Chapter 19: Negotiating

"Dad, I'm going stay in Atlanta another day. I'd like to walk the land and count those peach trees."

Mr. Oldham turned and I recognized a connection between us that I had never seen before. It was like mental telepathy. His nod was all the instruction I needed. I knew how important it was that we obtain Mrs. Collier's acre at the right price and accepted the responsibility to make it happen.

It was later that night before I was able to sort out the flurry of activity that occurred over the next five minutes. The architects were embroiled in an argument that curled my toes, Marsha offered to secure a hotel room for me and show me around the city. Patricia offered, over the objection of her husband, to walk the land with me and at some point Holly Collier managed to hand me her business card. In the second our fingers touched her eyes dipped, making me lower my eyes to see the number written on the back of the card. The number didn't register as I tucked the card in my shirt pocket. I was too busy verifying the accuracy of my earlier estimate; she was five-eight in heels, making her five feet, five inches in stocking feet.

Feeling badly that Marsha didn't have the opportunity to increase our offer to Holly Collier, I let her drive me around the city and show me the other Oldham buildings under her management. As soon as she delivered me to my hotel I called home to make sure Mr. Oldham had arrived safely and then spoke to Shirley.

"When are you coming home?"

"Probably tomorrow, after I walk the land," I said, knowing that I wasn't being very convincing. She deserved better from me, but until I actually carried out my plan I hadn't crossed the line, had I?

"Remember, we're going to Alice and Carter's house Saturday night," she said as if she knew I wouldn't be back on Thursday or Friday.

"I'll be home well before Saturday."

"I shouldn't have come here with you. I knew I was going to be a widow while you're out slaying dragons."

Why couldn't she see the importance of my mission? "I'm sorry."

"Call me."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

I paced the room, filled with self-doubt, already regretting what I was about to do. Needing to have my ego stroked, I phoned Marcie.

"I heard you were in Atlanta. How come you're not out on the town?"

"I needed to talk to someone who understands me."

"You have a girlfriend who loves you. Shirley understands you."

"I guess I needed to talk to someone I can level with."

"Oh, honey, I don't think I like the sound of this. But tell me anyway; I'll listen."

I told her about everything that had happened that day, the meeting, the connection I had made with Mr. Oldham and the connection I had made with Holly Collier. "There are millions of dollars at stake. I've got to make the deal work."

"Do you want my advice, sweetie?"

"I know what you're going to say."

"No, you don't. You think I'm going to tell you to go home and forget about your plan, but we both know that wouldn't stop you. Before you do this thing, tell Shirley."

"Is that your advice?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

"Think about it."

"Thanks for listening. I love you."

"I love you too," she said in a weak voice as the line went dead.

I went to bed thinking that Marcie had been no help, but when I woke up I decided she was right. Before I did 'this thing' I would tell Shirley my plan.

Patricia Coffee, or Patti as she preferred to be called, picked me up on Thursday morning and took me to the proposed building site. We walked the land and counted the peach trees.

She didn't mention her husband, but I could tell by her mood that there had been more to the argument than I had witnessed. I wanted to tell her how clever I thought she was to pick up on Mr. Oldham's ploy and try to tell him what he wanted to hear even though it was far from the truth. They might have pulled it off too, if her dimwitted husband had been able to see what Patti was trying to do. His ambition to prove his male superiority had blinded him, probably not for the first time.

We had lunch and talked about my plans to take some architectural courses as electives. Patti was enthusiastic about my interest in her field and for a time she lost the gloomy disposition that I somehow connected to her husband.

Based on what she told me about her experience, three years, Patti was twenty-five or twenty-six. She reminded me of Cassie, cute with a boy's body, sun-bleached hair and very small breasts. When we parted she gave me her business card. "My home number is on the back. Call me if you want to talk," she said.

I waited until seven-thirty to call Shirley and tried to justify the actions I was about to take.

"Ask yourself, Sammy. 'Does the end justify the means?'"

"Yes, I think it does."

"Then that's all I need to know. Good luck."

How could she be so callous? "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Why shouldn't I be? I know you just sealing a deal."

"You're too good for me."

