Her Silver Fox

by Koko Brown

  Getting angrier by the second, Patrick shoved his clenched fists in his trouser pockets. She’d beaten him at his own game. Made him so pussy whipped, his emotions encroached on his common sense, giving her the advantage.

  How was it possible that a woman (firmly in her prime he might add) could make him question everything? Why her? What made Shoshana Haufman so different from the dozens of women who’d tried every trick in the book to snare him?

  An empty car arrived and he gratefully stepped inside. The piped in Muzak was annoying enough without someone trying to strike up a conversation which most women and some men attempted. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts chew on the fact a woman had no interest in monopolizing his every waking moment.

  “Christ!” he groused, running a hand through his hair. She not only beat him at his game, she kicked his ass. And tool that he was, he’ll likely go back for more unnecessary punishment. His cock had become unscrupulously picky of late, desiring only a chocolate dipped tailor with pert tits and a perfect ass.

  Patrick trudged to his office feeling like he was walking in quick sand. Head still not in the game, still no closer to an advantageous solution, their brief encounters and verbal exchanges looped endlessly in his head, eviscerating, dissecting, and then revisiting every detail to no avail.

  “How was your appointment?”

  Patrick didn’t acknowledge Vanessa’s comment nor did he stop. Instead, he continued onto his office. Once inside, he shut the door behind him. Addicted, his eyes drifted to the bank of windows. He hesitated, fighting a gut-wrenching appeal to look west toward 9th Avenue.

  Agitated, he slipped a finger into his knot tie and pulled, freeing himself but not entirely. Shoring up more fortitude than was shamefully necessary, he stalked over to his desk. He stared down at the stacks of folders, piles of unopened mail and felt no inclination to dive into any of it.

  “Snap out of it,” he growled, planting his hands on his desk. This inability to get her out of his head was bordering on goddam obsession.

  “Patrick,” Vanessa squawked through one of the open phone lines, piercing his foul mood.

  “What,” he barked and then adjusting his tone, “what.”

  “You blew past me so fast I was unable to tell you R.W. stopped by.”

  Patrick stiffened. R.W. rarely ventured out of his office much less another floor.

  “And?”

  “He wanted an update on the Southern Indian venture.”

  Christ. The old man really wanted to dump money in a disaster waiting to happen.

  “He also asked about Burke Industries,” Vanessa continued. He could hear the cringe in her voice.

  “How soon can you book me tickets?”

  “To where, sir…I mean, Patrick.”

  Maybe getting out of the city would give him peace of mind.

  “Bengaluru and Mathias, West Virginia.”

  “Spare any expense?”

  “Sky’s the limit.”

  “Good thing I already checked. I can get you on a flight to Bengaluru tomorrow night.”

  “Book it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Well, well Patrick Kelly. I thought it was you on the first class manifest.”

  Patrick looked into a pair of the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. She must have been made in Technicolor because her red hair, elegantly twisted into an updo, was just as vibrant.

  “Rhiana.”

  “Reagen.”

  “Riight. How could I forget,” he lied, drawing a blank. In all honesty, it would’ve been a miracle if he’d remembered her name. If he did own a little black book his would be the size of Manhattan’s Yellow Pages©.

  “So how have you been?” she drawled with a southern accent thicker than Midtown traffic.

  “Good and you?” he replied mechanically, not really caring one way or the other. They obviously had a past since she greeted him like it was Christmas morning.

  “Morning started off on the wrong foot but I do believe my stock has risen.” The tip of her tongue licked her bottom lip as her eyes traveled over him like a fat kid eyeing a cookie jar. Not caring one whit about her or her day, Patrick went in search of his pillow. He planned to sleep during the entire flight.

  “Aren’t you going to guess why my day is looking up, sugar?”

  “Not particularly but I know you’re going to tell me.”

