Inferno Anthology (128 page)

“Mr. Kingsley, this is, uh, unexpected, but wonderful. Do you realize what we can do with support like this? Words can't express how grateful I am. Does Mrs. Swanson know?”

“No. She has no idea. I think I'll take my seat and let you tell her.”

I pull out my chair and lower myself next to Sir Scott. I catch a distinct and assaulting smell of mothballs mixed with some cheap aftershave. Turning toward the cause of offensive odors, I take in the man who is Sir Scott, a tall and brown-headed Englishman in need of a nose and ear hair trimmer.

He stretches out his tweed-covered arm and shakes my hand. Interestingly, he didn’t conform to the black tie dress code for tonight’s event.

“Mr. Kingsley, it's so nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Likewise, Sir Scott.” I take small, shallow breaths to avoid a deep intake of air. Too much of his malodorous concoction would surely bring on a headache. And I don’t want anything deferring my scheduled fun later with the alluring Lively Lizzie.

“Thanks to your contribution last year, we were able to fund a wonderful program to help single mothers start micro-businesses. It's remarkable to see what a little support can accomplish. Hopefully, you received the quarterly newsletters outlining what we're doing in Addis Ababa.”

“Absolutely.” I lie, but only a white lie to protect his pride and my ignorance.

I'm almost certain his newsletters arrive at Mrs. Carter's desk, never to be seen by me. He obviously has no idea what it takes to run a billion-dollar company. The tug and pull of forces around me keeps me from interacting with the mundane, like his little newsletter. I read the New York Times and a few select financial journals. I watch one television network, CNBC. Everything else is fluff and mind-numbing garbage. The only exception is my regular dalliance of porn.

Our conversation is miraculously cut short as the emcee for the night speaks into the microphone on the podium and welcomes everyone to the event. An African-American man is introduced to recite a benediction. The prayer’s conclusion grabs my attention.

“Dear God, deliver us from our blindness toward evil, and the earthly sins that intoxicate our souls. Amen.”

Earthly sins that intoxicate. Hmm. Interesting. As an earthly spectator, one could use this phrase as a perfect definition of our world. Intoxicated by the sins of lust and greed, to name a few. Dante's vision of hell, in full display everywhere. But in reality, this humble prayer and Dante's Inferno are simple interpretations, created by a man to judge another man or himself.

The pathetic reality of how Sir Scott's Hope House receives funds remains hidden. But I know how the righteous are financed to fulfill their good deeds as I scan the people occupying seats in front of me. They are the ones who fill the coffers of Hope House. But these men and women grab every opportunity to seize more money and sex. They disperse their gains to appease a fear that someone greater than them will hold them accountable one day.

Me, I'm accountable to no one, the one exception being the stockholders of my multinational company.

The menu for tonight is laced with foreign words: Madeira Braised Veal Osso Bucco and Drunken Pear en Croute. Our meal appears course by course. Forks clank and voices chatter. Glasses are drained and refilled. My mind switches to autopilot at these functions. Whether it’s a formal sit-down, a stand and mingle, or a grand gala, I rely on my phone to keep my company. I try to discreetly keep tabs on my business affairs and communicate with my company’s divisions around the world.

I respond to emails during dinner. Check with my company’s security head, Walter Cox, concerning Simon. Simon took nothing with him when he was escorted out the door. I look over my calendar as Sir Scott is introduced and speaks to the crowd. His speech concludes as I look up from my phone.

Glancing over the program, I realize Mrs. Swanson is preparing to speak. She will be recognizing the major donors to The Swanson Foundation. Around the podium, I see the lovely Mrs. Delcour sitting poised and looking absolutely beautiful. She oozes class. I lick my lips and wish I had her taste on them. The thought awakens my sleeping cock; he'll have to settle for Lively's lips tonight. I can almost feel him weeping for Kathryn's lips instead.

Mrs. Swanson stands at the microphone and thanks Sir Scott for his presentation. Polite applause follows. She looks at me and winks as she smiles from ear to ear, obviously pleased with my contribution.

“The Swanson Foundation will celebrate its fourteenth anniversary this year. I established this work after my late husband Richard's untimely passing. In my years as the executive director, I have had many occasions to see the good in others. But tonight, I stand before you surprised by the charitable deeds of a brilliant young man here with us.” Mrs. Swanson extends her arm in my direction with her palm straight up. “Adam Kingsley, would you please join me?”

