I was a front row kind of girl. I had been since kindergarten. I liked to be as close as I could get to the decanting of knowledge, soaking it all up like a particularly studious sponge. Flipping open one of my old-fashioned, leather-bound notebooks, one of composed notes based on my readings and on dedicated to new questions, ideas and inspirations, I readied my fountain pen for action. It may have looked absurd, but it was how I worked best, and it was something that helped to distinguish me among the firm’s stable of sheeple and bootlicks.
It was like a dream. As subtle as I could, I actually succumbed to cliché and pinched myself hard. Nope, still very much awake. Someone must have slipped me something. That was the only explanation. Except I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink that morning, as the low rumbling in my belly did attest. By far the greater priority at the time was getting Matt to school on time.
Sherlock Holmes had a great line about the impossible and the improbable I couldn’t quite remember. I was too tired and hungry and lost in shock. Though it was becoming clear that no matter how improbable, the only possible answer was that Greene Planet had sent Kingsley Marten, my Kingsley Marten, to give their presentation.
I held it together. No idea how but I actually managed, I surprised no one more than myself. Listening intently, trying not to get lost in his beautiful voice, my pussy got wet like it always did when I heard him. I did my best to make notes and keep my mind on the job. It was a task made easier by the fact that he didn’t look in my direction once. He addressed all of his statements seemingly to the entire audience, no doubt using the old trick of picking one person roughly in the center and talking to them, so it looks like you are addressing everyone.
It really was a great idea with massive potential. The military connection was more of a selling point than a detriment. Those in the camping and RV market trended toward preferring vehicles that are tough and utilitarian. Both things were also given high priority by the military. That was how Hummers, basically a domestic version of the Humvee, got so popular for a while.
He was tapping into that market only with an even better piece of branding, The Pilgrim appealed to history and heritage types as well. They were the rugged individualist with quite a lot of disposable income, at least if the Marlboro and Jack Daniels figures are anything to go by.
He was leaving. Going to get away. Collecting his things after the presentation, he was preparing to walk out of my life again an hour after returning. Fuck if I was going to let him to do that to me again!
Pushing down my screaming fear, I marched right up to him, but stopped cold as soon as he fixed me with his gaze. His beautiful, beautiful gaze.
“Ada?”
All my words fled. Every step from my seat to the table, I had thought of something else to say to him.
One word from him and it all vanished, leaving my mind completely blank. My only conciliation was that he seemed every bit as gobsmacked as I did. It just wouldn’t do for me to be in a near state of shock and have him be there cool as a Slurpee.
It was like a force of nature, the electricity cracking between us, our bodies coming together in a deep, passionate kiss, the years melting away as though we had never parted.
“I-I’m so sorry,” he tried, pulling free.
“Shut up and just kiss me,” I demanded, going back for more. All the pent-up emotions came out in a rush. Everyone had already left the hall so there was no risk of us getting spotted. Not that I gave a good goddamn if we were.
“Dinner tonight?” he asked, his lips lightly shared with my soft red shade.
“Fuck yes.”
Chapter Eight - Kingsley
I was actually singing.
Not the internal, dance down the hall kind of singing.
Not humming or even whistling a happy tune.
No, it was full throated, in the shower, no one can hear you, belting with every fibre of your being singing.
As I danced down the hall, I grabbed my umbrella from the tasteful bronze stand by the door to twirl as a cane as I Old Soft Shoed my way into the bedroom, finishing off with a stylish spin and tap. All my dreams had literally come true and I could scarcely contain my joviality.
The closet was almost bigger than the mind could hold. Running on for several feet of neatly arranged clothes, all set up into outfits of varying levels of formality. Where we went partly depended on what I decided to wear and what I wore depending partly on where we went. A classic catch-22. In the end, I decided in the only diplomatic way.