Politics Ch. 03

But visiting Brian Sterling's offices was much more important. The phone call to his friend had been the first step. It would shortly be time for his second…

"Why do you need to see him?" Erika asked as he joined the three members of his team in the conference room.

"He wants to discuss a Campaign contribution," he blithely lied. It wasn't easy. He wasn't in the habit of lying. But it had to be done.

"Let Thomas go," she told him, shooting him one of her looks. "You could take care of that for us, couldn't you, Thomas?" she smiled across at the fair-haired Campaign Manager.

"No problem," he answered, feeling the twitch in his trousers as he studied the blonde. In that cream silk shirt and immaculate faded black jeans, she could have stepped out of a fashion magazine. He found himself wondering what she wore underneath. His cock twitched again.

Sally's foot nudged his under the table. When she had his attention, she smiled demurely. But the look in her eyes told him she knew what he'd been thinking. Damn. He had to get home to Becky in good time tonight.

"Not possible," Alistair calmly said, drawing a line under the subject. "He's a personal friend of the family."

Thomas's attention diverted from his illicit thoughts as he watched Alistair and Erika stare at one another. Was there tension? Or was it simply a continuation of his boss's early morning demeanour? He'd been through everything there was to read on the expenses expose. Unless he'd missed something, there wasn't anything too dramatic to worry about, despite his boss's misgivings.

"Now then, can we get onto the subject in hand? I want to know more about tomorrow's debate. Thomas? Sally?"

"As far as the arrangements are concerned, I've taken care of everything. Flight tickets and an itinerary are in the attached folders," the redhead smiled, passing the blue documents across the glass table. "I've been through everything with Erika, so all your other scheduled meetings have been re-arranged around the trip. Early morning flights tomorrow, and back twenty-four hours later. Should be fun."

"Format?" Alistair asked, maintaining his focus.

Thomas acknowledged the tone, as well as the question. He decided to keep it straight and to the point. "The venue is Belfast City Hall in Donegall Square. Apparently, it's an honour to use the council's Civic building. We're on TV, and have a live audience. There'll be you, Blair and Collinson, all answering questions put by the chair."

"Who is?"

"Ronan P. O'Mara."

Sally laughed, theatrically covering her mouth when the others grinned.

"You know something we don't?" Alistair softly asked.

"You haven't heard of him?" she asked, glancing around at the others. "He's a late night chat show host over there. No political affiliation apparently. Used to be a music hall comedian! It's true," she emphasised, when Alistair and Erika pulled disbelieving faces.

"Alas, it is true," Thomas agreed, flashing a grin. "Though my knowledge of late night Irish chat show hosts is not as comprehensive as Sally's. But what I do know is that he's not a serious commentator, not in the Larry Paxman mould, anyway."

"Thank God for that," Alistair muttered. Paxman's rottweiler approach to politicians was well known.

"Don't worry about O'Mara, he's not a problem other than a little, friendly showboating," Thomas continued. "The point is, he won't be able to divert you away from the serious points you'll be making. I'll have a copy of the questions, plus potential answers, ready for you to read on the flight over."

"Sounds good," Erika snapped, checking her watch. "Anything else for now? We don't want to delay Alistair's donation appointment."

The irony wasn't lost on Brinkley-Jones, but he held his peace.

"I'm finished," Thomas said, glancing sideways at Sally. He'd been right about the tension between them.

"Me too," Alistair said, standing up as he collected his blue folder from the table. Heading for the door, he shot back over his shoulder, "Just make sure I have that briefing paper for the plane tomorrow, please, Thomas."

"You got it!" came the answer.

"And you've got it, too," Erika smiled at Thomas as she collected her belongings. "I'm on my way to see your girlfriend now. From everything I've read, I have a good feeling about this. Do me a favour and ring ahead, would you? Let her know I'm heading over there now?"

***

"Diana told me you had a fall on the way to the office this morning."

Katie looked up from her desk. Brian Sterling made an imposing sight framed in the doorway of her office. Her wide smile kissed the corners of her mouth. "Yes, I felt so stupid, Brian. Tripped getting out of the car," she lied, staring into his grey eyes.

Always look someone in the eyes when you lie to them! He'd told her that.