Rising out of my chair, I stride the few feet to Mrs. Swanson's side and see a knowing smirk on Kathryn's face. It's as if she can see right through me and, as I guessed, she's less than impressed. Nevertheless, I prepare for the dog and pony show and place a plastic smile on my face as I turn to face the crowd.

“I’m working on Kathryn. Remember what I said.” Mrs. Swanson whispers under her breath to me as I stand next to her. She’s really wanting Kathryn and me together. Maybe she’ll convince her after all.

“Mr. Kingsley is donating five million dollars to The Swanson Foundation. Words can’t express my gratitude. His donation will allow Sir Scott's Hope House to build a modern medical facility in the heart of Ethiopia. It is the single largest contribution on record to our foundation. Mr. Kingsley, on behalf of the Hope House and all those you will be aiding, thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

This time the applause is raucous. The attention I'm receiving is something I always try to avoid. Peeking to my right, I see Kathryn is clapping but whispering into the ear of her boy toy. She’s completely disinterested in the spectacle.

Mrs. Swanson quietly murmurs her thanks again and asks if I'd like to make a statement. I assure her that it will be brief.

As I step to the microphone, I see Lively sitting and clapping wildly a few tables away. Her enthusiasm softens the blow of Kathryn's disregard, but worries me, too. It seems over the top. Fanatical, even. I hope this evening with her isn’t one I will live to regret.

“Mrs. Swanson, thank you for your kind words. However, instead of focusing on myself, I'd prefer to encourage everyone here tonight to give generously. Please, dig deep and support one of the finest charities here in Manhattan. The Swanson Foundation shines alone in its reliability and veracity. Thank you.”

The platform is turned over to the D-list celebrity emcee. He babbles on, attempts a less than stellar comedy stand-up, and then stumbles through an awkward dismissal. When he walks away from the podium, I see his brow covered in sweat, a strange display for a so-called professional.

Hoping to have another chance to speak to Kathryn before the night's end, I walk toward her chair and see her being escorted out by The Boy. At least they're heading where I am: the exit.

I shake a few hands, endure a couple of introductions, and rudely dismiss all attempts at conversation. I send a simple text to Eddie stating five minutes and company. I hurry toward the last spot I saw Kathryn as I try to keep her trail warm. I want to speak with her before Lively finds me.

Approaching the gilded hallways, I find Kathryn and head straight for her. She notices me as I approach and moves her hand to her hip. A smile and laugh greet me when I come to a halt in front of her.

“Bravo, Mr. Kingsley.” Her gaze penetrates and burns me. It's a dangerous warmth that promises to smolder me. I find myself becoming a willing participant even though I know she's mocking me.

“You know why I gave that outrageous sum, don't you?” I search her face and observe a gleam in her eyes as she throws her head back. Her delicate throat beckons me, and I long to touch and possess her with my lips. I move closer, our bodies almost touching. She senses me drawing near, drops her head, and looks at me. Her mood becomes serious, all smiles and levity disappear.

“Of course I do. You're not that hard for me to read.” I see The Boy approaching, dutifully carrying her fur coat. I realize we have only seconds before he's standing beside us.

Kathryn continues. “And for the record, I'm thankful for your gift, but not terribly impressed. There's more to life than money. Believe me, I know.”

She turns to her side as the young nuisance descends on us. “Kathryn, here's your coat.” The young man looks at me inquisitively, sizing me up. As they stand side by side, I notice something: a resemblance. There is something about them. They could almost be siblings. The color of their eyes leads me to this conclusion. A matching deep blue, trending toward violent.

“Thank you, John.” He assists her with her coat. “I'd like to introduce you to Adam Kingsley. Mr. Kingsley, this is my brother, John Swanson.” She finishes her introduction with a coy smile.

“Excuse me, but did you say 'your brother?'“ Wait a second. He's her brother? Shit.

“Yes, I'm her brother. Our mother is Ava Swanson.” He pushes his hand my way, expecting a handshake and I dutifully comply. “Pleasure to meet you. Let's just say that you've made my mother a very happy woman tonight. Thanks again for your donation. Your generosity was unexpected, a pleasant surprise to say the least.”

A small hand grips my arm. I know who it is before I hear her greetings. Lively Lizzie has arrived.

