Club Desire(9)

By: Amy Brent

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hanson,” I said, squeezing his hand, probably a little tighter than was necessary. “And thank you for having me. It’s always a pleasure working with IDS.”

Then something strange happened. Rather than his eyes dipping to my tits and his tongue darting across his lips, he let go of my hand and turned to face the meeting room, which was now nearly full. He put his hands behind his back again and rocked on the balls of his feet.

I was almost… well… sad that he didn’t seem to notice me. Maybe my disguise was working a little too well. Or maybe Isaac Hanson was not like other men. He reportedly had a genius IQ and was not the big-time party boy his partners were. Maybe looks didn’t matter so much to him. Many men of his caliber had married women who were not raving beauties: Gates, Zuckerberg, Jobs, just to name a few. Maybe it was brain power that turned him on. How wonderfully different would that be? To fuck a man because he loved your mind and not your tits?

“This threat of Russian and Chinese hackers has our clients really on edge,” he said seriously without glancing my way. He seemed to be watching the door at the back of the room as if he were expecting someone. His voice was deep. It tickled my ear. “Hopefully what you’re going to share with us today will help IDS guard against that threat. And maybe even cut the bastards off before they can get in.”

“Yes, that is my goal,” I said with an official nod. “I’m sure that together we can—“

“Sorry, gotta run,” he said suddenly. He hurried across the stage and hopped off the front edge and made his way up the aisle toward the back of the room. I thought he might have seen someone important he needed to talk to. I was right. There was a blonde with big tits and a loopy smile waiting for him at the door. I recognized her as a reporter for some magazine.

She had interviewed me a year ago for a “women in tech” article she was writing. Stacey, something or other.

They greeted each other like old pals or new lovers, and he put his hand on her arm and ushered her to the seat next to him in the front row.

I sighed, chastised myself for my momentary lapse of self-control, and waited for Louise to call me on stage.

Chapter 3: Isaac

Holy hot tamales, Batman...

I had heard through the grapevine that Amy Rossetti was not only a freakin’ genius but also a freak of nature; a smoking hot, piece of ass that was at the same time as cold as a chunk of Arctic ice. The grapevine wasn’t wrong. Her hand was like ice when I shook it, her grip as strong as any man’s, but there was something in those blue eyes staring at me from behind the Coke bottle glasses that made me think that the right man might just thaw her out. Might.

She was dressed like a librarian or an FBI agent from some TV show (I always thought Agent Sculley from the X-Files would have been hot as hell if Agent Mulder had ever gotten her clothes off), but I could tell she was naturally drop-dead gorgeous, with a body the black pants suit could not disguise. Pity that I had let Stacey talk me into letting her tag along to the seminar after that award-winning blowjob in my office. Otherwise, I would have been on Amy Rossetti like white on rice.

That said, it was probably a good thing that I had a gorgeous blonde sitting next to me in the front row.

It’s basic physics that one way to thaw out a block of ice is to leave it alone in the heat for a while. Maybe giving Amy Rossetti—who probably had men far better looking than me lined up around the block—the cold shoulder, so to speak, was the best way to warm her up.

Louise introduced Amy, which took several minutes given her credentials and long list of accomplishments. Amy strode onto the stage with the poise and confidence of the smartest person in the room. Not the smartest woman, mind you, but the smartest person, period. I took out my phone and did a quick Google search. According to Wikipedia, her IQ as verified by MENSA was 145. Mine was 147. I was smarter, but not by much.

I glanced over at Stacey. So far, she hadn’t noticed that the Club D card was gone from her bag. My plan was to keep her distracted long enough that she’d forget about it, maybe string her along for a bit of fun back at my place after the seminar.

So far, Stacey proved to be a girl who was easily distracted.

And she was very distracting.

She had the iPad resting on her knee, ready to take notes of Amy’s presentation. I reminded her that this was a private event and what was said here was not for public consumption. She gave me a pouty look, hoping to get her way. She rubbed her knee into mine and licked her lips, but I scolded her with my eyes until she relented.