Free The Reckoning by Dan Thomas Page A

be a problem.”
    The woman crooked her right elbow on her knee and bestowed a bewitching smile on him. “And sex does sell. Of course, I realize I may have to expurgate my graphics somewhat to comply with postal regulations.”
    “That is probably an understatement,” he quipped. He was beginning to enjoy this.
    Her eyes widened. “Well?” she pressed.
    “Yes, well, I do think you have a viable proposition here. But there are some questions I have all my clients ask themselves before they begin a new venture.”
    She cut him off, saying: “Like am I a natural risk-taker? Yes. I wouldn’t have opened my shop in the first place if I weren’t. Do I have a strong ego? I think that is evident, Royce. Do I have superior conceptual ability? I think my products demonstrate that. Am I resourceful? Very. Once I make up my mind to do something, I can’t be stopped. I—”
    He broke in: “So you’re imbued with the entrepreneurial spirit.”
    “Yes!” she enthused.
    He mounted a last-ditch effort to raise a roadblock.
    “Capital?” he inquired.
    “A silent partner has afforded me some deep pockets. I have enough operating capital to launch a high-profile, nationwide roll-out and sustain a strong maintenance campaign for five years, even with a very conservative one percent return on mailings.”
    He told her again, “Then you don’t need me.”
    “Oh, but I do. I need your expertise to develop the business plan, my road map to success, as it were. And, quite frankly, I can benefit from a man’s point of view—an experienced businessman with a firm hand who can tell me whether my feet are too far off the ground.”
    She was doing it again, advancing across the desk at him. This time he resolutely stood his ground. But that perfume of hers was making him light-headed, reeling.
    “Sure, I can help you.” He felt out of breath, like he’d been jogging. Spent, but well-exercised. He told her, “But I’ll need to know almost as much about your business as you do. Are you willing to allow me that?”
    Monica smiled. “Certainly. That will be the fun part.”
    They were ironing out the details of an hourly retainer (Monica waxing on about what a “bargain” Royce was) when Brenda popped her head in and announced Royce’s noon lunch appointment had called to confirm.
    “Oh, I really shouldn’t keep you any longer,” Monica said, rising and gathering her things. She handed him her business card.
    “That’s my shop’s address. Do drop by soon. I’m most anxious to get started. And should you need to contact me after hours, my home phone is written on the back.”
    He bowed as an unaccustomed paroxysm of chivalry coursed up his spine, then escorted her out into the reception area. There he helped her on with her brown leather trench coat. She spun on him, whipping her shining hair from her collar, and tightly cinched the belt of her coat. Her chest heaved up at him. Such large breasts on a slender frame made her appear brazenly top heavy.
    Boob job?
    “Royce, it’s been a pleasure,” she said, extending her right hand.
    Another bow from him, this time with a flourish of his heels just short of a click. He tenderly squeezed her frigid hand, almost kissed it.
    “My,” he said, “you are cold. I wasn’t aware I needed to turn the heat up.”
    His new client simpered, “Well, you do know what they say, Royce. Cold hands, warm heart.”
    “Of course, Monica,” he practically chortled. “I do look forward to working with you.”
    “Super.”
    Brenda, watching all this from her desk, rolled her eyes, looked like she was going to be sick. After the woman had finally left, she said, “I better call the fumigator. That perfume. Phew.”
    Royce was still glowing. He asked, “And my luncheon?”
    “You don’t have a lunch appointment.”
    “But you said…”
    “I might have been out of line, Royce. But I felt you needed some cavalry to come to your rescue in there. There’s something not quite right