This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons is unintentional and strictly coincidental. If you're below the age of 18, or 21 depending on your locality, stop reading right now. If your government prohibits erotic literature, stop reading now and delete this. If you choose to continue, that is your decision — and your responsibility — not mine.

This is intended solely for adults, and any other rebroadcast, retransmission, and account of this game is strictly prohibited by the National Hockey League. Wait—The NHL doesn't care — I care. Any unauthorized redistribution of this is in violation of copyright.I authorize the reader to make one copy for reading purposes only. I expressly prohibit posting of this work on anyone's website, including but not limited to pay-sites, sites with advertising, and any type of site where a fee is charged. Any distribution without the author’s permission is strictly prohibited.

Originally posted 11/24/00

Do not repost

This is Copyright © 2000 by John3365A@aol.com. (John A)
All rights reserved.


Acquisition
a Jake Lucas story

by John A
Copyright © 2000


At first it seemed as if the flight from LaGuardia to DFW would be insufferable. The Boeing 757 was stuck on the Queens, New York tarmac for 45 minutes while waiting in a queue of about 12 planes waiting to take off. One of the planes apparently had some sort of radio problem, we were informed later, which caused the big delay. Of course the air conditioner only works at minimal levels while the planes are on the ground, so I was hot and sweaty and feeling miserable by the time the stewardess brought my fourth scotch on the rocks. To top things off, there were two babies crying back in coach. This didn't bode well for my business trip. I had half a mind to get into the cockpit and steer this thing to the front of the line myself. I'm getting ornery, I thought. Maybe I shouldn't drink so much.

A fuzzy warmth spread over me as I ignored my warnings and downed the scotch.

Fortunately, first class was almost empty and I could spread out across both seats on my side of the aisle. In fact, other than me, there was an elderly couple a few rows back and some greasy looking person who had salesman or mafioso written all over him sitting in the front row, sleeping and snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.

I sized up the stewardess — excuse me, flight attendant — when she brought me my next drink. She had a pretty face that was framed by short, thick dark hair, and punctuated by a slightly upturned button nose. Dark hair was always a weakness of mine. She was probably in her early-30's and had long shapely legs and what seemed like a nice body, although I couldn't really be sure with that polyester iron maiden they call a uniform that she was wearing. She also had the marks of where a wedding band had once been. I grinned.

"Here you go sir, do you..."

I interrupted her. "Call me Jake. And thanks for the drink."

"You're welcome, Jake. But do you think you should drink so much? We haven't even taken off."

I ignored her question with a smirk. "What's your name?" I asked matter-of-factly.

"April. And as I was saying, do you think you should drink so much?"

"Oh, this isn't much," I grinned. "I'm just trying to pass the time. Join me in a drink." I patted the seat next to me, grinning up at her as I did.

"Sorry, I can't. I have the other passengers to deal with."

"Who, the old folks? They're going to be looking at pictures of the grandkids until we touch down in Dallas. And the only thing that guy up there is going to need is a pillow to shove over his face to stop his snoring."

She chuckled. "Well, for another thing, I can't drink on duty."

"You're no fun. I thought the skies were supposed to be friendly?" I said playfully.

"We're not in the sky *yet*," she grinned.

"Then I'll take that as a promise." A definite possibility, I thought.
 
 

Twenty-three minutes later the flight finally took off, much to my relief, since the change in cabin pressure seemed to be what it took to stop the salesman's snoring. As we gained altitude for the trip south, I passed the beginning of the trip going over some notes and financial reports in preparation for my dinner meeting later that day in Dallas.

Almost an hour and a half after take-off, April had just finished clearing the plates and beverages from the lunch service when she walked by my seat again.

"We're in the sky again," I said with a grin, patting the empty seat next to me. "Time for the friendliness to start."

"You know, I'm not supposed to be sitting down with the passengers," she said apologetically. "If someone sees me, I could get in trouble."

"Is there any other stewa...uh, flight attendant working in first class today?"

"No, but..."

"Listen, my firm spends hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not millions, on air travel a year. If anyone says anything to you, I'm sure Delta or United would love to have our business. Don't worry about anything, I'll handle it. I can be a troubleshooter when I need to be."

Her eyes sparkled widely and sat down. "So, Jake, was it? Do you live in Dallas or New York."

"New York. Well, really Connecticut, I just work in the city. I'm heading down to meet with a client in Dallas. How about you?"

