Chapter 1

Bob Gordon was shown to his suite by a bellman. He felt like a limp dishrag — he was absolutely drained. It was finished and now he had no idea what to do. Bob had just completed negotiating and finally closing the sale of GorTech Enterprises. It was a company he had founded and built into a well-publicized business success story. Now, except for the very large certified check and a stock certificate in his briefcase, he had nothing. It was just sinking into his brain that GorTech had been his life.

He still second-guessed his decision to sell out and bail out. American Computer, the giant corporation that had bought his company, had offered him a very generous management contract to stay on to run it for them. With performance incentives it could have added a large sum to the amount he had already received, but Bob had turned it down. He didn't think he would ever be able to run GorTech with other executives looking over his shoulder who would be able to second-guess his decisions.

The bellman had done all of the usual things that Bob observed with half an eye and half an ear — checking the bathroom, turning on the television, and so forth. Finally, he heard the familiar words, "Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Gordon?"

Bob smiled to himself. He respected the young man who had obviously paid attention in the hotel's training classes. A standard training exhortation, Bob knew, was always to address the guest by name. Bob reached into his wallet, pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, and gave it to the young man. He said, with a smile, "Thank you. How are you fixed for tall blondes?"

The bellman's eyes widened as he realized the size of the tip. He said, "Thank you, Mr. Gordon! I'll see what I can do." He quietly let himself out of the suite. A moment later there was a knock on the door. Bob opened it and found the bellman standing there with a bucket of ice. "I thought you might like some ice, Mr. Gordon." He smiled and was gone again.

Bob took the ice and took a bottle of Beefeater's from his suitcase along with a tiny bottle of dry vermouth. He made himself a very dry martini on the rocks and collapsed into an easy chair after turning off the television set. It was Friday night. Bob smiled to himself thinking about giving the bellman a fifty-dollar tip on a whim. At virtually any commercial hotel, weekends were dead. About the only guests were couples taking advantage of the very common promotional weekend specials. Bob thought about his present prospects with dismay.

He was about to celebrate his thirty-third birthday. Celebrate! he thought. That's a laugh. Since finishing business school eight years earlier, his work had been his life. Every waking hour — and even some hours in his sleep, it seemed — had been focused on GorTech. He decided wryly there was some value in such single-minded focus. At least the check in his briefcase was for $120 million. But all he had to show for eight years of his life was that small piece of paper. In addition, of course, there was his stock in the new parent company.

Bob leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. He was six feet three inches tall and weighed just over 200 pounds. He was in remarkably good physical condition although exercise was a catch-as-catch-can matter with him. While he had blue eyes and sandy hair, he considered his appearance to be very ordinary. However, he never noticed the speculative looks that women so often directed at him.

He was about to drop off to sleep in his chair when there was a soft knock at the door. He got up, opened the door, and then his jaw almost dropped. Standing there was a beautiful blonde, the tall blonde he had so casually mentioned to the bellman. She appeared to be five feet ten. Being six feet three Bob usually looked down at women, but the top of this girl's head came nearly to his eye level. He opened the door wide and stepped back. She walked into the suite ahead of him as he closed the door behind her.

"Good evening," she said, "I'm Jill. The bellman said you were looking for a tall blonde. Am I tall enough?"

Bob looked at the girl and smiled to himself. He replied, "You'll do just fine."

Jill was exquisite. Her hair was a golden blonde and she was still tanned even though it was nearly October. Although her figure was very slim she appeared to have full breasts. He wondered if it was her or some engineering in her bra. Then he noticed her nipples protruding and decided she wasn't wearing one.

He escorted her into the sitting room and offered her a seat. Bypassing the sofa she chose a small side chair with arms instead. Sitting up straight in the chair, she looked at him attentively. Bob decided he liked what he saw. In spite of being a prostitute — a call girl? — she was dressed very conservatively. She was wearing a very plain tailored skirt with a cashmere sweater. Her only jewelry was a simple gold chain at her neck. Bob decided the skirt was camel's hair. She had been carrying a matching jacket over her arm and had a brown leather clutch purse in her hand. Her sweater was the same shade of emerald green as her eyes.

"How much do you charge?" he asked. In spite of all the traveling he had done on business, Bob had no experience with girls like this. Nevertheless, he had seen enough of them in hotel bars over the years and had seen them approach other patrons. None had ever approached him. He watched the girl closely and saw her appear to redden. She seemed uncomfortable with the business discussion.

He found himself looking into her eyes. She said in an almost defiant tone of voice, "Two hundred dollars for the night."

Bob looked at her steadily. He was amused, particularly considering his earlier discouragement with his future prospects and his lack of other interests outside of GorTech. And he no longer had any connection with it. Taking his wallet from his hip pocket, he reached under a side flap and took out a folded bill which he passed over to Jill. Still without looking at her he went to the closet and took out his checkbook from his jacket pocket. Jill hadn't looked at the folded bill in her hand. She was watching Bob's actions with a question in her eyes. He returned to his chair, scribbled a check and passed it to her.

She looked at the check and her eyes widened. It was made out to cash in the amount of five thousand dollars. She then looked at the bill and realized it was a thousand-dollar bill. [There are no U.S. thousand-dollar bills in circulation; the largest denomination is $100. But this is fiction.] Jill's jaw dropped. "What is this?"

