Ken’s mouth fell open at that blatant question. Lana picked up the olive she never finished eating and tossed it into his mouth. The effect was immediate. Ken swallowed.
She did love a man who was willing to swallow.
Chapter 3
“Let’s See Where This Goes.”
Lana opened her hotel room door, tossing the key onto the nearest flat service available to her. She walked into the adequately sized space overlooking an equally adequate view of New York City and debated whether or not to close the thick curtains. How much of an exhibitionist was she, really?
Behind her, Ken Andrews closed the door, jacket hanging over his arm and hands stuffed in his pockets. Kinda cute how much he didn’t know how to act around her. I called him out on his bluff and then invited him up to my room “to talk.” It was also cute how he pretended to think about it before accepting. He even offered to pay for a bottle of wine to talk business over. It was already waiting for them on the table by the window.
I’m either going to fuck this man or make him promise to hire me as soon as this conference is over. There could not be both. Lana was terrified of few things in her life. Being sexually – or, worse, romantically – involved with her boss was not only a HR nightmare but career fucking suicide. Nobody would ever take her seriously, and they barely did to begin with. Ken would take me the least seriously of all. Lana opened the bottle of wine and poured into both glasses provided. She smiled at her reflection in the window, especially when she saw Ken coming up behind her. Regardless of what direction this night went in, she won, either in the short term (sex,) or the long term (career.)
“Excuse me for asking you to come up here instead of going to your room, Mr. Andrews.” Lana wanted to be in control as much as possible. At least she had some semblance of control in her own hotel room. I know where my condoms are. I know where my laptop holding all my personal information is.
Ken accepted one of the glasses of wine. His jacket threatened to slip off his arm and onto the carpeted floor. “Please, Ken.”
Lana held her glass up for a toast. There was simplicity to his name that was missing from most other men’s. It was also ripe for a plethora of nicknames. I like Kenny. Even though it reminded her of Kenny Loggins, her father’s favorite musician.
“And it’s no problem. I don’t have a room here, anyway.” When Ken caught the look of confusion on her, he continued, “I live in New York. I have an apartment a few blocks from here.”
“Oh. Right.” How dumb of me. Lana should have realized that she wasn’t in DC anymore. “Well, either way, I appreciate you coming up all this way to talk to me, Ken.”
They toasted to the fate that had brought them together that day. Lana took a sip of the random red wine selected for their consumption that night. A bit more bitter than I like it. Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe the concierge liked the idea of Lana Losers pursing her lips every time she drank in front of this man.
“You never did explain this phenomenon.” He gestured to the gold rabbit nametag still on Lana’s chest. Idiot. Should’ve taken it off. Ken was no longer wearing his nametag, so why should she? Not like she was going to be wearing this same jacket tomorrow.
“The organizers screwed up my name to the point it could not be recognized. This was Roger’s idea of a last minute fix. Silly, isn’t it?”
“Allow me?” Ken reached to touch the nametag on her chest. Before a flurry of tingles could make a fool out of her, Lana turned away, leaving the poor man’s arm lingering in the air.
“I don’t think so.” Lana shrugged out of her jacket and draped it across the back of the nearest chair. “You haven’t made your intentions clear enough for me to know whether or not it’s a good idea you touch me outside of a handshake.”
“Why, Lana,” Ken said, admiring the sleeveless rose pink blouse she wore. It tucked effortlessly into her black pencil skirt, but that wasn’t where his eyes lingered. You like my tits? Trapped beneath this baggy thing? Lana had half a mind to yank off her blouse and really give this man an eyeful. “I don’t know what intentions I have left to make clear.”