It's Not Easy Meeting Greene
I thought we might go out to dinner. I feel restless, but since he's late, I decide I'd rather just get out of my suit and into something comfortable and order in. I have time to shower, slip into jeans and a t-shirt and peruse the menus before he calls to say he's on his way and what he wants me to order for him. As I wait for him, for the food, I wonder about this call from London.
Why did Greene change the day of our meeting? It cut short my time. Pisses me off. What does it mean, the order in which he's meeting us? Does it mean I moved up on his list or down? And why the big fancy dinner at Daniel's? Is he just living large on his expense account, or is it celebratory? No matter how long I play this game, I'm always amazed by how each account develops its own personality.
At first Birken was all Scandinavian effciency and yeah, boredom. But now that Greene's been thrown into the mix, the flavor changed a little. I did my research. He's no novice to the marketing game. Before Birken he was top ad man for Orange, the European cellular carrier, and rumor has it he clocked them big time when he left to go with Birken. He's Cambridge- educated, from a respectable family, and is married to some titled social xray, as Wolfe would say. No record of kids. No recorded vices. He played cricket in college and likes to yacht. Okay, forget the hell out of that. I've never understood that game, although I like their sweaters. Couldn't he follow soccer like any self-respecting Englishman? That I can discuss. As for yachting, my idea of a yacht is what Aristotle Onassis sailed, not some sailboat where you have to work your ass off to stay afloat.
Okay, so we have nothing in common, except clothes. He's routinely named to the Best Dressed lists of Europe, although his tastes are more bespoken than Italian. He's kind of hot looking in an older, slightly wasted way. At least he looks like he takes care of himself. I like his hair. Deep, Brian, deep.
I sigh and toss aside my portfolio on David Greene as Justin walks in, balancing several sacks of pungent Indian food. "I ran into the delivery guy on my way in," he says, giving me a drive by kiss on his way to the kitchen. I follow. "Why is Ted in town?"
"How do you know Ted's in town?"
"Weird, I saw him on the street. In a car." I help him spoon the food onto plates. We share every course, we pretty much like the same things.
"They moved up my Birken presentation. I need legs on the ground to make sure I hit my timing."
"Why did they move it up?"
"To make me crazy."
We carry the plates to the living room and turn on New York 1 as we eat. Catch up on the local. We keep the volume low so we can talk. He shuffles through my Greene portfolio. "Is this him?"
"Yeah. He invited me to dinner at Daniel's. I wonder if that means anything?"
"I think it probably means he saw your picture on the brochure and he wants your ass," Justin says with a smile and I snort at that.
"Married."
"Yeah. Like that matters. And British."
"You have a point." We both laugh. He says,
"Would you do him to get the account?"
"I don't have to do him to get the account. My campaign will land the account."
"But would you?"
I meet his inguisitive blue eyes. I don't know how to answer that question. I know what I'd like to believe, but who knows if it came down to that. "Would it be a big deal to you?"
"Maybe."
I smile. "Let's worry about it if it happens, okay? I promise I would talk to you first."
"Sheeya. Ask my permission?"
"Not exactly. I don't think it's an issue so let's not start firing shots at each other, okay? I have enough stress over this. So, what did freakazoid do when you returned the cufflinks?"
"He took it pretty well, but thinks I'm being silly."
"Yeah. That couple has a definite agenda and maybe even a contest going on. I don't want to be their prize, do you?"
"No, but of course it would have been easier for my career if I just let him, you know? It wouldn't have meant anything. Just business." His stare lasers into me. I get it, I get it.
"You are so transparent."
He grins. "You wouldn't like it very much, would you?"
"No, not much."
"Well then..." he closes the file on David Greene. I reach over and throw him back on the sofa. My hands grope under his clothes, loosening this and opening that. I want to feel his baby skin and I want to feel his grown up hardness. The food can wait, that's what microwaves are for. He gets into my jeans and within minutes, he's on top of me, riding me like a bronco in a gay rodeo. One of his hands grabs a handful of my hair as he leans over and hisses in my face,
"No one has an ass that gets you this good, Kinney. Admit it."
I groan as I feel the pressure of an orgasm building. "So far..." I taunt him and he smiles and covers my mouth with his, sucking my tongue against his as I hit it big and then feel him splatter my chest with his own cum. He's right, and he knows it. He collapses into my arms, both of us heaving as the exertion dissipates. I feel hungry again. My fingers comb his fine blond hair and I hope that meeting Greene is easier than I imagine. But I have an instinct. And my instincts are seldom wrong.