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Forbidden Surrender

By´╝ÜPriscilla West

Chapter Nine





“Leaving already?”

I’d tried my best not to wake my roommate as I collected the pile of client documents laying on the hotel room table. Riley Hewitt was a heavy sleeper, especially when she’d been out drinking the night before, her favorite vacation pastime. So I was surprised when she popped her strawberry-blonde head out from beneath the covers. Apparently, I hadn’t been quiet enough.

“Sorry I woke you. I have to meet Richard downstairs in a few minutes so I’m just packing up.” I’d been poring over the client strategy the previous night with my supervisor, Richard Hamm, in his hotel room as if we hadn’t already gone over it dozens of times this past week.

When I’d gotten back to my room, I went over the materials again, memorizing every detail, replaying in my mind the sequence of events that would lead to Richard and me landing this client for our company. This meeting was a huge deal for not only Waterbridge-Howser, but also for me. Prestigious wealth management firms weren’t in the habit of letting analysts with only three years experience fly to Cape Town, South Africa to woo billion dollar clients. It was only through a series of fortunate events—a group of senior employees leaving to start their own firm, my recent promotion, and a chance encounter with one of the directors in the cafeteria—that I was in this position. To say this was big would be an understatement.

“No worries.” She yawned and rubbed one sleepy eye while making a noise somewhere between a groan and a gurgle. “I wanted to get up anyway. Get some breakfast, catch some foreign television. It’s not every day you get to see Big Bird speaking Afrikaans. You ready for your meeting?”

God, I hope so. I’d better be after all the practice and preparation. Thankfully the butterflies fluttering in my stomach did more to energize me than a cup of coffee ever could. “I think I’m ready. Besides, Richard’s going to do most of the talking. He’s got years of experience doing this. I’m just there for backup.”

She flashed her winning smile. “And to be a pretty face. You’ll do great, Miss Harvard grad.”

I stuck out my tongue playfully. Riley was from Staten Island and went to NYU for college. Although we both ended up working in the finance world, Riley was a corporate tax accountant thanks to her parents’ guidance, and often reminded me how her job was less exciting than mine. We’d gotten to know each other over the past two years, sharing an apartment in the financial district of Manhattan to offset the exorbitant rent. Despite our personality differences—me being relatively straight-laced and Riley being the weekend warrior—we were both single professionals in their mid-twenties, so naturally we bonded.

When I’d told her I was taking a business trip to Cape Town for a week, she insisted on using her vacation time to join me. I couldn’t blame her. The prospect of tanning on beautiful beaches and scoping out an exotic locale sounded more appealing than staring at balance sheets. Plus, I knew I would have some free time and hanging out with her would be much more fun than by myself or, heaven forbid, with Richard.

I packed up the last of my files, zipped up my shoulder bag, and smoothed out my light blue blouse and black pencil skirt. The outfit had been painstakingly put together to blend professionalism and style. It was part of the strategy. “How do I look?”

“I’d trust you with my million dollars—if I had it.”

“Hopefully bad boy billionaire Vincent Sorenson thinks the same way.”

“I’ve seen you working nonstop for this meeting for a month now. You’re more than ready, girl. Either way, we’re going to have fun tonight. Don’t forget about that.”

Of course, a full afternoon and evening of adventure with Riley. I was looking forward to it. With a wave, I left the hotel room and took the elevator down to the lobby where I was supposed to meet Richard. As I stepped onto the marble tile, my heel making a clack, I checked my watch. 7:30 a.m. on the button. We’d agreed to meet an hour before the meeting, giving us plenty of time to walk the few blocks from the hotel to the client’s office building and to go over any last minute details should they arise in our sleep. God knows I’d had dreams about this moment. Well, more like nightmares. And for some funny reason, all of them ended with me in my underwear.

I spotted Richard seated on the edge of a cozy lounge chair, his eyes glued to his Blackberry. He wore a slate-gray suit with a cerulean tie, giving him the look of a diligent twenty-eight-year-old. Only the few strands of gray hair would betray he was closer to forty.

“Morning,” I greeted him.

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