"Call me when you're about to take off. I want to take your picture when you step off the plane, looking victorious. Pay attention because I want to hear every detail."

I paced the hotel room thinking about her last sentence. It said so much; not only was she going to meet my flight, she wished me success.

At eight-thirty I phoned Holly Collier. We 'negotiated' Thursday night and in the wee hours of Friday morning I woke Mr. Oldham to say that Mrs. Collier was agreeable to a number that was satisfactory to us. He woke one of the company lawyers, who spoke to Holly. By five A.M. we had a purchase and sale contract in place. Although the contract was signed, Holly and I continued 'hammering' out the deal until it was time for my flight on Saturday morning.

The reason I didn't fly home until Saturday is really Holly's story and I'll let her tell you about our day and two nights together in her own words.

Holly

My name is Holly Collier. I married Albert Collier five years ago when I was twenty-eight and he was fifty-four. We had both been married before, but neither of us had children so, when Albert died one year ago, I was his only heir; I got everything he owned.

While it is widely known that I've been liquidating Albert's real estate holdings there are certain personal things I've been able to keep to myself. For instance, aside from my accountant, no one knows I've made two recent trips to Fort Lauderdale to pursue my next husband. Edmond Broderick is fifty-nine, widowed with no children. Edmond doesn't know it yet, but we can be happy together. He's in good health and by the way, Edmond is filthy rich.

Albert knew he was dying and made every effort to prepare me for the day when I would be making business decisions. I think he knew I would want to take the cash and leave Atlanta. We drove around the city and he assigned a selling price to each property. The one thing he stressed was to be patient.

After six months of waiting for my husband to die and one year of waiting for buyers to meet my price, I was losing my patience.

For the past three months I've been negotiating with a leasing agent from the Oldham Companies for a pie-shaped acre of land. Albert had said the land would be worth one million dollars to the right buyer. I decided the Oldham Company was the right buyer and priced the acre at two million. Marsha Rice offered two hundred and fifty thousand and gradually moved up to five hundred thousand.

I liked Marsha and when she said Mr. John Oldham was coming to town I agreed to meet with him, stressing that my price was firm.

Mr. Oldham was exactly like I had pictured; refined and debonair. His pin-stripped suit was tailored to fit his body perfectly as was his neatly trimmed mustache. He shook my hand and graciously thanked me for agreeing to meet him during the holiday season.

What I was not prepared for was his son. Marsha hadn't mentioned that Sammy Oldham would be there. He was the exact opposite of his father, taller, more muscular, wearing a rumpled blue blazer. Sammy's hair was too long, un-kept, and there was a scar in his cheek that made me think he had been in a knife fight. Unlike his father, who had come to my side of the table, Sammy reached awkwardly across the table to shake my hand.

The two men held no resemblance whatsoever, except their eyes; both had beautiful blue eyes, searching, like they could read the depths of my being. Could they tell I had only been laid once in the past eighteen months?

Also in attendance were Marsha's boss, Ross Reardon of the Atlanta staff, and Michael and Patricia Coffee, a husband and wife team of consulting architects.

Rob Reardon opened the meeting and for the first five minutes I had to endure a barrage of insults and innuendos. He practically called me a gold-digging slut for demanding the outrageous price for my lonely acre.

If it hadn't been for the young man sitting directly across the table from me I would have gotten up and walked out of the room. We were paying more attention to one another than the boorish office manager. I'm sure our sly glances and telling smiles didn't go unnoticed by Mr. Oldham or the architects.

But when Mr. Reardon referred to me as 'Missy' he got my full attention and I could see that Sammy was visibly upset too.

Mister Oldham must have seen my reaction to the "Missy" moniker. He cleared his throat, halting Ross Reardon in mid sentence.

I half listened to Mr. Oldham as he told me he had met my husband once. He praised Albert for being a respected businessman, even using the term 'reasonable' as if he expected me to emulate my dead husband and be 'reasonable' too.

He tried once more to persuade me to reduce my price. I refused, saying the peach trees on the property were worth one hundred thousand each. This ridiculous statement angered Mr. Reardon and clearly frustrated Mr. Oldham, but Sammy looked amused.