  Disregarding his sarcasm, she chuckled. “You devil you,” she said, smacking his shoulder playfully. “When we dim the lights, I’ll be off duty until the morning so I can join you.” She ran a manicured finger over the top of his sleeping cube. “These things can be quite comfy for two.”

  “I appreciate the company, Regina, but I’m going to spend the entire flight trying to get my head in the game.”

  He wasn’t lying. He hoped this trip exorcised Shoshana Haufman from his system. Out of sight, out of mind didn’t seem to work for him. He needed not one but two oceans between them.

  “Well if you change your mind—”

  “—I know where to find you.”

  To make his stand clear, he lowered his seat back, making himself comfortable. Before turning, she winked. He watched her walk away and was immediately disgusted with himself. He wasn’t a total whore but a beautiful woman, on a twenty-two-hour flight, had just given him the keys to scramble her guts and the invitation held no appeal.

  This trip had now taken on a dual purpose: rekindling his fervent love for closing the deal and finding his balls. The latter might prove difficult because he had a sneaking suspicion he’d left them with Shoshana Haufman.

  Patrick stretched his legs in the back seat of the XL Jaguar sent to retrieve him from his hotel. Bengaluru was a cosmopolitan city of eight million people and the capital of the Indian state of Karnataka. Dubbed India’s version of Silicon Valley, sleek modern buildings reached toward the sky alongside Victorian era architecture.

  Less than five minutes into the ride, Patrick realized one needed a sixth sense to navigate the city’s busy roadways filled with negligent drivers, careless pedestrians, and the stray cow. Coupled with a complete lack of lane discipline, fender benders were exponentially high.

  While waiting to cross a busy four-way intersection, a wave of blaring car horns rose above the den of congestion. Their lane continued to move but the opposite lane had come to a standstill. Curious, he let his window down then quickly rolled it back up. The air pollution was just as thick as the traffic.

  “What’s going on?” he coughed.

  The driver waved his hand dismissively. “More than likely a traffic accident. Nothing to worry about.”

  Perplexed but relieved, Patrick sat back. Traffic moved along at a nice clip until they came abreast of said fender bender. Not too surprising, his driver slowed the car down. Seemed rubbernecking was a universal phenomenon.

  Fists raised, two men circled each other. While this street drama plays out, their two abandoned vehicles sat forgotten in the middle of the street, blocking traffic.

  “Are they going to duke it out in the streets?”

  “That’s how most traffic infractions are handled.”

  “Why not call the authorities?” India had the fastest rising middle class in the world, calling the police had to prevail over old-fashioned street justice.

  “Cops are crooked and the courts are backlogged. Unless there’s a serious injury or someone dies it’s quicker and easier to settle the payment on the spot.”

  They escaped down a side road. Skirting a canal, the one-way street was far less congested but it didn’t mean it was any less interesting. Foot traffic remained brisk both the two legged and four legged variety.

  “Is your window up?” the driver asked.

  Radar back up, Patrick sat forward. “Something wrong?” he asked peering out the front windshield.

  “Nonono,” the other man assured him. “About to drive over a bridge and we’ve had a lot of rain lately.”

  “Flooding?” />
  “Not exactly.”

  The driver’s cryptic tone made the hackles rise on the back of Patrick’s neck. Prepared for flight, he slid his hand over the door handle. They made it barely halfway across when a deluge of soapy foam bubbled over the guard rail and spilled into the street.

  “Looks like a giant bubble bath,” Patrick whispered but knew better.

  “No, go swimming! Water is very toxic. Smell bad and burns the skin.”

  Allowing that to sink in, Patrick was immediately reminded of the reason for braving Bengaluru’s evening traffic. He was heading for a rendezvous with the CEO and CFO of Southern India Ltd. Break the ice so to speak while breaking bread over dinner.

  “We’re here.” The driver then jumped out and hustled around to his side. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  “You sure you don’t want to go someplace else.” Stepping from the car, Patrick checked his watch. It was half past eight. “These things can drag on forever.” Mix food and booze with money as an ulterior motive there was a pretty good chance the meeting would stretch late into the next morning.

