Chapter 1

Friday morning found me in my office early, a little before eight. With the holiday schedule, no one else was in yet and I was mentally going over my day. I still hadn't had time to do more than think about my upcoming date with Kate. I lamented that fact for only a moment before I began to think about Kate herself.

I ran through the events of Tuesday night in my head. I pictured her lying on the light-colored wood of her breakfast table, legs spread to accommodate my hips. In my mind, my hands roamed over her skin as she worked her inner muscles, massaging my cock.

In the real world, I felt myself stiffening, and shifted to let my dick expand.

Tuesday. Kate had ridden me to a climax, her body writhing in the throes of an orgasm as her pussy gripped me fiercely. The moonlight had gently lit her second-story master bedroom, casting a soft light on her breasts, her distended nipples so hard under my palms.

I shifted in my office chair and felt my member reach its full length.

My imagination fast-forwarded to what I wanted to do to Kate when I saw her on Sunday. I wanted to fuck her from behind, my hands on her ass, holding her in place, my hips slamming into...

... my watch alarm. I shook off the thoughts of Kate's long back and gently flared hips, and reached to my wrist to shut off the alarm. With an inward groan, I returned my mind to business.

I had a conference call scheduled, and then I was going to let Brad Behr have the entire weekend to code. The Russians had sent him everything they could recover (which wasn't much), along with a rough translation of Stasya's notes.

I'd wanted to talk to Brad at eight in the morning, but he'd finally cajoled me into calling at eight thirty. I don't know what that extra half-hour of sleep was going to do for him, but I'd conceded the point.

Now it was time to get Brad out of bed and make sure things were set for his marathon weekend. I wanted the Russians on the line as well, just in case Brad needed anything at the last minute. The time difference between the East Coast and Moscow was the reason for the early morning call.

I put on my phone headset and dialed the number for AT&T. An operator answered quickly, and I gave him my account number and call setup information. Next, I gave him the numbers for Dima and Kolya in our Moscow office, and finally, the number for Brad Behr. The operator clicked off the line to make the calls. A few minutes later, I heard Dima speaking in Russian to someone in the background.

"Dobre dyen, Dmitri Arkadievich," I said.

"Dobre utra, Ethan Borisevich," Dima said, a smile in his voice as he remembered the time differential and wished me a good morning.

I smiled to myself as well, although for a different reason. I wondered how my father, Bruce, would like having his name transmuted into Boris for my Russian patronymic.

"How are things going, Dima?" I asked.

"Good, Ethan. Good. Kolya has the SourceSafe server restored, but we will need to..."

We heard a click as Kolya joined the conference call.

"I will let Kolya himself tell you, Ethan," Dima said.

"Previet, Nikolai Gennadievich," I said.

"Hello, Ethan," Kolya replied, sounding distracted. "Tell him about what?"

"The SourceSafe server, Kolya," Dima said.

"Oh, that! Well, it's not completely fucked, but it's close. I'll tell you that for nothing."

I could almost hear Dima wince at Kolya's blunt appraisal.

"What's the problem?" I asked reasonably.

Kolya quickly outlined--in fairly technical terms--the problems with their server. "But I can fix it," he said brightly, clearly eager for the challenge.

"That's good to hear," I said.

"Da, Ethan. It is," Dima said, smoothly cutting off Kolya. "It means that we can make the final builds here."

"Of course," I said.

He was still trying to salvage what he could for his team, and I couldn't blame him. This project was worth a lot of money to them, especially with the economy in Russia. If Dima and his team could still provide the majority of what their job parameters called for, they'd receive the majority of their fees.

I liked the Russians, and what happened had been completely unforeseen, but I still had a business to run. If they couldn't meet all the job specs, they wouldn't receive the full contract payment. Dima had a top-notch team, so I wasn't worried about them being able to complete the remainder of the project.

I looked at my watch and wondered what was keeping Brad. I decided to talk with Dima and Kolya until he joined us.

"How is Stasya doing?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Much better," Dima said. "Her fever is down to thirty-eight degrees. The doctors say she could come home in a few days, maybe a week. Perhaps, Ethan, she could pick up where she..."

