Manhattan Miracle (14 page)

"Certainly, I'll tell you and Brad
all about it as soon as I'm done." I took the paper, folded it and shoved it in the front pocket on my purse. As Brad slid out of the booth, I bent down and kissed my friend goodbye. "Thanks for lunch. You've been a huge help and don't worry, I'll be careful."

Brad angled back. "I'll see to it."

Arm in arm, Brad and I strode to the entrance and were lucky to find a Yellow cab at the Lincoln Center taxi stand. Brad leaned forward and put his hands on the back of the front seat. "Bayside Securities."

After the driver took off, Brad leaned back and wrapped an arm around me. "So you love me, huh!"

I touched the tip of his nose with a long nailed fingertip. "'Fraid so."

His brow dipped. "I
s that bad?"

I wiggled my ass making sure it rubbed against his thigh. "L
et's just say I'm in uncharted territory."

He laughed. "Baby, for the last six days we've both been living in uncharted territory."

Ain't that the truth.

I giggled. "I just thought of something."

"What?"

"You took my virginity."

Brad threw his head back and laughed. "Baby, I love you and everything about you, but your vagina lost it's maidenhead about nine years ago and has been quite busy ever since."

"I meant my virginity as a woman, smarty pants." I circled my hand across his chest and nuzzled my lips against his neck and
pecked multiple, moist, baby kisses. "So you love me, huh!"

"Worse. I'm smitten." Turning his head
he kissed me passionately while grabbing and squeezing my breast. Starting to get worked up, my hand automatically went to his crotch and rubbed his hard, expanding bulge through his trousers.

"Okay, love birds. We're here."

We broke the kiss and turned toward the driver open-mouthed.

"Do you want to get out or would you like me to slowly drive around
Central Park while you finish what you started?"

Brad laughed
and tossed the driver a twenty for the $12.65 ride. "Not today. Maybe some other time. Keep the change." We scrambled out of the taxi and rushed into the lobby of the building.

"You know, I wouldn't have minded."

"What?"

"Driving around and finishing what we started."

Brad looked mildly
amused, "You wouldn't?"

"No. Does that make me an exhibitionist?"

We strolled up to the elevators and Brad pushed the up button. "Don't know about exhibitionist, but it definitely defines you as a thrill seeker."

When the doors separated on elevator two
, I slipped past him and pushed button thirty-four. "I'm still looking forward to making it in an elevator."

"
See, you're an adventuress."

I laughed. "Are you an adventurer?"

"Not really, but if it makes you happy, I would make love to you in the torch of the Statue of Liberty."

"Now there's an idea." The doors parted and I took Brad's arm. "C'mon you sexy
man."

Chapter Seventeen

By the time I got to my desk, it was alm
ost time for me to go. I tried Bella's number, but got her voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me and why, then backed that up with a similar email message. Then I walked into Brad's office. "Wish me luck. I'm off to Grimes' office."

Brad scrunched his nose. "Good luck
, Baby. I wish I could go with you."

"So do I."

I turned to leave and Brad said, "Oh, wait."

I angled back to him, wearing a quizzical look. "Yes?"

"Do you have a recorder?"

"No,
and Amber said I should take one."

He pulled a drawer open. "I just happen to have a small digital recorder here somewhere…oh here it is."

He showed it to me then tested it before handing it to me. "I turned it on so you don't have to worry about it. It's voice activated and there's plenty of life in the battery."

I took it and slipped it
in my purse. "Thanks. I'll return it when I'm done. Bye."   

Nervous as a cat walking through a kennel of barking dogs, with ten minutes to spare, I stepped into the elevator and pushed 40. After the doors closed behind me, the sudden, upward acceleration added to the anxiety that churned my stomach. Seconds later, the doors parted and I stepped into the reception area and took a deep breath.

Calm down. You're not going to an execution.

Straight ahead was a curved counter behind which three pleasant looking women busied themselves at built in desks. Behind them stood a wood paneled partition with large brass letters that spelled out EXECUTIVE OFFICES.

