The two women were now kissing. Having concluded his call with his pollster, Ben took a few minutes to watch the women, their soft white limbs wrapped around each other.
“You know she works there now,” Stephens, who handled special projects and had done the initial research on Kimani, had told him when Ben had first sat down with him to discuss shutting down the Tribune.
Ben had narrowed his eyes, suspecting he knew whom Stephens referred to. “Who?”
“Kimani Taylor. The woman you had me look up. She started there a few days ago.”
“You mean she wasn’t with the paper when... She wasn’t there before?”
“Not on the payroll. She was working for some finance firm.”
It hadn’t mattered whether Kimani was formally with the paper or not. She had been doing her job as a reporter.
“So she’ll be out of a job,” Bataar had said.
Ben had given the large Mongolian a hard look. “Not my problem.”
Kimani was smart, Ben had reasoned. She would land on her feet. Maybe she wouldn’t have the job she wanted, but she was too capable to starve.
Still, he felt a stab of guilt. And anger. He shouldn’t feel guilty over a woman who had played fast and loose with his family’s affairs.
The women on his bed were now kissing each other vigorously. One started masturbating the other, who made soft lilting pants. Remembering how delicious each gasp and every groan of Kimani’s had sounded, he felt a faint stirring in his crotch.
Not every memory of Kimani had to do with sex. He remembered how stunning she had looked for their dinner at Ishikawa West in that halter and her new weave. He remembered how her face had lit up the first time she had gotten up on her water-skis, the gleam in her eyes as they played one-on-one basketball outside on the patio of his penthouse, the way her brow furrowed when he’d made her drink hot tea on a summer day, the passion in her voice when she talked about social issues.
He remembered everything.
A knock sounded at the door. Bataar was here to drive him to his meeting with investors.
After adjusting himself and taking one last look at the women, who had now angled themselves with legs spread wide so they could grind their genitalia against each other, Ben went to get the door.
&n
bsp; “Morning, boss,” Bataar greeted, his gaze going over Ben’s shoulder to the bed.
“Want a minute?” Ben offered, turning so that Bataar could have a less obstructed view.
Bataar shook his head. “Too early in the morning. I don’t want to have to battle a hard-on for the rest of the day.”
With a laugh, Ben closed the door behind him and the two men headed to the elevator. Once inside, Bataar shared some news that did not please Ben.
“Stephens told me it’s official—Jake pled out on misdemeanor charges.”
Ben frowned. “Bastard.”
“Yeah. His bodyguard, too. Total pussy underneath that tough-guy exterior.”
“I was referring to the district attorney for not pinning Jake with something more than a misdemeanor.”
“I guess if he tried Jake for aggravated assault, he’d have to try you as well. I’m surprised Vince didn’t press charges for his broken arm.”
“He still could. I doubt the statute of limitations has run out.”
“Probably doesn’t want it publicly known that he got beat up.”
Ben didn’t care one way or another if Vince wanted to press charges against him, except that it might generate negative publicity for Gordon, who probably couldn’t afford to get hit with any more scandal, even though it involved extended family and not the candidate himself.
“I put a guy on Jake ever since he made bail,” Bataar said as they stepped out of the elevator. “I just don’t trust the fucker.”