"How many peach trees are on the property, Mrs. Collier?" Sammy asked, smiling at me like he detected my nipples were hard and my pussy was dripping. Does he know I'm pressing my thighs together?

I suppressed an urge to scream. "Twenty."

He thanked me, made a note in his file and turned to his father, who was directing a question to the architects.

"What changes would be required to make the building fit on the two adjoining pieces of land we already have under contract?"

Mr. Oldham's tactic backfired. Both Michael and Patricia spoke at once with differing opinions. Patricia spread a blueprint on the table and showed Sammy how the building would fit, but her husband was more vocal, shouting his wife down.

The argument between the two architects clearly infuriated Sammy. Mr. Oldham thanked me again for coming to the meeting and told Sammy they had a flight to catch. As he rose to his feet I was ready to crumble and lower my price, but just before I spoke, Sammy interceded.

"I think I'll stay in Atlanta, Dad. I want to walk the land and count the peach trees," Sammy said, smiling at me.

The father and son exchanged a look of agreement and that's when I knew I had to have this young man, even if it meant lowering my price. I wrote my home phone number on the back of my business card and as I handed it to Sammy, our fingers touched, briefly. Could he feel my need? Did he know I was becoming impatient?

When he didn't call I agonized that night and the next day. Did he miss seeing my home number on the back of my business card? Was he not interested? My mind was telling me to remain firm, but my pussy was telling me to drop my price.

It was eight-thirty when the telephone rang.

"Hello?"

"One of your peach trees is dead."

"One million, nine hundred thousand."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm in the bathtub."

"Nine of the trees are on the land we have under contract."

"Okay, okay, one million."

"Five hundred thousand and I'll wash your back."

"I'll consider your offer," I said, knowing I could negotiate with a clear head after he fucked me.

"Downtown Marriott, room fourteen-fourteen," he said and I heard the dial tone.

His brash, indifferent tone didn't deter me from pulling the plug out of the tub. I dried hurriedly, refraining from touching myself in any of my sensitive places. What should I wear? How much makeup should I put on?

My hands were shaking so much I couldn't pull the stockings up my legs so I discarded them, leaving the garter belt on. When I went out the door ten minutes later I was wearing my long heavy coat over a short red skirt and red silk blouse, having left the bra and panties on the bed with my stockings. I was half way to the hotel before I realized I had forgotten my shoes. Where was my purse?

As I drove two numbers kept going through my mind; fourteen-fourteen, one million bucks, not a penny less, room fourteen-fourteen, not a penny less.

The door to room fourteen-fourteen was ajar. My hand was shaking as I tapped lightly.

"Enter."

He was on his hands and knees, wearing shorts and except for a grin on his face, nothing else.

"Come here," he ordered and I didn't hesitate, dropping my coat to the floor and taking the five steps until I was standing two inches from his face. He stuck his nose into my crotch and took an exaggerated whiff of my pussy before grinning up at me.

I couldn't help shaking as he lifted my skirt and buried his tongue in my cunt. All I could do was stand on one foot and hike the other one over his shoulder. He cupped my ass in both hands to steady me; otherwise I would have collapsed because my hands were too weak to get a firm grip on his head.

Sammy gave me an enormous orgasm before he even touched my clit. I became unsteady and begged him to stop. "Give me a second to recover, honey."

His face was covered with my sticky pussy-juice as he looked up at me, grinning.

"Five hundred thousand?"

I couldn't think. "Fourteen-fourteen and not a penny less."

He laughed, picked me up and tossed me in the center of the bed before walking to the door and closing it. I tried to unbutton my blouse, but I couldn't get my hands to work.

I watched him remove his shorts, making his cock bounce in front of him as he walked to the bed. He got between my legs and looked down to see me fumbling with the buttons on my blouse.

With a quick flick of his wrists buttons went flying, exposing my breasts. He bent down and took one of my nipples between his lips, sucking and rolling it around, but not biting like I wanted. I would have given a hundred grand for him to bite me, but unfortunately I couldn't form the words and he didn't understand the grunting pleas I was making.

Suddenly, he stopped sucking. "Five hundred thousand."

I held up one finger to show that the price remained firm at one million dollars. This is no time to negotiate; why doesn't he stick it in me?