"Nyet," I said, gently but firmly. "Brad will finish the networking code."

Since I hadn't talked to Stasya myself, I had no way to decide whether or not she could handle the tough deadline. She was effectively out of the picture. Besides, I thought darkly to myself, if I had to, I could fly to DC and baby-sit Brad until he got my code done.

"Da. I understand," Dima said with a sigh. "Nichivo."

Click.

"Mornin' boss," Brad said in a sleepy voice.

Speak of the devil, I thought to myself.

"I just got t' sleep a couple hours ago," he said, yawning mightily. "Tell that operator guy that if he wakes me up again, I'll post his personal info all over the gay dating sites with the nickname 'Twink4Life'."

"He might like that, Brad," I said, suppressing a laugh.

"Yeah. Whatever. I just wanna get back to sleep."

Brad was a night owl, so I wasn't worried about the fact that he wanted to get back to bed. I knew he'd be back up in a few hours, ready to work through the weekend.

"Okay," I said. "Now that we've got everyone here..."

"Minutka, Ethan," Dima said, interrupting me. "Lev is here, and will join us. He will make the builds until Stasya returns. I gave him the number to call in."

Sure enough, there was a click as Lev joined the call.

"Ethan?" Lev said. "I am here."

"Horosho, Lev," I said. "Brad, since Lev and Kolya don't speak English, let's do this in Russian. I'll translate for you."

"No problemo, boss man." He yawned again. "I wanna keep this short and sweet."

Brad started talking about the project and I began relaying information between him and the Russians. He had gotten the files from Moscow, as well as Stasya's notes. The notes, he growled, were "fucking useless tripe," but everything else was good. Stasya, like Brad, worked mostly in her head, and I could only imagine the paucity of notes that had been e-mailed to him.

During the conversation, the only problem I had was translating some of the more obscure technical details between Brad and Lev. Fortunately, most of the technical words were cognates, so Brad and Lev quickly picked up the gist of what the other was trying to say. Thank God, I thought to myself, that American software (and our jargon) dominated the programming world.

In less than half an hour, Brad had all the information he needed, with promises from Lev to send the completed COM objects and the test data they'd been using. Once the technical details were settled, Brad turned surly again, said a quick goodbye, and hung up, presumably to go back to sleep. Kolya and Lev hung up as well, but I asked Dima to stay on the line for a moment.

"Have you actually been to see Stasya?" I asked.

"Da. I saw her in hospital yesterday."

"Horosho. How is she?"

"She is much better," he said brightly. I could tell that he was putting the best spin on her condition, ever the business manager, trying to save the project for his team.

"How is she, really?" I asked.

Once he realized I wasn't buying the act, Dima sighed heavily. "She's better, Ethan. But still very weak."

"How long will she be in hospital?"

"A week, at least. Two, more likely."

I could tell that Dima was genuinely worried. He cared about his people, which made him a good manager.

"Buy her some chocolate, from me. The good stuff, too. Belgian. Or Swiss. And get her some flowers. Tell her I hope she's feeling better soon. Also, tell her I'm not upset about the project, it could've happened to anyone."

"She will appreciate that. You know she blames herself?"

"Da. I know how she is. Tell her... nichivo." I smiled when I said that, and I knew Dima could hear it in my voice. I knew a thing or two about Russian fatalism.

"Spacibo, Ethan," he said.

"You're welcome. I'll talk to you on Monday. Paka, Dima."

"Paka."

After I hung up, I took off my headset and rubbed my eyes. I looked at my watch--a little past nine thirty--and called my assistant, Marcie.

"What's up?" she asked, sticking her head in my office.

"Please wire two hundred dollars from my personal account to Dmitri Kovalenko."

"Sure thing. Anything else?"

"Yeah. You know where I can get a really nice dress?"

"Huh?" she asked.

"I need a good dress shop. Something high end, with really nice dresses."

"Sure." She had a twinkle in her eye, and her normally cheerful expression was quickly replaced by a wry grin.

"Well?"

"I know a couple of places, actually. But I don't know if they'd have anything in your size."

"Marcie!" I felt my face heating up as my blush spread.