"Well, you couldn't tell," he said, returning the smile as he strolled into her office. "You look fabulous!"

More than fabulous, Brian Sterling thought. Her long, dark, shoulder length hair caught the sunlight curving in through the large window. When he'd first peered into her office, he'd watched her for thirty seconds before speaking. Despite the fact she'd been lost in thought, she was even more beautiful than usual, and the sexy way her voluptuous mouth sucked on the end of that pencil sent chills through him.

Think something else, he told himself.

"Thank you, Brian," the thirty-year-old woman said, her morning's escapade still sending a chill through her body. "And it's good of you to ask."

The Scot nodded as he made his way across the plush carpet, easing himself down on the couch. "I like to make sure my colleagues are okay after any mishap."

"I know," she said with that soft laugh of hers. "You hate the idea of anyone missing a day at work, don't you? It would impinge on profits!"

"Katie!" he exclaimed in mock astonishment. "That comment is as unkind as it's fully accurate!"

They both laughed. She was becoming very comfortable in Brian's company, but knew him well enough to be aware that this wasn't simply a social visit to enquire after her welfare.

"I haven't really had the chance to talk to you about, and thank you for, last week," he told her in that grammatically correct way of his.

He glanced down at the tips of his fingers as he spoke. It was the way he did when he was uneasy about something. God, do I really know him that well? Katie waited for him to get to the point. Much easier that way. Let him find his own way there.

"Mmm. The charity bash. I've already had a couple of calls as a result. Not only have we sown the seeds, we've immediately reaped a couple of profitable dividends! And you wondered why networking was necessary!"

Katie found herself blushing when she thought back to the evening. Alistair Brinkley-Jones hadn't been far from her thoughts since then. Nor had his cock. She'd never been with a black man…

"That's good news," she said quickly, to cover any show of uneasiness. "I assume you'll be directing at least one of those potential new clients in my direction, Brian?"

"Your direction?"

"Of course! We were a team that night, so it's only fair to share the fees, don't you think?"

Rather than burst out laughing as she expected, the grey haired Scot sat back on the couch. Resting one arm along the back, he nodded.

"You're joking!" she exclaimed before he could speak. "I thought the firm's approach was that partners beat the shit out of one another trying to bring in new clients. Giving me one…" would be unheard of, she finished in her head.

This time, Sterling did laugh. "I'm not sure I've ever encouraged a partner to 'kick the shit out of anyone," he said, "though there has been the occasional client who deserved that approach. But as you say, Katie, we were a team that night. Besides, this one is a favour."

"Favour?" she questioned, swinging around in her leather swivel chair. "Why do I have a feeling that a favour means there'll be no additional fee income?"

His face told her this was awkward for him. "I said it's a favour. Well, two actually… no, make that three!"

Her face dropped. She'd been joking, but he wasn't. She'd do anything for this man—of course she would. But taking a non-paying client was strictly against the firm's rules. "Brian, I don't understand. Three favours? Please tell me—"

The grey haired man's upraised hand stopped her. "I know, I know. Let me explain. The first favour is to the client. I'm not charging him a thing, and you'll understand why in due course."

He paused, looking for a reaction. Katie didn't give him one other than a nod for him to continue.

"Good," he smiled, happy with her acquiescence. "The second favour is from you. There are a number of reasons why I'm asking you to help, Katie. One, if I approached any other partner, I'd have a lot of explaining to do. Two, we both know you owe me for everything I've done for you over the years."

Another pause. Another nod. Katie wasn't about to dispute that the Scot had been a major influence in her career, though it was unusual for him to mention such a thing. That suggested he badly needed this favour.

"But as important as either…" the Senior Partner continued, tailing off.

He thought back to his long conversation with Alistair. His younger friend hadn't provided many details, but from what he had told him, it seemed the Conservative Party leader was on the road to self-destruction. If anyone could help, it would be Katie.

"Just as important," he continued, meeting her eyes, "is that I know I can trust you to handle this sensitively. And believe me, it'll need sensitive handling. I want you to see what you can do to help him."

"Of course I will, Brian," she told him, rising from her seat and covering the short distance before flopping down on the sofa beside him. She straightened her skirt. "But why me? I understand that you don't want to use the others… But why don't you see him personally, Brian?"