"Neither. Actually Chicago. This isn't usually my run, but I'm doing it as a favor. My normal run is New York-Chicago." She looked over at my papers and asked, "So what is it that you do?"

"I'm an investment banker with Tate-Reynolds. I'm meeting with an owner of an independent oil drilling company. They own about 20 rigs in the gulf and one of the big boys wants to buy them out."

"Big boys? You mean like a big oil company like Mobil or Texaco or a bunch of high school seniors who've saved up their lunch money?" she teased.

"Neither. Big boys, you know...male porn stars," I parried and she raised her eyebrows before muffling a laugh.

"Yes, a major oil company," I said more seriously.

"Sounds interesting...exciting even. What company is it?" she asked innocuously.

"Well, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," I smiled. "I really can't tell, though...."

April pouted slightly.

"Sorry. I operate under strict non-disclosure agreements."

"Oh, I see. It almost sounds spylike."

I chuckled. "Other than the fact that I'm afraid of guns and I'm not all too keen on life or death situations.... Maybe I should start drinking vodka martinis."

"I think you've already had quite enough to drink," she giggled and touched my left arm slightly with the fingertips of her right hand.

"I noticed no ring on your finger, April. Is that a permanent situation or do you just take it off for the flights?"

"Why do you ask?" she said too sweetly, running her thumb over her unadorned left ring finger.

"Just curious. I'm just a curious guy.... You have beautiful hair," I changed the subject, the alcohol kicking my normally overactive flirt gene into overdrive.

"You think so? Why do you say that?"

I took the opportunity to run the tips of my fingers through her dark silky hair. "Do you always like to answer a question with another question?"

"Do I do that?" she smirked coyly.

"You know, I really think I'd like to kiss you." I inched closer to her, again sliding my hand over her thick hair. I was definitely attracted to this woman. There was something intoxicating about the way she managed to parry my every thrust.

"And what makes you think I'd let you?" she said almost huskily.

"I don't remember asking permission." I leaned in and pressed my lips into April's. She opened her mouth and hesitantly sought out my tongue with her own.

April broke the kiss after a minute or so to take a peek around the cabin. The couple behind us was so engrossed in their personal TV monitors that they wouldn't have noticed if the guy in the front row started dancing the kazatsky naked in the middle of the aisle. He, of course, was still fast asleep, the somewhat more subdued snores still breaking the cabin's relative silence.

"Where was I?" She looked back over at me and we resumed our kiss. I took the opportunity to place my hand inside her blazer and fondle what turned out to be a nicely sized breast. These uniforms they wear set the women's movement back thirty years. She moaned her approval so I took the encouragement to press my advantage. I lifted her up and sat her on my lap.

She giggled slightly as she felt my arousal through my slacks and her skirt. Wiggling ever so subtly, she increased the friction on my cock as my hand found its way up her skirt. Pushing my hand past a thigh-high stocking I slid aside the crotch to her panties and my hand found her vulva moist and waiting.

"Mmmm," she moaned into my mouth as I rubbed her hot sex with my right hand.

My left hand fumbled with the top couple of buttons of her blouse before the seat belt light flashed and a tone buzzed three times.

"Uh oh, the captain wants us to do a flight check. We must be heading into turbulence. I'm going to have to go now," she said apologetically, smoothing her skirt and buttoning up her blouse.

"What about *my* turbulence?"

She patted my erect cock through my trousers and smiled. "Can't do anything about that now."
 
 

April was busy in coach for the remainder of the flight. Eventually my erection eased and I was able to get more preparation done for my meeting. It was obvious that nothing else was going to happen to me with April on this flight so I used the in-seat phone to have some files transferred from my office and threw myself in my work. If I could get the last few things I needed to do accomplished, I could grab a quick nap at my hotel before my presentation. I hated to have to meet with a client when I wasn't fully rested.

I closed up my laptop computer when the captain made his pre-landing announcement and returned my seat to the upright and locked position. The landing was as smooth as a baby's backside and I quickly grabbed my briefcase and carry-on before most of the hordes from coach rushed forward to choke up the aisle.

I was about seventh in line, which wasn't that bad considering there were about 190 people on the flight. As I passed by the flight attendants and co-pilot, who were lavishing their "Bu-byes" on the passengers upon their exit, April very casually and discreetly slipped a note into my hand. Her dark eyes sparkled and she smiled broadly at me before turning her attention to some of the other passengers.