The
woman in the center, a pretty, twenty-something Latina looked up and smiled as I walked up to the counter. "May I help you?"

"Yes, thank you. My name is Ginger Allen. Mr. Grimes is expecting me."

"Please, have a seat. I'll tell his secretary you're here."

I
sat in one of the groupings of four chairs and one table that rested against the wall on each side of the elevators. I'd barely opened a copy of Fortune when a mildly attractive, businesslike woman strode up to me. "Ms. Allen?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Grace Wadsworth. If you will follow me, Mr. Grimes will see you now."

I followed her past a small collection of work cubicles, all manned by
attractive women. I began to wonder if Uncle Miltie fancied himself as a ladies man in the Hugh Hefner mold. After leading me through a maze of hallways, Grace opened a glass door whose signage read Milton S. Grimes, President & CEO, and bid me to enter a medium sized room with two desks, one of which appeared unused, file cabinets, chairs, etc. Grace walked to her desk and before sitting, nodded toward the adjacent door. "The President is waiting in there."

My heart
skipped a beat. I walked on wobbly legs through the door into a huge corner office.

"Ms. Allen…Ginger."

My gaze went to the voice. Milton stood behind his oversized desk tucked into the corner of the corner office with magnificent views in both directions. He edged around his desk and came toward me. When we closed the gap he pulled me in tightly—a little to tightly—and kissed each cheek. "So glad you could make it. Please come have a seat." Loosely gripping my elbow, he led me toward the plush upholstered chairs that fronted his desk. As I took a seat, he asked, "Can I get you anything?"

I was so nervous, I shook
. "What do you have?"

Milton
stuck his hands out to the side. "Just about anything you could ask for. Juice, beer, wine, coffee, water, liquor—"

Wine might calm me down
. "I'll have wine, Chardonnay or Chablis if you have it."

"
Of course."

He pushed a button on his phone and a
dial tone came to life, then a ring, then Grace Wardworth's voice, "Yes, Mr. Grimes?"

"Grace, could you bring Ms. Allen a glass of Chardonnay.
In fact, bring the bottle."

"
Yes, sir. Anything for you, sir?"

"No, I ha
ve some Chivas Regal at my desk. I'll dip into it if I want something."

"As
you wish, sir."

Milton
hung up, leaned forward with his elbows on his desk and leered at me as item by item, my clothes disappeared in his mind. "So tell me, Ginger, are you enjoying your work here so far?"

"Well, sir,
it's only my third day, but so far I love it."

"G
ood, good. How about your boss…ah, Brad. Is he good to work for?"

"God
, yes. He's the best. Smart too."

"Ah yes, that's why we promoted him."
Milton's gaze rose to just over my shoulder. After a few seconds, Grace set a glass of white wine and the bottle on the table beside me. "Here you go." I took big swig of wine as Grace straightened up and turned to her boss. "Is there anything else, sir?"

"
No thank you. I'm fine."

As Grace left the room,
I emptied my wineglass and refilled it. "You said something about a position?"

Mr. Grimes flipped his wrist. "Yes, yes, we’ll get to that, but first, something else has come to my attention."

"Oh, what's that?"

Grimes opened
a manila folder. "When I first thought of offering you the position we discussed, I had my security chief check you out."

Security chief? What the F…?
"And?"

Milton
lifted a sheet of paper—a form—and waved it. "Your application indicates that before and since graduating from college, you have worked as a model and actress. I have no reason to doubt that. After all, you are a most attractive woman…but the security chief's report." He set the paper back where it had been and raised a second folder. "Indicates your primary source of income was prostitution."

Though
his statement rattled me, I forced myself to stay composed. "That is a rather blunt assessment, sir. I was a paid escort."

Milton
's eyebrows rose. Oh, and did you ever go out on a…I believe you call them 'dates', right?

I rolled my eyes. "That is correct."

"Tell me then. Did you ever go on a 'date', that didn't end with sex?"

I sighed. "Not that I recall."

Milton rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. "And were you paid for that sex?"

I poured the last of the wine in the glass and took a sip. "What's your point?"