"I'm too close to the whole thing," the Scot patiently answered. His tone was that of a parent speaking to his favourite child. "Family friend. I'm not sure how much I could help. We all know the perils of having someone close to us as a client. It doesn't work."

That made sense. Katie touched his arm—a favourite daughter giving her father comfort. "Okay, Brian. Of course I'll help. But why all the secrecy? Who is it, for goodness sake? And what's their problem?

"I'll let him tell you his problems," the Senior Partner told her. "As for who it is, that's the third favour. For you."

"For me?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, judging from the way you and he stared at one another the other night, I'd say it's a big favour!"

"That's right," the Scot softly added as recognition dawned on her face. "It's Alistair Brinkley-Jones."

***

As soon as she saw her, Rebecca knew this woman was the real thing. It wasn't the flame red open Mercedes roadster. Or the aggressive way she left it parked outside the apartment: one wheel on the pavement and the nearside wing jutting dangerously out onto the open road, a candidate for either an accident or a parking ticket.

It was the way the blonde oozed class. The creamy silk shirt clung to her curves under the custom-tailored jacket, and her immaculate, faded black low-rise jeans looked like they were sprayed on. And if Rebecca knew her stuff, those were black patent leather Jimmy Choo pumps.

"Rebecca," the Swedish woman murmured as the Brazilian woman opened the door. It was like they'd known one another for years. Planting a kissed on the raven-haired woman's cheeks, she pulled her in for a warm hug. Let her feel the swell of her breasts and inhale the aroma of her perfume. Gabrielle Dubois' Nudity had such a sexy fragrance.

"Becky," Thomas's girlfriend murmured, taking a step back as the beautiful blonde released her. "Please call me Becky."

"Great," Erika murmured, sweeping into the apartment. Swinging back around to face the nervous woman, she gave one of her warmest smiles. "Thanks for sending me everything you have on the project. I got a great feel for what you're trying to do. I think it's a great idea!" The woman's high cheekbones and sizzling light eyes gave her the look of a mountain lion.

"You do?" Rebecca asked. Everything about this woman was impressive, from the way she dressed, talked, and so easily made herself at home. As for that Scandinavian accent, it gave her goose bumps.

"Absolutely, Becky. Thomas has given me everything you prepared," she said, her eyes darting around the room, "and I used them to work out the financials. If I've got this right, this could produce a nice little return for you."

"That's exactly what I've been trying to tell people," the Brazilian beauty enthused, indicating that Erika should make herself comfortable on the couch. "The financial side of things make a lot of sense. But that's not the reason I'm doing this, Erika. I love my work and I love my classes. It's a vocation for me, not simply a job."

"Quite right," Erika responded, slipping off her jacket and casually tossing it onto an armchair. "What do you think?" she asked, doing an outrageous twirl. "Think I'd be fit enough for one of your classes?"

The question was superfluous. It didn't need an answer and she wasn't looking for one. Instead, she wanted the Brazilian woman's eyes on her body.

Becky stood for a moment, admiring the figure on display. She was in great shape, but it wasn't just that. She carried herself well. She had grace and poise that in everything from her posture to the way she wore her clothes. She was sexy. Very sexy, in fact. Rebecca blushed at the thought.

"You're fabulous," she eventually managed, feeling a dryness assuage her mouth. "You go to a gym?"

"Occasionally. But I've installed an indoor swimming pool at home. I do half an hour every day. Keeps me toned, don't you think?"

"Very," the Brazilian woman murmured. "But you should come to one of my classes, too, Erika," she laughed. "Try aerobics, but try mine!"

Oh, I intend trying you, the Scandinavian beauty thought. "Tell you what, Becky," she answered, looking around and then gracefully lowering herself to the couch. "I'll come to your grand opening. How about that?"

"My grand opening?" the twenty-two year old Brazilian woman gasped, one hand rising to clutch her chest. "You really think I can do this, Erika?"

"I know you can do it," the blonde beauty beamed. "I know we can do it! But first…"

"Yes?"

"First, have you any wine?"

Rebecca laughed as she looked down at the Swedish beauty. One arm stretched out on either side along the back of the sofa, she looked like royalty surveying her domain. She actually felt her nipples pushing against her tee shirt and began to blush. This was a woman, for God's sake!