I waited until I was past the ramp walkway before looking at it. It listed the name of the hotel she was staying at and her cell phone number. It also read, "Call Me!!" It didn't seem like a request. I shoved the note into my coat pocket, grinning as I walked through the main terminal.

Dallas was always hot in August, and seemed like hell's boiler room today. That wouldn't have been so bad except that before heading to the hotel, I had an errand to complete. It was something that really couldn't be put off, either.

It was just after two in the afternoon when I entered my room, sweaty and sticky and in desperate need of a drink, and saw the message light flash on the telephone. I retrieved the two messages and returned the calls: the first one to my secretary, who was triple checking to make sure I had everything I needed for tonight's meeting; and the other to an automated call station routed through Grand Forks, North Dakota to which I pressed a series of fourteen numbers and hung up without saying a word.

Glad to have gotten that out of the way, I settled down to take a nap, trying to rest before my 7 o'clock dinner meeting with Mr. Arthur Mudge III, Chairman and CEO of Mudge and Company Drilling.

I lay down and tried to sleep but I was tired and bored and nervous and horny all wrapped up into one. Being with April on the plane and doing nothing about it set my libido on overdrive and made me all jumpy, like a restless cat. As I finally started drifting to sleep, my last thoughts were of my desperate hopes that our waitress was some old cow of a battleaxe so I wouldn't get the least bit aroused during the meeting.

The alarm buzzed at five and I woke with a start, taking a few seconds to acclimate myself to my surroundings. Tuesday, I thought, it must be Dallas. All this travel was an occupational hazard of the job and generally one royal pain in the ass. I think I spent more time in hotel rooms than I did back in my own home in Southport.

I jumped up and showered, shaved, and shit before going through all of the papers for this meeting. Why I ever agreed to a meeting this way, one on one — mano a mano as Mudge suggested — was beyond me. I relied on my 'team'. We'd been together as a unit for that past seven years and every deal went like clockwork — even the Gorham manufacturing deal when old man Gorham up and had himself a little stroke right in the middle of the merger signing. My group of number-crunchers and lawyers kept everything going smoothly. Sure, I was the point man, the guy who got the deals done, but they were the guts of the operation, making sure that we maximized the value of the deal for our clients and that we left no legal stone unturned.

But Mudge wanted it different. Of course he did. He was a big, brash Texan as loud as the widest tie and twice as obnoxious. I suffered him because this deal was going to be worth a cool $75 million in fees to the company and $1.5 million in bonuses to me specifically. If he wanted to have the meeting in the fucking sauna, for one and a half mil, I'd do it. After all, I had ex-wives to support.

What he wanted was to eliminate the 'yes men' as he referred to them. He'd have no representatives and I'd have none. He didn't even have an investment banker representing his company. It was no surprise he'd run his company into the ground, doing things the way he did. Man to man, he said, just like they did it in the old west.

I had to hide my laughter when he suggested that. Arthur Mudge had no more idea of how things were done in the old west than I did. His grandfather started the business and his father made it into what it was today. Arthur, meanwhile, lived a sheltered existence in the northeast's most exclusive private schools before getting his degree in 'spending daddy's money' at Brown. Then ten years ago, when he was of 35, his father died and left him a $2.4 billion dollar oil drilling company. Now he was selling that company whose value, which through mismanagement or monumentally bad luck, he only managed to increase to two and a half billion.

Biggest goddamn economic expansion in the history of the nation and the stupid bastard managed to increase the value of his company less than 5% in ten years while most of the companies in his business had doubled or tripled their capitalization in the same time span. He could have made more money selling the thing back in 1990 and putting the money into a fucking passbook account.

But there are three things I've learned in investment banking: the deal doesn't get done unless the clients are happy, you laugh at their jokes, and you let them win at golf. He wanted this mano a mano meeting to make him happy, so I agreed.

I took my suit out of the garment bag while listening to the local news on the television in the background. There was something about a local man who was killed outside an estate in suburban Dallas. Apparently there were rumors that he was involved in drug smuggling and had been under investigation by the FBI and DEA for several years. Serves him right, I chuckled to myself as I finished dressing.
 



 
 
 

I arrived downstairs in the hotel's dining room shortly before seven, panning the room to look for my guest. The Maitre d'hotel told me that Mudge hadn't arrived yet and I slipped him a twenty to get me in the lounge when he arrived.

"You got a score," I said to the bartender, nodding my head up at the Rangers' game on the television.

