Page 41 of The Dommes

“That’s too bad. On both accounts.”

“Please. A girl will take a hot body when she can get it, whether she dominates it or not.”

“I suppose. Except most of the fun for me comes from taking charge. Easier to do in casual sex with women than with men, I’m guessing.”

Yes, Eve, I’ve heard that a hundred times. That you have problems finding women who are both into submission and your pussy. I have to keep another laugh to myself.

“I’ve been phasing that stuff out of my apartment anyway,” I say, wineglass at my lips. “I don’t play much at my place, so it’s in the way.”

I’m settled quite comfortably into Eve’s couch, the channels changing on the big screen in front of us. There’s some glare from the window, but it’s nothing. There’s glare everywhere in this huge studio. Technically, Eve lives in her family home out of the city, but she rents this place to have somewhere to crash – and right now, to get away from her lovey-dovey sister.

She lands on a local business channel, and hovers there, because we’re so used to watching it for five minutes at a time to keep abreast of the news.

Wouldn’t you know it? Donovan Mathison is on TV, making a live announcement to the types of people who would care about what he has to say.

“Wait.” I put my hand on Eve’s. “I think this is about The Ace.”

Sure enough, the headline on the screen reads, “The Ace’s Fate Decided.”

“It’s with great happiness,” Donovan begins, his salt and pepper hair handsome in the soft light of the sun, “that I can say the sale of The Ace is going forward. As of this morning, we are in serious discussions with the Anderssens about a final sales price.”

“Turn it up.”

“Furthermore,” Donovan continues, the cameras of the local press flashing in his face, “we have been given the blessing of the community council to go ahead with our restoration with the intent of returning The Ace to its former, hospitable glory…”

Eve turns the channel.

“Tough luck, lady.”

My throat is dry no matter how much wine I drink. Nope. I’m choosing not to hear any of that. Not even after I phone my father right away and wait five rings for him to answer.

“Did you see the news?” I ask him.

“Sweetie,” he begins, and I already know it’s bad. “You did a fantastic job. I’m proud of you and look forward to seeing what else you can do…”

“Did you see?”

He chokes on a word. “It has nothing to do with your abilities, Kat.”

No, he doesn’t understand. How can he? Is his sexual fate tied to this sort of thing? Hardly! Oh my God!

I’ve lost the bet. When I hang up, dumbfounded, the first thing I see on my phone is a text message from none other than Ira Mathison. Gulping, I open it.

“How about that? Bend over, Kathleen.”

Chapter 18

Ira

Idon’t care how necessary it is in the business world, if there’s anything I hate with such great tedium that my teeth hurt, it’s negotiations.

And when it comes to buying things for multiple millions, it’s 24/7 negotiating.

Like I said a few days ago, the Anderssens are asking for a stupid sum of money. We hoped that when we entered “negotiations” on Monday, they would be coming down to about thirty. Nope. From the moment we sat at the table, Kennedy said, “Forty million dollars.”

She’s an idiot. In this regard. She’s damn smart about a lot of other things.

Nevertheless, we have to play the game. The Ace is probably worth about half that. We already have an inspector and an appraiser checking things out, but it will be at least a week before we hear back. Doesn’t help that the Anderssens have the upper hand. This is an incredibly public transaction. The whole city knows about it. People know that my father and I want to buy. It’s only a matter of how much money the Anderssens can squeeze out of us.

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