took this in stride. Understanding the importance of the event and its outcome, she made it her own, taking ownership of what she was assigned and more. I didn’t have to babysit her. I didn’t have to worry about her. In fact, she made my life a whole lot easier. So much more than I could’ve ever imagined.

  I don’t even want to let myself begin to think about the weekend being over and where our relationship will take us. For the moment, I need to be focused on the here and now, and I shoo that thought away with a grin as I watch her royal blue skirt between the starched white linen table clothes.

  Standing by the bar, also surveying the room is an old friend and colleague, Daniel Mizrahi. Now the owner of a very successful tech firm specializing in missile sensors, Daniel and I share more than probably any two people in this room. The man was my counterpart multiple times, on missions neither of our governments worked on, or so they would claim.

  Making my way over to the bar, the wiry Israeli regards me as I approach. “I’m really glad you decided to attend. I hope you’ll lead up some of the discussions over the next few days.”

  “I’m just here for the booze and girls,” quips the former intelligence officer.

  “We’ve got plenty of booze. Not so much on the girls, though.” I shrug.

  “I’ll take that one.” He gestures toward Sierra.

  “Spoken for,” I let him know.

  “Good for you. Get her pregnant, keep her pregnant. Make beautiful babies together. Keep them safe and far away from where we’ve been.”

  I nod, thinking we have to have sex first and then I sweep away the thought quickly.

  “Tomorrow morning everyone will be breaking into teams to work on defining the mission. It sounds easy, but will probably be the toughest thing we do all weekend. Everything else we work on, strategically and tactically, will come off of that.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  I can’t help but smile at Daniel. We fall into step immediately, anticipating one another, the brilliance of our past just a breath away, ready to carry us into the future, our sole, or maybe soul, mission never wavering.

  “I’ve got you on a team tomorrow morning with Jiro Masahiro and Alborz Ahadi,” my tone is quiet.

  The Israeli smiles, “You’re really going to shake it up, aren’t you.” The former Aman, Israeli military intelligence officer, has been teamed up with a formidable Japanese tech giant and an Iranian technology minister. “There’s a lot of ego at that table. Does Ahadi know we’re teamed?”

  Shaking my head, no, I add, “I somehow think in this closed environment, he will be a lot more open and reasonable. But maybe it’s just what I’m hoping. The same with Masahiro. Let me know by tomorrow night if they’re really here to work. If not, I’ll do some team shuffling and ameliorate the situation.”

  “I’ll let you know.” Daniel moves back to his table, understanding too long a conversation might draw interest.

  As I make my rounds at all of the tables, my excitement builds. TFV1 has been a dream of mine, a way to make a lasting impact on the world, a chance to be able to take my training and my position and weave in and out, where governments can’t, to create a global fabric that safeguards against terrorism.

  After dinner, I pull together a meeting of my directs in what was once a “Situation Room” for the Johnson administration. The whole facility has amazing history, walking through the ranch-like structure, it’s hard not to imagine LBJ’s angst and stress as he dealt with civil rights movement issues and the pressures of Vietnam as it incurred the country’s growing resistance.

  I take a seat in a large worn leather chair at the helm of the long table, a chair I wonder if President Johnson himself may have sat in, as we run through Saturday’s agenda. The day begins early with breakfast, then onto the opening address and goal setting for the weekend, and general questions and concerns. It is at this point where everyone will sign a formal document of participation. For the next several hours, small groups will tackle the mission. Lunch will be a working lunch within the groups and mid-afternoon we reconvene as a larger group to hammer out a unified mission. A late afternoon break, prior to dinner, with multiple on-site leisure events is planned and some presentations by companies in incubation. Dinner again will be served in the dining room, located high on a bluff with wonderful views of sunset, and then after dinner, another three hour block of work time to define strategy.

  Garber is seated next to Sierra, “Ariel, how do you walk in those things?” He’s checking out her legs and feet.

  “Gracefully,” she responds with a smile.

  “Well, if you need a foot massage later,” he offers.

  “Are you my man?”

  “I definitely would be if the slave driver here didn’t have me working all night.”

  There is a small army’s worth of munitions here with the staff guarding the attendees. Enough firepower to make even a diehard Texan proud. With the exception of Sierra, my entire staff is packing, as am I, as well as many of the attendees, including Daniel Mizrahi.

  After the meeting, we join a small group in the bar. I’m amazed at the diversity of the crowd. No one would ever believe these people were in the same room, drinking together. Scions of industry from throughout the globe alongside political icons.

  “A drink?” I ask Sierra.

  She just shakes her head. “I’m working. I need to stay sharp.” She’s taking in the room, chairs covered in calf hide and soft-lit antler chandeliers. An American West of yesteryear. “This is an amazing place.”

  Garber joins us. “Everyone is in place for the evening. Shift change in four hours and then four hours after that.”