"Orioles lead 1-0 in the bottom of the second. Get you something to drink?"

"Yeah. Scotch, rocks. Thanks. Some of that Johnnie Walker Black looks good."

I watched the game, nursing my drink for the next several minutes when my pager chirped it's annoying little tone. My office in Manhattan calling.

"Got a phone I can use?" I interrupted the bartender from his flirting with a cocktail waitress.

"What's that?" he said aggravatedly, watching the waitress walk away from the bar.

"Do you have a phone I can use?"

"Over there, near the restrooms."

I dialed my office number and my secretary told me that they'd just gotten a call from Mudge's office, informing them that he was tied up in a meeting and wouldn't be getting there for at least another hour and a half.

"Shit!" I said to nobody in particular as I hung up the phone. What the fuck was I going to do until — I looked at my watch — until at least 8:30?

I returned to the bar and sitting in the seat next to mine was a stunning woman. Soft blonde hair — although probably not her real color — cascaded off her shoulders. The low scoop neck of her designer dress gave more than a hint of cleavage. I was instantly aroused.

She smiled curtly, looking forward again as I sat and finished my drink.

"Hey, sport," I motioned to the bartender and pointed to my glass. "Another one. Thanks."

The drink came and I stared at the woman next to me slowly, making sure that she knew I was interested. Of course, what man in that place wasn't interested in her?

I wondered if she was a hooker, but the hardware she was wearing was much more than a hooker — even the high price variety — could afford. Real pearls draped her neck, and enough diamonds to close down a South African mine hung from her earlobes. She also had on a wedding ring the size of a charcoal briquette. No, she was no hooker. She was definitely high class.

"Do you have a light?" A cigarette appeared out of nowhere and she angled it toward me, the diamond and emerald bracelet on her wrist sparkling under the lights of the bar. Smoking never did it for me and I generally made it a rule not to get involve with smokers but she was different. She used a cigarette as a tool, a prop, and she used one better than anyone I'd ever seen.

"Sorry, they recommend that I stay away from open flames."

She smiled condescendingly and suffered my humor as the bartender waved a lit match in front of her face.

"Can I buy you a drink?" I offered.

"I don't see the harm in a little drink."

"That's what I've always said."

The bartender brought her another Captain Morgan and Coke and she smiled as she took her first sip.

"Nice suit," she said, matter-of-factly fingering the lapel of my jacket and examining the stitching. This was definitely getting interesting. "Mr. Liu in Hong Kong?"

"Steed. Saville Row," I corrected, mentioning the tailor on the famous London thoroughfare where I had many of my suits custom tailored. However, she did know her clothes. Several of my suits had been designed by Mr. Liu. I, of course, knew nothing about women's fashions to parry with. Maybe if I would pay as much attention to women when they're dressed as I do when they're naked I wouldn't be twice divorced. Then again, probably not.

"Awfully well dressed to be spending the night in a bar," she stated plainly, twirling the straw in her drink teasingly.

I chuckled as I pounded down my second scotch of the night. Either she was an expert at playing games, or she was definitely interested. Probably both, I thought, as I looked her over.

"The same could be said for you," I countered. This woman was definitely having an effect on me. I tried to tell myself that I had a business meeting in a little over an hour, but sometimes the wrong head commandeers the thought processes.

"Well, I'm waiting for someone," she sighed and for the first time I noticed a chink in this woman's platinum armor. "It seems like I'm always waiting."

"Me too. Business meeting. A guest is going to be quite late in arriving."

"What is it that you do?" she asked, waiving her cigarette imperiously.

"What would you want me to do?"

She laughed — genuine this time; not the polite, guarded reactions of earlier — and placed her right hand on top of my left.

"That's a very tempting question. Are you staying here in the hotel?" She didn't mince words. This was a woman who definitely knew what she wanted.

I stood, not allowing her to change her mind and held out my hand for her.
 
 

We rode the elevator hand in hand, but did nothing more before entering the room. She placed her purse on the table and started removing her clothes carefully, hanging the dress on the rod and removing her pantyhose slowly trying not to get a run in them.

"I'll just freak if I ruin my dress." I was captivated by the slow drawn out way the word 'freak' rolled off her tongue. These southern woman certainly could put an arousing spin on just about everything they said.

I took her cue and started undressing myself. I also undressed methodically, not wanting to do anything to ruin my suit; it was the only one I'd brought to Dallas with me and I still needed to wear it to try to cement a $2.5 billion deal.