  “They pay me to wait. Plus, I have my crossword puzzles,” he said, pulling a book from his back pocket.

  Patrick didn’t know which was worse, his wanting to stay and solve crossword puzzles with the driver or not looking forward to being schmoozed to within an inch of his life. Gazing longingly at the car’s headlights, he sighed.

  “One hundred and twenty-five thousand,” he muttered, reminding himself of the estimated annual commission he’d earn from the firm’s investment. Still, not even the promise of an easy windfall spiked his blood pressure nor sparked the customary flutter in his belly whenever he faced the prospect of closing another business deal.

  He hesitated a second longer then turned to go inside, resigning himself to the next few hours. He climbed the eighteen carved cedar steps, counting them all as he climbed. Like the stairs, the colonial-era building was made of wood. A blend of European-Indian-Tuscan architectural styles, it’s long, low sloping tiled roof hid a vaulted timber-beamed ceiling. Individual, low-hanging lanterns illuminated white plastered walls and tile floors with soft light, adding warmth and an intimate atmosphere.

  Two elegantly attired hostesses dressed in matching cream saris guarded the entrance to the restaurant’s dining room. They made sure he needed to go through them first, by stepping forward. The light color of their dresses complimented their beautiful dark skin, instantly reminding him of someone a half a world away.

  “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

  “I’m meeting a party of two: Alexander Kapoor and Raj Nair of Southern India Ltd.”

  The women’s eyes lit up. “I just seated their party,” the one on his left gushed, “If you would follow me, I’ll be happy to seat you.”

  She led him through the main dining room, then a set of double French doors, leading onto a garden terrace. The sound of bubbling water drew his gaze to a large fountain on his right.

  “Are you enjoying your stay?”

  “I only touched down eight hours ago.”

  A timid smile touched her lips. “You wear travel well. I love your suit,” she breathed, eyeing him under lowered lashes.

  “Thank you,” he muttered. Despite his perpetual foul mood, he’d taken extra care with his appearance. He’d chosen a tan linen suit which he’d complimented with a white dress shirt and matching tie. Running his hand over the front of the shirt, Patrick secretly wondered what she would think of his appearance. Would she think his white tie pretentious?

  Damn. He had it bad.

  “If you’re in need of a guide, I’d be happy to show you our beautiful city…and other things.”

  Patrick eyed her lovely profile, her slim arms, and rounded hips. Her poise and tempting smile engendered her to him, and she was quite attractive. Too bad she did nothing for his libido. His cock didn’t stir and his blood remained tranquil and dormant in his veins.

  “I appreciate the offer but I doubt I’ll have time for extracurricular activities.”

  There was a pause before she answered with a well-schooled politesse, “Here’s my card just in case you change your mind.”

  Patrick accepted her contact information then filed it into file thirteen. His breast pocket was just as good as a trash can since he wouldn’t be calling her.

  Disquieted by his pathetic loyalty, Patrick retreated into his thoughts listening with desultory attention to her chatter and more depressingly, speculated on what she was doing at the very moment.

  “Here’s your party,” his hostess said, stopping at a six top occupied by a mixed group of five. Conversation ceased momentarily for the smaller breath-held hush and then Alexander Kapoor, now sporting a trimmed beard and mustache, stood followed by the rest of his group.

  “Ah, Patrick! So glad you could make it. How was your flight?” he asked offering his hand.

  “Uneventful.”

  “Aren’t those the best kind?” Alexander chuckled, his whiskey brown eyes crinkling at the corners. The young entrepreneur turned to the others and made introductions by rank. Once out of the way, he signaled for him to sit.

  “We’re airing out an exciting South African wine,” he enthused in a posh British accent. He reached for a wine bottle, one of four on the table, and poured him a glass. “The head chef said this will awaken our palates for the first course.”

  Patrick felt his stomach curdle. “First course?”

