A Week in New York(35)

No promises, no ambiguity, no bullshit.





Anna and Ethan’s story continues in Autumn in London. See next page for a sneek preview.





An extract from Autumn in London




Ethan

I didn’t like flying, especially long haul. But today it didn’t bother me. I had too much to distract me from the fact that we were 30,000 feet up in a metal tube and the pilot was probably asleep, drunk, or fucking the cabin crew. I had too much to think about. Tomorrow was a big day. I had to prepare.

I hadn’t read the communications pack that had been sent to my apartment yesterday. We were having interviews with press all day Monday, the day after I arrived, and before that a meeting with the staff to announce the merger.

And then there was Anna to think about. I should never have brought her back to my apartment on that last night. Since then, I’d seen her in every room. She looked so fucking amazing coming in my bed. It’s all I can see when I try to sleep in there. I’d actually started sleeping in the guest room because those images of her won’t leave me.

When the tin tube in which I was so precariously sitting hit the tarmac at London Heathrow in about six hours, we would be in the same city. Breathing the same air. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

I knew I wanted to fuck her again, but I knew that my dick didn’t always have my best interests at heart. My brain knew I didn’t need the distraction. And she might be distracted with someone else. It had been months, and she had an appetite as voracious as my own.

The thought churned my stomach. I hoped it was her vibrator keeping her hunger at bay, not some prick who didn’t know how to make her come.

“Would you like another whiskey, sir?” The blond flight attendant leaned over to me, giving me a view of her less-than-perfect tits.

I wondered how many passengers she’d fucked. Was it just a perk of the job? She wasn’t my type.

“No. Thank you,” I said.

She lowered her voice, “Well, if there’s anything you want. Anything. You just let me know.”

There was nothing subtle about her. Not her overly made-up face, not her fake tits, and not her come-on.

“No. Thank you,” I said again. I didn’t want her hovering around me for the rest of the flight. She should go find some aging millionaire with hair loss and a gut who would be more appreciative of her lack of subtlety.

I’d been sent over to London by the New York office. I wasn’t allowed to say “Head Office,” according to our communications manager. Fucking politics. New York will be Head Office. This isn’t a merger, it was a takeover. I would be overseeing the “merger” of our firm with the London law firm Allen & Smith. We’d been in talks for months about a transatlantic merger, but when Allen & Smith posted less than stellar profits three months ago, we knew the time was right. They were vulnerable and we were ready. Without us, Allen & Smith would have probably gone into liquidation. Apparently, because my sister was in London, someone assumed that I was supposed to understand the British culture, so I was assigned to come over to head up integration. I wasn’t sure if integration was strictly the correct word. I was here to make sure London was doing what New York told them to do.

I’d decide what to do about Anna when I reached London.