“Finally. I've been looking all over for you,” Lively says. I feel her snake her arm through mine. Connecting us and sealing my fate for the rest of the fucking evening.

“I'm right where I told you I'd be.” I make a quick decision. The time I spend with Ms. Lively tonight will be short. Maybe more like a cab ride to her home.

To my surprise, I hear Kathryn speak. “Hi, Lizzie. You look lovely this evening.” Fuck. I don't particularly care for Kathryn knowing my after-dinner hook-up by name. I glance at Kathryn and it appears she’s enjoying my discomfort way too much. “Is Mr. Kingsley giving you a ride home?” I know what's behind her question. She's wondering if Lizzie’s my fuck for the evening.

I butt in and decide to end this most uncomfortable conversation. “Yes, I'm giving her a ride home this evening.” I grasp Lizzie’s arm and turn to her. “My driver is waiting outside.”

“Well, we don't want to keep anyone waiting, Mr. Kingsley.” Kathryn stares impassively at me, giving nothing away in her expression.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, John. And good evening, Kathryn.”

I need to leave, now. Grabbing at her hand, I pull a stunned Lively toward the building's exit. Something tickles at my temple. I wipe my forehead and cringe.

Goddamn it. Sweat!

I only sweat on two occasions: at the height of a good fuck or when pushing my body to its limit during a workout. What I find on my skin right now is totally unacceptable. Sweat from anxiety. But damn if that woman, Kathryn Delcour, didn't unnerve and drive me to it.

Once I have Lively outside the building, she struggles keeping up with me in her stiletto heels. I spot the black limo with Eddie standing at his post awaiting my arrival. He sees me, nods his greeting and opens the door; I pause to let Lively enter first. I hear her gasp, then utter the words “wow” and “oh, my God” over and over again. Clearly, the limo's interior impresses her.

Before I bow to enter the car, I need to find out some vital information from Lively.

“Where do you live?” I ask gruffly.

“77th and Lex. We can take the long way around Central Park,” she replies coyly. Her suggestion is easy to decipher; she wants to fuck me.

I smirk back at her, because we aren’t taking the long way anywhere. That’s for damn sure.

Rising up from the car’s door, I give Eddie Lively's name and direct him to drive her to the address she just gave me. I instruct Eddie to have the car at her building in roughly fifteen minutes. The entire Escalade was retrofitted for me to give it a limo feel. The middle seat area houses one captain chair that swivels its position. It’s my usual seat, except when I’m entertaining a woman for the night. The backseat provides the best resting place and can even lay flat if required. I notice that Eddie has prepared for our party. Lights low, music rhythmic and seductive. Perfectly setting the mood.

Pouring two glasses of chilled champagne, I beckon her over to me.

“I have other business to attend to,” she murmurs, refusing the champagne.  I set it aside and lean against the buttery leather cushions. My eyes close as she tells me of her plans. Gently, I feel Eddie move the SUV as our journey begins.

She whispers in my ear that a generous man like me needs to be thanked properly for his selfless donation. With my head back and eyes still closed, Lively’s fingers unbuckle, unbutton, and unzip.

She slides my suit pants and boxer briefs down as I slightly raise my hips. The bite of her fingernails drags back up my legs, sending chills through my body. A slight moan escapes my lips.

Kisses are scattered over my hipbones as she progresses down toward my hardening cock. Lively’s mouth surrounds and sucks me in. A name and face flash before my closed eyes, and I bite my lip to avoid calling out the name. Kathryn.

Lively’s hand wraps around my cock, moving in motion with her mouth. I rock my pelvis and push deeper into her willing mouth. She sucks me harder. A pace begins and finally ends, spectacularly. I'm completely spent, and I open my eyes to see Lively gloating and wiping her hand across her mouth.

After readjusting my pants, Lively settles onto my lap and kisses me. “That was quite the thank you,” I reply.

“You're quite welcome. I've wanted to meet you for some time. And tonight when you spoke to me, I hoped for this. Us together, alone.”

I feel the limo slow to a stop and the engine shut off. I know without looking that we've arrived at her apartment.

“We've arrived at your building.” After I speak, she looks astonished and squints through the darkened glass. Her mouth forms a little O as realization hits her that the “us together, alone” portion of the evening has drawn to a close.