Bob looked at her very calmly and said, "I understand that you girls are in a cash business, although I hear there are some of you who do take credit cards. I gave you a thousand dollars in cash for five days which gives you time to cash the check. That takes care of thirty days, doesn't it?" He remained impassive as he watched a series of emotions race across her face. Shock was obvious, but he thought he caught a hint of outrage for an instant as well.

Finally she asked, "What am I supposed to do for this money?"

Bob decided that it was already money well spent. If nothing else, it was providing him with a great deal of amusement. He looked at her impassively while he tried to analyze his behavior. He had never done anything like this before in his life. Maybe the money he had just received had gone to his head. He quickly answered his mental question. First, Jill didn't look anything like a prostitute nor did she act, speak, or dress like one. She could still be a call girl, though. Some of them were reputedly very well-educated and very beautiful. However, her price was much too low for her to be a call girl. He had heard such girls went for five-hundred dollars a night and up. Finally, there was her momentary hesitation when she had quoted a price to him. She didn't act like a girl who did this for a living ... or did it at all, for that matter.

Bob answered her question: "I expect you to sleep with me and provide the usual sexual services a prostitute like you provides. There will be no rough stuff. That is your business, isn't it?"

He watched the girl carefully. In spite of trying to remain impassive, he saw her swallow hard and stiffen when he referred to her as a prostitute. She sat up even straighter in her chair. "Yes, it is, Mr. Gordon. That will be satisfactory. Are you ready to go to bed now?"

"It's too early, Jill, and I haven't eaten dinner. Have you?"

"No, sir, I haven't," she replied.

He picked up the phone and called the concièrge on the floor. After identifying himself, he asked if she would make reservations for two in his name at the rooftop restaurant. He was held on the line for a moment and then she came back to say that a table by the window would be ready for Mr. Gordon's party of two as soon as they arrived. He also took the opportunity to tell her there would be another person staying in the suite. Bill asked Jill if she wanted to wash up and she just shook her head. After excusing himself, he went into the bathroom, and then put his tie back on. Moments later he returned to the sitting room. Jill rose from her chair and they went out to the elevator.

The maître d'hotel seated them at a table by the window with a view of the city. As he expected, the hotel restaurant was very quiet on Friday night. When the captain came to take their drink orders, Bob ordered a Beefeater martini on the rocks, very dry, for himself and a Perrier with a lime for Jill.

The waiter left to attend to the drink order and Jill looked at him strangely. "Why did you order Perrier for me?" she asked.

"You look like the Perrier type. Aren't you?" he replied.

"Of course, but—"

"But I'm being a chauvinist to presume, is that it?"

"Yes, and—"

"Jill, I bought your body for the next thirty days. At the end of that time you can do whatever you want to do. In the meantime, it belongs to me."

"Are you saying I can't have a drink for the next thirty days?" she asked, with shock noticeable in her voice.

"Do you drink?" he asked.

"Well..."

"Jill, face facts: You're the original 'white wine and Brie' girl. Incidentally, what do you really do for a living? And how did the bellman find you?"

The girl's eyes widened. She tried to bluff it out, and said, "Bellmen have lists of girls who—"

"That may be so, Jill, but you aren't on the list."

Bob dropped the subject. As he looked at her, he made a connection with her name. He remembered reading a business exposé written by a freelance writer named Jill Peters. In fact, as he thought more about it, he recalled seeing several. It occurred to him that GorTech could be grist for the same mill. He remembered there were several references in her articles that appeared to display significant inside knowledge. It seemed quite likely that Jill Peters had a method that required her to get very close to her subject company — physically close would work very well. Bob decided to act on the assumption that the girl sitting across from him was the writer, Jill Peters.

The waiter came up to take their order and Bob ordered for both of them. He ordered gray sole for Jill broiled without butter. He asked if the salad was prepared with organically-grown ingredients. The waiter raised an eyebrow but replied that he didn't think it was. Bob smiled and said the gray sole alone would be enough. For himself he ordered their largest sirloin steak, medium rare, a baked potato with sour cream and a salad with Roquefort dressing. The waiter acknowledged the order and then disappeared toward the kitchen.

Jill looked at him but didn't say anything. He took the opportunity to study her carefully. Finally he said, "Jill, you don't wear any makeup, do you?" She appeared surprised but acknowledged that she didn't. "You're a very lovely young woman," Bob said softly. "I am looking forward to seeing you naked when we're back in the suite."

He noticed that she recoiled when he said "naked" but quickly controlled her reaction. Bob decided that he was deriving a perverse pleasure from keeping this girl off balance. He added, "There won't be any need for you to wear clothes in the suite, will there? I assume that modesty isn't a very powerful virtue in your profession." Again he saw her stiffen slightly. "By the way, do you girls consider it a profession or a business? I've always wondered."

This time she smiled. Bob liked her smile. She said, "I think of it as a profession. I can't speak for the other girls, though."

He continued his probe. "A profession is normally considered to have a body of knowledge like law, or a set of skills like a surgeon's. What are your professional skills?"

Just then the waiter brought their meals. Bob asked Jill if she wanted anything else at that time. She shook her head, no. The waiter left and Bob returned to his former line of questioning. "You were going to tell me what your professional body of knowledge is," he reminded her.

"I know how to make a man happy in bed. I guess you would call it a skill," she replied.

They ate their meals in a rather tense silence. He noticed that she ate every morsel of her sole and seemed to glance enviously at his steak. He said, "Would you like to try some of my steak? I don't want you to eat anything that's not good for you and it does have a lot of animal fat."