  “One of seven,” he replied, setting the bottle aside.

  Smiling, Raj Bashear his CFO slid a green lidded pot toward him. He removed the leaf shaped top, revealing neatly rolled white washcloths. Patrick followed his lead, plucked one from the bowl, and then proceeded to wash his hands. Warm, moist and scented with eucalyptus, the cloth was a welcome surprise, calming his nerves and helped to spark his appetite. So much so, he welcomed the first dish, roasted butterflied tiger prawns served on banana leaves.

  “I see Illavaraka’s signature dish agrees with you.”

  Patrick glanced at Alexander who sat watching him, wine glass in hand. “It’s very nice,” he admitted.

  “Man of few words.” Chuckling, Raj bit into a prawn. “You’re in the right business.”

  Patrick braced himself. They were breaching protocol early. Most people waited for coffee and dessert to talk business. Fine by him. The sooner they aired things, the quicker he could retreat to his hotel. He still needed to check in with Vanessa.

  “But you’ve been a man of few words for months now,” Raj continued. “Morrissey has been dangling your much-needed investment like a beet as your westerners say.”

  “Carrot,” Patrick corrected. “And I wouldn’t be here if we were not actively seeking a partnership. My firm doesn’t fly anyone halfway around the world just to sight see.”

  “Then why dangle the carrot so long?” Raj asked.

  “That’s on me,” Patrick admitted. “I’ve had my reservations. Your past is a difficult obstacle to surmount.”

  Alexander sighed heavily. “Unfortunate, but we’ve learned our lesson. This time all the paperwork is in order. The proper officials have signed off and we’re ready to break ground. Is there anything we can do to reassure you?”

  “I’d like to see the site. I also need to conduct a few interviews.”

  Kapoor glanced at his numbers man. “We can arrange them.”

  Forcing a smile, Patrick shook his head. “My assistant’s already made the introductions to a couple of officials, and an inspector.” If anything this business taught him—always use your own people. Someone one provided by a prospective investment usually worked for them directly or indirectly.

  “If you need additional references let us know.”

  “I think I’m covered.”

  As the evening wore on, they continued to regale him with updates on the construction while plying him with more food and expensive wine. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth course, his mind drifted to her, aga
in. His thoughts lingered on the last time he’d held her in his arms while she rode his cock. He could feel her plump ass warm against his lap. Reminded of her dick-hardening kisses, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. And her curves, which made his knees weak, fit so perfectly in his hands,

  Throwing down his napkin, Patrick stood. “I appreciate the warm welcome,” he paused to clear his throat as all his nerve endings seemed to spark at once. “But I’m going to call it a night. I need to check in with the office then get some rest. I have a long week ahead.”

  He wasn’t exactly lying. He simply left out jerking off in the shower.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Patrick barely saw the inside of his hotel room unless it was for sleep. Each day began with a visit to the proposed construction site. He dissected the official blueprints, scrutinized surveyor maps and double-checked building permits against their applications. In an attempt to glean an opposing opinion, his afternoons were filled with private interviews and dead ends because their expert opinions seemed eerily of one accord. There was no way they could’ve discovered his schedule was there?

  Well, at least he had one last save--a Dr. Phillip Gupta who ditched his appointment at the last minute. Over the past couple of days, he proved elusive, dodging all his calls and attempts at rescheduling.

  Not one to be put off, especially by a professor, Patrick decided to pay the good doctor a surprise visit. Head of the University of Bengaluru’s Civil Engineering Department, Dr. Phillip Gupta wasn’t too hard to find. With a full schedule of classes, he practically lived in his office.

  “You’re a difficult man to track down.” Hand extended, Patrick crossed the office space. “Patrick Kelly, the Morrissey Group.”

  Shock painting his countenance, Dr. Gupta returned his handshake. “I apologize for not making our appointment,” he said in a clipped British accent. “End of the semester it’s always a madhouse around here.”