There was something very dispassionate, almost formal, about our proceedings. We were two people looking for a good time and that was it. It was going to be a civilized fuck — no pretensions, no false hopes, no misunderstood actions. I liked that.
 
 

She finished before me and lay seductively on the bed, her left leg crooked at the knee. Her nipples were puckered in the chill of the air-conditioned hotel room as I slid next to her taking one into my mouth.

"Mmmm," she moaned through her nose scratching the back of my head with her pink fingernails.

I abandoned her left nipple to suckle her right while I brought a hand down to her brown-furred pussy. She was dry, but moistened slightly at my touch.

"Lick my pussy," she ordered. It really wasn't a request. I liked her. She knew what she wanted and went after it. *So* much easier than those women who expect you to be able to read their minds.

I opened her labia wide as I kissed and licked in and around its thickening folds. Her juices started flowing as my tongue darted from her inner lips to her clit. Over and around the hooded pearl I licked as it enlarged to the point where I could suck it between my lips.

"My clit. Lick my clit.... Oh God, that feels so good," she panted out, forcing my head even closer to her pussy, if that was possible.

I changed my angle of attack and inserted my index finger into her sex, eliciting another moan. I licked and sucked on her cunt, fucking her with my finger until she started to pant out in orgasm.

"Come up here," she growled and I complied, my erection bobbing about as I crawled up the bed. "I want to feel you inside me."

She spread her legs as I positioned my cock over her opening. Her pussy swallowed it whole, gripping it tightly within her warmth.

"Fuck," I grunted as I rocked back and forth, slowly tickling the depths of the blonde beauty. This was when I first noticed her eyes — gold, like the color of autumn leaves, and a singularly unique shade for this singularly unique individual.

I started thinking about what kind of a man lets a pearl like this stray — I was obviously not the first — but before I could put too much mental energy into it she smiled lasciviously and yanked my head down for a kiss. Wrapping her lips around my tongue, she mimicked the grip her cunt had on my prick and I thought I was going to lose it. This girl — no, woman; there was nothing girlish about her — could fuck.

Her painted fingertips tore deep scratches in my back and I started to fuck her in earnest, furiously pistoning myself into her pussy while I suckled roughly on a nipple.

She moaned and panted, breathing rapidly as she came again, clawing even more savagely at my back. My own release was near and I hooked my thumbs behind her knees , pushing her thighs back even farther and pumping like a madman until I exploded deep within her.

She grabbed her purse and stepped into the bathroom to clean herself up a bit as I began dressing in the bedroom. I looked at the clock and noticed that I'd been up in the room for over an hour and needed to hurry to get back to the dining room.

"Leaving already," she said, striking a glorious pose as she stepped out of the bathroom, naked as the day she was born. She feigned a pout, but subtle just wasn't in this woman's vocabulary.

"Sorry, doll. Got a meeting I can't miss. Feel free to stick around though," I winked.

"No, thanks. I have to go also," she laughed lightly. If it were anyone else I would have said she giggled, but giggling just didn't seem to fit her personality.

"Suit yourself," I walked over and kissed her full on the lips before picking up my briefcase and heading for the door.

"Say," I turned just as I was out the door. "I never caught your name."

"I never threw it."

I shut the door behind me and headed to the elevator. It was probably best that we didn't exchange names. Nice and clear cut that way. No strings attached.
 



 
 
 

I entered the dining room and the Maitre d'hotel showed me to the table where Mudge was already seated. Damn. I hated being last at a meeting.

"Mr. Mudge, sorry I'm late. I was...busy with someone. Hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Hell no," he drawled slowly. "I just got here myself. Sit down Jake and show me what you got."

The waiter took my order for a double scotch as I was getting some papers out of my briefcase while Mudge took a sip of his wine. He was an interesting looking sort. Short and stocky he had the body of a middle linebacker with a prematurely balding head. Actually he looked like a cantaloupe with bushy eyebrows, one of those refugees from the old Soviet Politburo.

We went through the preliminaries of company valuation and corporate assets, Mudge looking on diligently, but vacuously. It was obvious to me at that point why his company was so poorly managed. This man had no business sense at all. This was going to be a slam dunk. Royal Dutch Petroleum originally stated that they would go up to $2.75 billion in cash and stock, even though we felt that $2.61 billion was fair value for the company. But if this guy was as dull as he seemed, they might even get the company at a discount.