"Red or white?" she hoarsely asked.

"Bring out the most expensive red you have, Becky. I've already drawn up a business plan, though it'll need some fine-tuning once we've finished. But let's enjoy a drink or two while we go through everything. Then I'll help make your dreams come true."

***

"You two already know one another," Brian Sterling commented with a smile, stepping to one side as he ushered Alistair Brinkley-Jones into Katie's office. "For what it's worth, I've told the receptionists that we're thinking of making a donation to the Conservative Party. Seems like good cover."

"I like that thought," the black politician grinned. "How much?"

"As it's an imaginary donation, you can make it for as much as you'd like," the Senior Partner dryly answered. "I've also told them that if anyone outside of the office knows of Alistair's visit, we'll have an ex-employee on our hands."

"Isn't that a bit dramatic?" Katie joked.

"Oh, Brian likes a touch of the dramatic," Alistair laughed, sweeping a hand through his long black hair. It was slightly longer than conventional wisdom dictated, especially for a politician. But it suited him, Katie thought. Gave a hint of a wild side hidden behind the smooth exterior.

"Oh, yes, I know he does," she responded, enjoying the immediate banter, though she knew it was far from the truth. One of the qualities on permanent display with the Senior Partner was his calm, cool approach to life.

"Joke all you like," the Scot told them as his gaze swung from Katie to the Conservative party leader. Their ease with one another boded well for the task ahead. "I take the confidentiality of your visit here as seriously as you do, dear boy."

"I know, I know," Alistair responded, glancing around him before settling on the leather sofa. "And I appreciate it, Brian."

The Senior Partner nodded. "I understand your time is limited, old friend, so I'll leave the two of you. Let me know when you're finished, Katie. I'd like to speak with Alistair before he leaves."

Momentary silence fell as the Senior Partner left the room, both suddenly shy in each other's company. Then they burst into spontaneous laughter at the sudden tension between them.

"He'll want to check that I'm okay at my job," Katie said, choosing to sit in the chair closest to Alistair, rather than beside him. "So even if we get nowhere, you've got to give me a good report, okay?"

The dark skinned politician laughed. "That's not a problem, Katie. But I have a feeling we're going to get on just fine, don't you?"

"Well, let's see," she said, realising that her initial instinct was correct. He was a flirt. Time to get down to business. "You're comfortable about seeing me?"

"Not sure," he told her, shuffling a little on the couch. His eyes were suddenly anywhere other than on hers. "To be truthful, when I called Peter, all I expected was that the two of us would have an informal chat. His suggestion that I should see you took me by surprise."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not sure I have a treatable condition. That's what you shrinks call it, don't you?"

"Shrink?"

Brinkley-Jones laughed as his eyes found hers. "No offence."

"None taken." Provocation was often a defence mechanism. "So, Peter thinks that by telling me about your problems, I can help?"

"That seems to be the idea."

"And you're comfortable with that?"

There was that shuffle again. "You've already asked that."

Katie gave him a disarming smile. Whatever his problems were, his attitude screamed that he was uncomfortable with telling her about them. "True," she agreed. "And you said you weren't sure. What I'm trying to get at, Alistair, is that this won't work unless you're willing to be completely open. And traditionally, the first session with any patient is usually cat and mouse."

Brinkley-Jones waved an imperious hand into the air. "I don't have time for cat and mouse games."

"Good. Neither do I," she said, pulling a notepad from the desk beside her and flicking it open. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

"So, I'm being treated as a patient?"

Katie smiled at him. "Only until we find out whether you have a treatable condition," she told him, the sarcasm splitting the air between them. "That's what any good shrink would do."

He laughed. No wonder Peter had entrusted him to this woman, she didn't take any prisoners. "Touché," he acknowledged, though his thoughts were racing. How many of his inner secrets was he was prepared to disclose? "Peter said it would be completely confidential," he said, glancing at Katie's notepad.

"Absolutely."

He pointed at the pad when she didn't take the hint. "That means, no record."

"I see," she nodded, closing the pad and returning it to the desk. Everything would have been confidential, but now wasn't the time to dispute the point. Besides, she had a well-trained memory. "In that case," she said, shooting him another confident yet empathetic smile, "Start when you're ready."