Two

Stan drove into the hotel premises a few minutes past eleven and occupied a free spot in the VIP parking lot. 

Stan was a tall man, muscular with captivating features. He had soft entrancing blue eyes, a graceful nose and a small mouth. There was an air of confidence around him which stemmed from his awareness of his good looks. 

He turned off the car and came down. Satisfied it was properly locked, he carefully placed his sunglasses in the breast pocket of his classy steel grey suit and swaggered towards the lobby. Aware the receptionist was watching him, he passed a friendly smile to her and moved on to the elevator. She wasn't the kind he fancied. He pushed the button that would take him to the top floor and unconsciously waited for the usual jerk. 

The elevator door opened to a wide hallway with glass walls on both sides. He nodded in greeting to a security guard who opened a door that had led to a large air conditioned office. He checked his breath and nodded satisfactorily.

"Matilda," he called out with a lustful smile. 

The secretary looked up at him and smiled back. 

Matilda was the director's secretary. She was a not-so-pretty but voluptuous looking thirty something year old lady who worked a regular nine to five job, spent her weekends doing clean up, had more books than friends and easily fell prey to men like Stan. 

"Good morning, sir. Hope you had a fine night?"

"It sure could have been finer if you had been there," he smirked. "But I hope our Thursday arrangement still holds? I've made hotel reservations already," he whispered. 

Matilda moved her lip to say something then stopped and smiled.

"That's my angel," Stan looked her over with lustful eyes again and blew her a kiss. Matilda smiled harder. 

Satisfied that he finally had her wrapped around his finger, the middle one in fact, he pushed open the door that had the word 'DIRECTOR' written in bold golden letters. 

There was a man seated behind a large office table almost filled up with documents. Paperweights were everywhere. 

The man raised his head. His lush black hair shone under the bright lighting. 

His green almond eyes drooped slightly as he looked up to see the intruder. He had smooth, delicate skin with his facial features perfectly formed and proportioned. There was an indifferent look on his face. The power and elegance he emitted only confirmed his ethereality.

He was perfect in every sense. He was the boss. He was Andrew Sinclair. 

Stan closed the door gently. 

"You would not believe how hot the mayor's granddaughter actually is! Words will fail me if I begin to describe how it went last night..."

"Stan," he interrupted in a soft manly bass, catching a paper that was about to be blown away and placing a paperweight above it. "I have a lot to do. I'm not ready for your crazy sexual illusions this morning."

Stan laughed. He walked to the couch with relaxed steps and sat. 

"There's just this thing about her, I mean, I've never had a better blow job in my life!"

"You... Are a lunatic," Andrew replied as he quickly and roughly signed papers. 

"I'd agree no less, but man, you've got to see this angel, the curves, the angles, everything," he took in a breath and shook his head. 

"She's my perfect match..."

"You said the same thing about my previous secretary and, well, you know what happened," Andrew scanned through a paper with sleepy eyes and placed it in the 'to be shredded' column on the cluttered desk. 

"I know, I know. I was a little hasty in deciding that. But I'm definitely sure of this one."

"You'd be cooking trouble for yourself if my old man finds out about it. You know how he is with the mayor." 

"It's his granddaughter, no one even really knows her. She isn't hot topic for the media. Anyway, what's this I hear about a party at the villa?"

"It's one of the old man's silly celebrations. Elections are coming up, he's gathering as many friends as possible now," Andrew said icily. 

"Ah! You want to play the good guy, huh? You're talking like you don't know how the game has been played for years. Your old man's smart and he does hold a lot of water in this city. But he sure knows that tables will turn and it will either be play, or be played," Stan laughed. "This game never ceases to amaze me."

"You're talking nonsense," Andrew's voice didn't rise. He relaxed in his chair and intertwined his fingers together. "He had a choice to stay away, but he dabbled into the mess anyway. More enemies and more friends, sounds like good news to me," he added sarcastically.

"Now don't criticize your old man so much because it doesn't change nothing. You've got drinks?" Stan stood.

With that, Andrew knew the conversation was over. He sighed and resumed his signing. 

Stan walked to the refrigerator. 

"Would you go? To the party, I mean."

"I don't know," he checked his appointment book. "I have a meeting with Peter Reid in a few hours' time."

"Who's that?"

"A real estate agent. He's got a five hundred unit apartment up for sale, it's located in an industrial area and there's also a university not many miles from there. It's a good deal," Andrew raised his hand to begin on another set of papers but his grip was weak and the pen slid from between his fingers to the floor. He cursed. 

"You're overworking yourself, man," Stan warned and took out a large bottle of Busch from the small refrigerator at one corner of the office. "You should take a break, spend some time in the hills or something, get someone to ease your stress, maybe a therapist, maybe just a regular woman," Stan shrugged. "Just something to make you feel good." 

Andrew cursed again and massaged his temples. 

Stan raised a glass against the light and checked the tips. 

"Take a glass, man, clear your goddamned head," he smiled. 

"I'm really not in the mood for that."

Stan shrugged and placed the cold bottle on his table. Andrew looked at him with eyes that said 'don't you see there are so many papers here, you moron!' but Stan pretended to not notice the glare as he slowly poured the contents of the drink, intentionally tempting Andrew. 

Andrew stared at the vapor that swirled in the transparent glass, smoky dancing figures, calling his name. 

His throat ached. His head throbbed faster. 

"I'll... Take a glass," he sighed with defeat.