Milton
leaned back into his fancy, leather executive chair and smiled like he'd just won some test of wills. "That you can't continue working for Bayside as a secretary."

"You're firing me."

"Not necessarily. I'm offering you an option."

I finished the last of my wine and crossed my legs.
"What kind of option?"

"The job we discussed on the phone.
My personal assistant."

"I thought that was a public relations job."

"It is. You would have a well paying day job in the Publicity Department and—"

I scrunched my nose.
"This isn't making sense. Being a former call girl disqualifies me from being a lowly secretary, but not from being the spokesperson of Bayside Securities."

"
It doesn't need to make sense, if you are the President of the company. What's more, if I have to fire you, I will see that no other New York financial institution hires you."

A flash of anger passed though my mind.
"You would fire me for wanting to go straight and then for spite, blackball me? Excuse me for being unladylike, but you are a fucking asshole."  

He chuckled
, then got a serious look on his face. "You don't get to be President and CEO of a Wall Street Investment bank by being Mr. Nice Guy. Haven't you noticed what some of our larger competitors did to the economy?"

Milton
rested his elbows and arms on his desk. "Look, I found out a long time ago that there are two main things that make the world go around. Do you know what they are, Ginger?"

"Probably, sex and
money."

"Exactly
. Smart girl. I could tell from your application you were smart. Sex and money make things happen. That's why years ago, when I first started in this business, I provided my best customers an occasional tryst with a pretty hooker. As my client base grew larger and wealthier, I upgraded the girls by using outcall escort services. I didn't do it a lot, just enough to keep my prime clients appreciative and on the hook. It was a lot of extra work, but the increased sales commissions made it worth it."

"I'll bet. Being a
pimp
can be har-r-rd work!"

Milton
's eyes narrowed to slits. "I'll let the heavy sarcasm slide."

"
When I became President and CEO six years ago, I had to change the way I operated. I shed all but my wealthiest clients, assigning the others to capable replacements. I continued to use the escort services for the obscenely rich clients I retained, but since escort services had a big turnover and the prettiest girls were often booked up that became problematic.

"The nine clients I retained are worth billions. They are spoiled and used to getting what they want when they want it. What's more these Captains of Industry, expect no less than the crème de la crème of womanhood.
"

"So you got yourself an in house courtesan who would be available twenty-four, seven and gave her a title to justify having her around."

Milton shook his head. "Like I said—smart! This courtesan, as you called her, needed to be not only the most stunning woman I could find, but she had to have a fabulous body. Though having such a person at my beck and call would be costly, losing billionaire clients is much more costly."

"
And so you want to recruit me to be your new sex goddess."

"
Yes."

I need some time.
"Can I think about it?" 

"
If you like. Can you let me know by Friday."

"I'll try. This is a lot to swallow.
"

"Let me give you something else to swallow. Your salary for being our spokeswoman would be a half million a year plus
royalties from the commercials and ads you appear in. On the hospitality end of your duties, there's no set figure, but the three previous courtesans averaged two point three million a year."

I whistled.
"That certainly is a lot to swallow. I'll let you know by Friday."

"Fine."

I stood and slung the strap of my handbag over my shoulder. "Well if there's nothing else, I'll be going."

"
No, you're free to go. Just make sure you give me an answer by Friday. Oh wait—there is one more thing."

"What's that?"

He fidgeted in his chair. "If you agree to be my personal assistant, I'll need to see you in the nude."

I sensed my brow dip low.
"You said nothing about sleeping with you."

"
I know. You won't have to, unless you want to."

"I won't.
I don't sleep with assholes."

He scrunched his nose. "
Like I said, these clients are pampered and spoiled. They expect perfection. I need to make sure you are as perfect in the altogether as you are dressed."

"If
my answer is yes, I'll show you naked photos of me."

"I prefer to see you the way my clients will see you, but if you insist, I'll need proof
any photos are recent."

"
I insist."

Before he could say another word, I spun on my 4 inch heels and sashayed
the twenty or so paces to the door at the far end of the office. Over my shoulder, I waved my fingers good bye. "See you Friday. Ta ta."