Free Wall Street Blues (Swashbuckling Romance) by Nancy Clinton Page A

page for SVNY and watch people, I mean virgins (both guys and ladies) flock to the damn site and Facebook page within days,” she said, optimistically.
    We stopped talking when the door suddenly creaked open. One of our CEO’s media publicists came in to announce that Mr. Henry Russell wouldn’t be returning to New York later today as scheduled; he would be having another important meeting that would force him to stay a couple of days in London.
      “Good riddance!” Hillary said, to my great surprise.
    “Oh, Hillary, why did you say that?” I asked, jokingly.
    “ I’m sorry if that offends you; I know he’s your uncle’s closest friend,” she apologized, with her usual sexy simper.
    “ Don’t worry about that, girlfriend. But, honestly, what don’t you like about Mr. Russell?” I prodded her. I was somehow interested in her reasons for hating him.
    “His greedy eyes!” She said in a funny way. “I just don’t like the way he stared at my body, particularly my breasts anytime he calls me into his office,” she explained, unsmiling.
      “Ah, is that? He stared at my body, too,” I revealed to Hillary’s utter bewilderment. “You know what? I thought he was just admiring me,” I said.
    “ Looking lustfully at a girl your child’s age is improper,” Hillary muttered. “I think he derived a great pleasure from doing that. He often makes me feel like he’s undressing me with his big eyes!” She said, and we both laughed loud about that.
       The door sud denly opened again and the mailman brought three packages to be delivered to the CEO. I filed the mails away in the appropriate cabinets and returned to my seat to enjoy more jokes from Hillary who was, no doubt, more jocular than I was.
        “So, let’s go back to your idea for SVNY’s site and a Facebook page,” I urged her.
       “Yeah, I will do that first thing when I get home after work today,” she promised.
        We had truly had a relaxing day. We normally had a hectic schedule whenever the CEO was around. It was never fun dealing with the volume of guests that trooped in to see Mr. Russell every day. I never ceased to wonder how he managed to stay comfortable speaking to such large number of visitors on a daily basis. Maybe he enjoyed doing so, being a socialite and hard-partying guy. And he was no doubt a womanizer. What kind of person would keep subscribing to Playboy Magazine and openly confessing that Hugh Hefner was his hero? An American hero that worth celebrating! I believe if Hillary had known these uncomfortable facts about Mr. Russell, she wouldn’t have taken his seductive stare at her body seriously.
    “Does it bother you sometime when some crazy guys ask you out?” Hillary asked.
      “Do you men bad guys?” I said, pushing her for clarity.
      “Well, they come in different shades and hues,” she reckoned, and her words made me laugh so loud. “There’s one god-awful guy living next door to my rented apartment. He has tattoos all over his body and always gives me the impression that he’s nothing but a moving wall of graffiti,” she said.
      “Haha. You sounded quite funny,” I said. “Did he ask you for a date?” I asked.
        “Yeah. Four different times, but I flatly refused,” she answered.
        “Isn’t he hot?” I prodded Hillary. Instead of uttering any word she just made a contemptuous noise with her mouth.
        “Some ladies date guys for different reasons; if he isn’t physically attractive, he may have a good body and other features that can make someone go mad. You know what I mean?” I said.
      Hillary smiled briefly and maintained her view that guys hold different sex appeals to different ladies. “For me, a guy must be spruce and well-mannered before he can sweep me off my feet. I don’t care a hoot about that muscular, never-do-well body that some men paraded as treasures!” she prattled.
      I had wanted to tell her that muscular men were my fave; but I