Back in his Boston office, Temple hung up the receiver and sat back in his chair, beginning to breathe again.
I did it! I beat the Arabs. Better than that, I beat the Arabs and made myself rich in the process.
He pushed a button on the phone and spoke into the desk intercom, “Jill, can you come in here please.”
Temple’s personal secretary Jill Miller entered the room seconds later. A buxom twenty-four year-old, the curvy blond stood in front of Temple’s desk. Tall and beautiful, she filled the room with an earthy, feminine sent as she entered.
“Yes, Phillip?”
Temple initially hired her more for her looks than her abilities. He was soon pleased to discover that not only was she reasonably competent, but she also enjoyed sharing her bed with powerful men. A posh apartment and fat salary ensured it would be him.
“Jill, would you care join me for dinner at my house tonight?”
“Just dinner?” she taunted, face breaking into a mischievous grin.
“Dinner… some champagne… maybe some…desert. It’s a little celebration.” He noticed her blush at his obvious innuendo.
“Of course.” She accepted without hesitation.
He gave her attire a cursory inspection, noting the abundant cleavage pressing out of her blouse. “Oh, and don't wear anything too… complicated.”
She smiled a knowing smile and returned to her desk.
Chapter Eight
"Chain Reaction" Power Failure Book I Page 11