"Sorry, boss," she said. She didn't stop grinning, though. "Try a shop called 'Couture du Monde, ' in West Hills Centre. You know the place?"

"I know where West Hills Centre is, but I don't know the shop."

"I'm not surprised," she said. "It's actually at the corner of the two rows of shops, under the breezeway that leads to the back parking lot. Unless you know it's there, you'll miss it."

"Evidently," I said sardonically.

"You want the information or not?"

"Okay, okay. I apologize. Thanks for the advice."

"Mind if I ask what it's for?" she asked, still grinning.

"My coming out party."

She snorted derisively and then laughed. "Make sure I get an invitation to that party, boss."

"Will do, Marcie," I said with a grin. "Thanks again."

"No problem. You need anything else before I get to this wire transfer?"

"No, not really. You feel like taking the rest of the day off?" I asked her.

"With you, or by myself?" she asked.

I grinned at her and shook my head in mock sadness. "Without me."

"Only if you don't need me doing stuff here."

Marcie was serious about her job and it was one of the many things I loved about her. The fact that she put up with me was pretty important too, but I always knew I could count on her to do her job well. That was worth more than anything else.

"No, I won't need you," I said. "I've just got to make some personal calls. Tell everyone else they can knock off too. Take the rest of the afternoon and get some last-minute Christmas shopping done."

"Thanks, Ethan," she said, genuinely grateful. "I'll spread the word."

There were only four of us in the office, so giving everyone the afternoon off wasn't going to affect our business one way or the other. It was simply something nice I could do for them, so I did it. When we were on a deadline, I was sometimes an ogre to work for, but everyone knew that when we weren't killing ourselves to get a project done, I tried to be a nice boss.

"You can shear a sheep many times, but you can eat it only once," I recited to myself with a smile.

After I talked to Marcie, I began to formulate a plan for my date with Kate. I wanted to play it safe, but I also wanted to do something she'd remember. I could simply spend money on her, but she made a good living and could spend money on herself any time. Her car, her house, her wardrobe--what I'd seen of it--and everything about her reflected this.

So I knew I wasn't going to "wow" her simply with expensive gifts. That left something truly creative or something that took my time and personal attention. I could think of something creative, but it was as likely to backfire as it was to succeed, so I decided on the time-and-personal-attention route.

I put my phone headset back on and started making calls. The first was to Kate's office. I got her receptionist and was told she was at the hospital. I gave the receptionist my name, told her it was personal, and left the numbers for both my direct office line and my cell phone.

I browsed to the Yellow Pages Online, and started looking up a few of the numbers I'd need to call. My office phone rang less than five minutes later. The Caller ID labeled the call as Private, but I knew who it was.

"Hello," I said.

"Ethan?"

"Hi, Kate. Do you have a minute?"

I could hear background noise over the phone, and then it abruptly ceased. "Sure. I was hoping you'd call."

"Oh?"

"I want to see you. I don't want to wait until Sunday."

"I don't want to wait either," I said.

"Good! You can come over..."

"But I'm not gonna," I said, mirth shading my tone. I almost laughed out loud at the silence on the other end of the phone. "Are you there?" I asked teasingly.

"I'm here. I'm just not used to being told no."

"It's character-building, Kate."

"I've got enough character," she said. "I want you."

"And I want you too." My dick was already stiffening, just at the sound of the desire in her voice.

"Soon," she said.

"Sunday."

"Sooner."

I couldn't help but grin at her tenacity, and I was suddenly glad she couldn't see me. "Trust me."

"What if I say no? What if I say I can't see you on Sunday? What if I say it's now or never?" she asked.

"Then I'll be very disappointed. If that happens, I'll just have to stay at home all day, lying in bed, and fantasize about you."

"You wouldn't," she accused.

"I wouldn't want to," I said. "But if you can't see me on Sunday..."

"Hold on there, big fella," she said. "I didn't say I couldn't see you."

I grinned and let the silence draw out.

"Okay. You win!" she exclaimed.

"Good. I like the prize."

"Oh you do, do you?!"

"Mmm hmm."

Much to my relief, she laughed lightly. "So, what are we going to do all day Sunday?" she asked.

