Thing Number One: Henry was wise to hire the Goldman & Stern team to do the final due diligence on the Anderson deal. They were all very sharp and knew the industry well. I was impressed, even though I had to pull Stan’s sharp nose out of my ass a time or two.
Even the angry little woman who looked like she could chew nails, the goofy accountant enamored of the pilot’s cap, and the legal eagle who I think was asleep with his eyes open most of the time, all had good insight and input into the deal.
Thing Number Two: There were red flags in the Anderson P&L’s that clearly Henry didn’t want to discuss in front of the Goldman group. Fine, we’d address those red flags when we were alone.
Sometimes our deals required that we do things, say things, or ignore things in order to keep certain facts and figures out of the public eye. I got the feeling that Stan was caught with his pants down because he underestimated the abilities of their junior consultant.
And finally, Thing Number Three that I was certain of by the time the jet landed in Tucson was that I wanted to get to know Candice Carlson better. Much better. A lot better.
I wasn’t sure exactly what was drawing me to her, but I felt like a moth being lured to a flame. I just didn’t want to get my wings – or other body parts --singed.
Perhaps it was that she was beautiful in an unassuming way. You didn’t have to sandblast the makeup from her face or peel back the layers of her multiple personalities to find the real woman underneath.
She was genuine, sincere, and so unlike the other women I typically spent time with.
She was intelligent, funny, warm, and down to earth. I loved the way her nose crinkled when she laughed at my stupid jokes and how the corners of her lips curled into a smile.
There was no pretense in her eyes. What you saw was what you got. I immediately loved that about her.
Candice Carlson was the real deal.
The genuine article.
The only question was: how do I get someone like her to like someone like me? It was a question asked over the ages by teenage boys, star-crossed lovers, and love struck billionaires used to getting whatever they wanted.
I knew bragging about my cars and jets and money wasn’t going to impress her. No, a woman like Candice Carlson didn’t care about those sorts of things.
I had a winning personality. I was funny and charming and good looking and in great shape. Oh, and modest. I was very modest. And according to dozens of women in the greater Chicago area-- and around the world -- one hell of a great lay.
I could impress her with the size of my dick and my ability to rock and roll all night long, but that was a Phase Two move.
I had to get her to Phase One first.
I had to get her to like me.
Then everything else would fall into place.
Candice
A team from Anderson Telecommunications was waiting on the tarmac when we touched down in Tucson. Tanner and Costas climbed into the back of a stretch limo with the Anderson execs and went one way, and the Goldman team was shuffled into a van driven by an assistant and ferried to the Anderson offices in downtown Tucson.
Even though the rest of the country was frozen solid, winter in Tucson felt like spring back in Nebraska. It was nearly seventy-degrees and sunny as we stepped off the plane. We all peeled off our Chicago-winter coats and left them on the plane before getting into the van.
I spent the entire day locked in a room with half a dozen analysts and a manager from Anderson’s network expansion group. The task was to conduct cost analysis on their major market expansion plans. It was my job to determine if Anderson’s plans were realistic or inflated to drive the acquisition stock price higher.
Stan appeared at the door around six and said to call it a day. I was never so happy to see him in my life. By the time I got settled into my hotel room, it was nearly eight o’clock and my brain was fried.
I stripped off my clothes and hung them neatly on hangers, then went in to take a quick shower. The hot water felt wonderful as it melted away the tension from my neck and shoulders.
I didn’t realize how stressful the day had been, or how my muscles had tied into knots. I closed my eyes and wished that Tanner was there in the shower behind me, rubbing away the tension from my shoulders as his cock slid into me from behind.
My stomach growling forced me back to reality. I remembered that I hadn’t eaten anything since the honey bun earlier in the day.
Oh well, save that fantasy for another day.
I turned off the shower and reached for a towel.
I pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and a ratty Harvard t-shirt. Some women slept in nightgowns, some in negligees, some in the nude. I dressed comfortably for bed. I had no one to impress.
I pulled my hair into a ponytail and picked up the room service menu from the dresser. I called down and ordered a cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate shake. When I was out of town, my usual healthy-eating regiment went out the window.