  “Do you need me for anything else this evening?” Sierra asks.

  Yes. To crawl into bed beside me, so that I can snuggle up next to you. Fall asleep with one of your gorgeous nipples in my mouth. Wake you in the middle of the night as I slowly enter you pushing all the way in and rolling onto my back with you on top of me while I thrust you up and down on my dick.

  “No. Get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m thinking it’s best just to go to my room and relax a little bit, then get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Aww, you leaving us, Ariel? Now I’ve got to look at all these ugly dudes tonight.” Garber has taken a liking to her.

  “Yeah, I’m beat.” She smiles at him.

  “I’m still available for that foot massage,” he offers.

  “I’m beginning to think you have a foot fetish, Jeff.” Sierra looks at him seriously.

  “You don’t even want to know,” he laughs.

  Turning to me, “If you need anything, text me.”

  “I just need you to get some rest.” I smile down at her.

  “That, I can do, Boss. Good night, gentleman,” she bids us with a smile.

  Garber and I watch in silence as she leaves.

  “She’s something else.” Jeff is shaking his head approvingly.

  “That, she is,” I agree.

  “So, when did you first fall in love with her?” He’s very matter-of-fact.

  “In love with her?” I question as if he’s nuts.

 
; “Yeah, in love with her, Lundström.”

  I think about it. In love. Am I in love with Sierra? That might not be a good thing. I like her a lot. There’s no doubt about that. I want to be in a relationship with her and although our intimacy has been limited, I want to be involved with her. Be her lover. But in love with her?

  Crazy in love with her.

  Laughing, “When she scarfed down a cheeseburger at 2 A.M. standing in the hallway at the Beverly Hills Hotel. How can you not love a woman who’s not afraid to totally chow down a greasy burger in the middle of the night.”

  “She’s really special, Hale.”

  “I know,” I admit.

  “Don’t fuck it up. That one is a keeper. And if you mess up, I will be waiting in the wings to snatch her away from right under your nose,” he warns.

  “Don’t waste your time. I have no intention of losing her.” Especially now, after I’ve admitted out loud that I am in love with Sierra Stone.

  In seventy-two hours, I will be ravaging and claiming every inch of her body. Living out the fantasies that have been crowding my brain for months. No holds barred. I can already hear her breathless voice calling my name, begging me to go deeper, take her harder. I want to hear her screaming my name over and over and over again.

  After this weekend, she will be totally mine. And we won’t be keeping it a secret. From anyone.

  Crickets are a sign of colder weather on the horizon in central Texas. As I stroll along the covered walkway toward my room, I zig-zag across the pavement so as not to step on one of the noisy little creatures serenading the night. The sky is clear and filled with the famed “Deep in the Heart of Texas” stars and the air carries that crisp scent that appears when the summer humidity finally loses its grasp. A garden area is lit by an almost full moon missing the top right of its curve. When I come upon a wood and wrought iron bench with a Star of Texas welded onto the back, I decide to take a moment to just breathe.

  Inhaling deeply, the oxygen rushing through my veins is like an instant shot of caffeine, awakening both my tired body and mind. Sitting quietly, I continue to breathe in deeply as I observe my surroundings. One of Jeff’s guys is at the end of the walkway in a dark suit and white shirt. I’ve seen some of the perimeter guys, decked out in fatigues and semi-automatics, but the detail closest to participants are low-key and professionally dressed.

  “Got sidetracked, Ariel?”

  Jeff sits down next to me.

  “Yes, the stars and moon were just too beautiful to not take a few minutes to sit and enjoy them.”

  As he surveys the night sky, I take a moment to study his handsome profile and wonder, what is his story? Can men with these lifestyles, like he and Hale have lived, have successful relationships?

  As if he knows what I’m thinking, “You’re really good for him, Sierra.”

  “You think?” I smile as I look up at the moon. I love hearing this.

  “Yes. I do.”

  These military types, they make you work for it. I just want him to tell me.

  “Why do you say that, Jeff?” Turning to face him, I need to know why.

  “You bring light to him, Sierra.”

  “Do you think Hale is a dark person?” I know Garber has been with him in dark and dangerous places, but does he see Hale that way? As dark.

  “No, not in the sense you are probably taking it. He’s a very serious and driven man. Look at this weekend. Just the fact that this is happening is all Hale’s vision and intensity. I think you bring along a facet that just lets him be. Gives him a break from needing to save the world. Gives him a healthy balance that he’s been missing.”

  “Do you really think he feels he needs to save the world?” That is what I hone in on from the information Jeff has shared. I know he’s a crusader, but is saving the world really his life’s mission? And is there truly a place for anyone else in someone so expressly focused on something so extraordinary?

  “Yeah, Sierra. I do. I think it’s been his reason for being. His raison d’être, as the French say. Well, at least until now.”

  “Until now?” I ask, totally perplexed.