"It's a surprise."

"What kind of surprise?"

"Haven't we already been through this before? If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. But that's beside the point," I said, teasing her. "I need to know what time I can pick you up. Is nine okay for you? I'll bring you breakfast."

"In bed?"

I thought back to the last time she'd enjoyed her "breakfast" in bed, and my cock stiffened completely. I shifted in my seat to ease some of the pressure. "If you're a good girl," I said.

"Oh, I'll be a very good girl."

"I bet you will." I imagined the possibilities, but quickly became serious again. "Next question: what's your schedule look like on Monday?"

"The office at seven."

"Okay. Thanks."

"That's it?" she asked.

"Yep."

"You won't tell me anything about Sunday?"

"Sure," I said. "I'll tell you the most important thing about Sunday."

"You're not serious."

"Yeah, I am."

"Okay," she said. "I'll bite. What's the most important thing about Sunday?"

"Well... ," I said, drawing the word out. I could almost hear her leaning forward, waiting to hear what I said next. "The most important thing about Sunday is... I'm really, really looking forward to spending the day with you."

"You!" Her strangled cry was incredibly rewarding.

I grinned smugly and was once again thankful she couldn't see me. "I'm serious, Kate," I said. "I really am looking forward to spending the day together."

"Mmmmm. Me too," she said.

Once I got off the phone with Kate, I started calling around and making the arrangements for Sunday. First, I called the boutique Marcie had recommended and made sure they'd be open on Sunday. The woman who answered the phone assured me they would be open for "Christmas hours," from ten in the morning until eight in the evening.

After I hung up with the boutique, Marcie stuck her head in and told me she'd wired the money to Dmitri. Then she grinned at me.

"Hot date, Ethan?"

My ear-to-ear smile told her all she needed to know.

"I hope the young lady in question survives the experience," she said flippantly, then turned to go.

Marcie was older than me, very adventurous, and very married. She also knew more about my personal life than almost anyone in the company, except perhaps Gabriel. Since we were a small company, what she knew amounted to a whole lot. With Marcie, I also had the sexual tension two people can maintain when they know the other one could be interested, but the relationship isn't going to become anything more. She was married, and I respected that.

I'd had more than my fair share of office romances in the past, but I hadn't had one in quite a while. They're not bad, necessarily, but they're not for me anymore. When you're part owner of the company, there's a lot more at stake than just your job. My future was on the line if I decided I wanted to date women from the office. In our lawsuit-crazy society, the potential for problems was just too great. I like my future. I could find companionship outside the office.

At the moment, the companionship I was interested in, Kate, needed a few appointments made for her. Fortunately for me, it only took a few more phone calls to accomplish all I needed to. When I was done, Marcie shamelessly stuck her head back in my office. Her office is right next to mine, and since there were so few people at work, I hadn't bothered to shut my door as I made calls.

"I hope she's worth all that," she said, half serious, half teasing.

"Oh, she is, Marcie. She is."

She smiled her approval and I sighed inwardly. Marcie was the best assistant I'd ever had, and I literally could not do my job without her. She had not liked my last girlfriend, Charlotte.

Truth be told, I hadn't liked Charlotte all that much either. Not after the first few weeks, anyway. She was one of the very few fashion-model-type girlfriends I've had. She was 5'11", built like a Playmate, and turned heads wherever she went. While the sex was really good, she was suspicious, manipulative, vindictive, and petty.

I didn't need that kind of headache in my life, so we'd parted ways several months ago. I'm not a mean-spirited person, but I still chuckle whenever I remember the look on her face as I told her I was breaking up with her. I think it was a new experience for her. Like the TV ad says, some things are priceless.

Before Charlotte, there had been Veronica. Veronica had been darkly attractive and a complete firecracker. She didn't do anything in half-measures. Sex with her had always been exciting, and more than once, I'd come to work wincing as my shirt rubbed against scratches on my back. But one of the major problems between us had been sexual. She didn't like oral sex at all, giving or receiving. At first, I thought she was just inexperienced, and she might enjoy it once she'd given it a try. I was wrong. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that the idea of having "that thing" in her mouth revolted her.