"Oh, Jake," he interrupted, as he looked past me and stood. I pushed my chair out and began to stand. "Let me introduce you to my wife."

My mouth almost hit the floor. Walking toward us was the leggy, classy blonde I'd recently spent the past hour or so with.

"Jessica, this is Jake Lucas. Jake, Jessica."

"Pleased to meet you. Jake, is it," she smirked as I shook her hand weakly, too much in shock to know how to react.

This wasn't happening. What the fuck was going on? Was this a set up? Is this how Mudge operated — prostituting his wife to get a better deal? Or was this even his wife? Or was she just a hooker that he used to get the upper hand in business deals. And if this was his wife, how could a bowling ball like Mudge get an absolute knockout like Jessica — a good ten years his junior? I knew then that my mind was in partial shut-down mode — he got her because he was worth two and a half billion — with a "B" — dollars.

We sat and I quickly downed my drink, trying to force some rational thought into my mind. Maybe this was all a big coincidence. I could see where a woman like Jessica might have an affair or two. Maybe he was blissfully unaware of what just happened. The question before me then was, how do I use this to my advantage?

Of course, overwhelmed by the situation, my answer was, I have no fucking clue.

I muddled through the presentation, uncharacteristically nervous and unsure, amateurishly going over countless pages of financial data with Mudge looking on closely and Jessica only paying cursory attention. She was spending most of her time running her stocking foot up and down my calf, making it difficult for me to concentrate. Fortunately, Mudge was as dull as the paint on an old car, and a third grader could have made this presentation to him.

"So why on Earth would I want to take Royal Dutch stock instead of cash?" he asked, scratching his smooth pink head, after several more minutes of going through the financial details. Jessica merely smiled and ran her foot up to my thigh.

"Well," I explained, trying to ignore Jessica's toes tickling my crotch. "With this deal you'll get about 40 million shares of RD. If you had sold the company ten years ago, your Royal Dutch holdings would be roughly worth ten billion. Not to mention the 50 million dollars or so in dividends you could have earned every year just from sitting on it. Take it from me, Mr. Mudge. This is a great deal for you."

Then I leaned forward, feeling my old composure coming back. "You know, competition is fierce out there. And if your company can't compete in the current economic landscape, I can't guarantee that a deal like this will come along again."

Mudge, clearly over his head, gulped audibly and looked at Jessica for some sort of counsel. She smiled briefly but bent her head to take another bite of her fish. There was no one making this decision for him but himself. No daddy, no grand dad, no wife to come along and rescue poor Arthur from his responsibilities.

This was the part of my job that I loved. Put up or shut up. As exhilarating as a great fuck, I thought and darted my eyes briefly toward Jessica.

I stared into the eyes of the sweating man.

Mudge swallowed his wine in one gulp, a nervous reaction that didn't give him any more insight than he had a second earlier. Even Jessica looked on intently, much as someone watches an accident on the side of the highway.

"Deal," Mudge exhaled a deep breath and extended his hand across the table.

Bingo, I screamed inwardly. I merely smiled politely to Mudge and took his hand firmly.

"I think you'll be very pleased with this deal Mr. Mudge, Mrs. Mudge. Of course all the lawyers will have to get together and write out the agreement, but I think most of the specifics are behind us. If you'd like, we can schedule a press conference for sometime early next week."

Mudge smiled weakly, spent from the negotiation, apparently overwhelmed by business that was over his head. "That's fine. Just talk to my assistant with any of those details."

We finished our meals and drinks before I took my leave of the Mudges. As I was leaving, I blew a kiss to Jessica when Arthur's head was turned away. She...well, I guess she giggled.

As Mudge and Jessica left the restaurant I glanced at my watch. It was 10:45. I must be getting better, I thought. I managed to fuck both Jessica and her husband in under four hours.

The final price was $2.55 billion, all in stock — $60 million less than the company was worth and a full $200 million less than what RD was willing to pay for it. Mudge was happy that he no longer would have a job he had to know he was woefully unqualified for and Royal Dutch was going to be overjoyed and their end of the deal and might very well owe me a favor in the future. My firm would be glad that the deal got done so smoothly and quickly. I was ready to celebrate.

I knew that sure as hell I wasn't going to see Jessica again and that was too bad. She was certainly classy and damn easy on the eyes. Can't win 'em all, I sighed. Then I remembered April from earlier in the day and searched my pockets for her number.

But that's a story for another day.
 

END


 

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