  “Until you.”

  Looking away, I look up at the beautiful, robust moon, hanging there as if she were a gift to me, and nod my head. Until me.

  “Do you really think I can make a difference?” Can anyone? I wonder.

  “You already have, Ariel. You already have,” he assures me.

  I make a silent wish in the moon’s glow. Please let Jeff be right.

  How can grown men of this stature need so much hand holding? I am all over the place Saturday morning making sure everyone is where they need to be. We have a few constant wayward stragglers who require a lot of shepherding and our fair share of arrogant participants who feel they are at the center of everything.

  As the day progresses and each team finalizes developing their mission statement, the energy in each of the rooms becomes palpable. Men and women who entered the facility as individuals representing a company or a country are quickly shedding those personas as they become the architects of an unprecedented global mission. By late afternoon, all the separate teams have come back together to create and solidify their work into that of a unified mission, agreed upon by all participants.

  Watching it come together has been surprisingly like a ballet performance teeming with exquisite skill and requiring precise timing. The stage began in the morning with the separate teams swirling, each performing a beautiful and unique dance, and as the day went on, commonalities emerged amongst the teams, and there was an engulfing that formed a new, larger and more inclusive unit. When it appeared they had all come together in this brilliant dance, dancers would break from the pack, pirouetting away and crashing into others, until they finally all reformed with the ultimate synchronization and no breaks in the formation.

  And, at that point, the group’s mission was born.

  Moderating and prodding, pushing and poking holes the entire time, Hale Lundström, has been stalking the floor with the lithe dexterity of a large and deadly cat. It is easy to visualize who he was as a commander of highly trained soldiers. He has effortlessly led this divergent group and I can only imagine that every participant will feel as if they have become part of a brotherhood. I can’t shed the vision of our nation’s forefathers drafting the Declaration of Independence and the fraternity that must have ensued amongst the men whose names grace that document. All of these people will leave here with a different relationship with each and every one of the other participants than they had before attending. And in some cases, dialogue between nations may just begin with two people and a common goal upon which they agree. I can’t help but think of the long-reaching effect this weekend will have in places no one can fathom at this very moment.

  The hours set aside for the evening’s strategy session are not nearly enough. After working two hours longer than the schedule has called for, everyone has voted to start earlier in the morning, beginning the final day ninety minutes ahead of schedule to ensure they will be able to work through the tactics portion.

  Watching the participants retreat to their rooms, it is evident all are filled with a mixture of energy, exhaustion and exhilaration. Although I merely stood on the sidelines watching and cheering, I am as wrung out as the most vocal of the participants, bleary eyed, and yet both my blood and my mind are still racing.

  Back in my room, I immediately change out of my suit. Bra off. Yes. Shoes off. Yes. And with a loud exhale, I flop flat on my back onto the bed with a giggle. Today has been the most exciting thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Gestation and birth are the two words swirling in my head. Watching an idea grow throughout the day, develop, morph, and grow some more, is not something I can just shut off.

  What room are you in? I text Hale. I need to talk. Share. Celebrate. My energy is whirling.

  312

  Changing into a white tank, shorts and flip flops, I quickly brush my teeth and throw on a hoodie so the
twins don’t decide to flirt with anyone we might pass in the hall.

  Five minutes later, Hale is opening his door. He’s wearing sweatpants and glasses. That’s it. Sweatpants and glasses. And my mouth goes absolutely dry as I am slammed with the visual I knew would be good, just not quite this good. The valleys between his abdominal muscles need my tongue. It would be like tracing my way through a maze. With my tongue.

  Behind him, spread out on the desk are papers. He’s still working.

  “I’m interrupting.” And suddenly I feel bad about disturbing him.

  “You’re a welcome break.” His eyes are warm and tired.

  He smiles. Something I’ve missed, but didn’t know how much until now when I finally see it again. And I want to make him smile again, because I’m being greedy. I need it.

  “I just have to talk. About today.” I start rambling. “Hale, this was so crazy amazing watching it all come together. Are you happy with these results?” I make my way over to his mini-bar and grab a water to ease my Sahara mouth, then sit down cross-legged on his bed to open it.

  “Yes, though I see we probably could’ve added another day to the schedule to really work through things. I didn’t anticipate that time would become as much of a factor as it has.”

  I’m nodding, “Yes, because it is so interactive and everyone is so engaged and invested, things are running over. But the dialogue is so good, you don’t want to shut it down. I really think these people have forged a kinship with one another through this process that could have far reaching ramifications and result in alliances even beyond this group’s accomplishments.”

  Hale just smiles at me.

  “But that was your plan all along, Mr. Lundström, wasn’t it?” It’s finally dawning on me that Hale Lundström is both an architect and a statesman. This is so much bigger than I even realized when he shared all the pieces with me three weeks back. “Wow,” shaking my head as each realization hits.