Conference finally over, I’m in the lounge enjoying an old whiskey. Back against the bar, I watch Mr. Sharp Suit preach the Gospel of Me to circled sycophants.
She drapes herself on the stool beside me.
“You! Double G, single T,” she commands, wagging a perfect red talon at the barman.
Drink tasted, she returns my look with interest, just as ass-licking laughter erupts.
“Such a fucking buffoon,” she groans.
“Boss or husband?”
“Latter, more’s the pity.”
I stand and palm her breast, feeling its nipple reaching out hard.
“My suite. Rescue the evening for us both. He’ll never notice.”
