And Roger Prescott… the fucking idiot.
He knew what he had on his hands, and he knew how much money he could make off Lana at the end of this conference. He was practically her pimp, touting her to one agency only to turn around and play up other strengths to yet another firm. Everyone he talked to was interested in Lana Losers, the sexy she-devil who had managed to sell half of the DC suburbs in the past year. “She has a wicked tongue,” Roger said to Carl Jefferson. “If you know what I mean, sir.” Carl grinned into his iced tea to hear that reference.
It was disgusting.
Ken knew he wasn’t much better in some ways. He readily admitted that. Wasn’t he the man who had gone up to Lana’s room the night before with the hopes of having sex with her? Then did a mental fist pump when he cleaned up in the bathroom afterward. I mean, I am only human. Of course I wanted to have sex with her. Of course I was plenty pleased with myself when I got to come inside her – and made her come twice. Point of pride right there.
It wasn’t that other men were attracted to her that bothered him. It was the way they discussed it, treating it as an open joke of the conference. Lana Losers had arrived the seller of the year and would soon leave the sexual laughing stock of New England real estate.
Not her fault. Not her fault she was a gorgeous woman who could charm the habit off a nun. She worked both to her advantage, but the men who surrounded her should have known better than to treat her as if those were her only skills. And Roger! He played right into these men’s fantasies, coyly suggesting that he knew of Lana’s raunchy personal life. If the man could be believed, Lana spent most of her weekends at sex clubs picking up male submissives and having threesomes with swinging couples. Honestly, that’s too good to be true. No woman was that perfect.
He had an hour break in the late afternoon. Although he was due back to attend a soiree – that included more damn networking – Ken made an effort to step out into the New York streets he called home. Initially he intended to take an extended smoke break, but the moment he pulled out his lighter he remembered the disgust on Lana’s face. The image turned him off from his cigarette. Instead, he decided to channel his nicotine-craving energy into walking around a few blocks and perhaps running some errands.
A street vendor at one busy intersection was selling a plethora of trinkets and baubles alongside the common assortment of papers and magazines. Ken waited for the long light that would lead him straight back to his apartment. Occasionally he glanced over at the brass lockets swaying in the hot summer breeze. One in particular caught his eye. A little brown rabbit.
Well, now, that wasn’t fair. It was almost like the universe was trying to tell him something. But what, though? Certainly it wasn’t trying to convince him that fate had somehow brought him and Lana Losers together. Rabbits were a common motif for almost everything. It didn’t mean anything at all.
So why did he buy the cheap trinket with only the most well-appointed thoughts in his heart?
***
Ken rechecked the manila envelope before he slid it across the concierge’s desk. “Make sure Lana Losers gets this, please.” He left a fifty dollar tip on top of it. “Before seven, if you can.”
The concierge on duty covertly snatched the envelope off the counter. “Certainly, sir. Would you like to include a note?”
“There’s already one in there. If you must have a sender’s name, tell her it’s from KSA. She’ll know who that is.”
“Absolutely.” The man in his slick department store suit smiled at Ken while he filed the envelope into an outgoing mail bin. “Thank you for your patronage.”
“You’re the one doing me the favor, I assure you.”
Ken walked away, checking his watch to gauge how much time he had before a panel on compounding interest economics began in the second ballroom. He hoped to see Lana there. He was disappointed to not see a single head of blond, let alone that luscious mosaic dress, present at the panel. Such was the nature of conferences.
Chapter 6
“I Want A Conference Fling.”
A staff person presented Lana with a small manila envelope as she was entering the elevator to go up to her room.