momentarily,” he said, and
she produced a cool, professional smile as she nodded.
She calmly headed for the white,
overstuffed leather sitting-group by an unlit fireplace. She
frowned as she looked down at it. A fireplace? Who needs a
fireplace in tropical Biscayne Point, Florida? It was so pointless,
she thought with her usual cynicism.
Eyleen looked professional as the
attorney she was. She had arrived at the home of this very
important potential client, wanting to present her most capable
face. He was, after all, CEO and President of a large corporation
even though it was a pornography conglomerate.
The corporation made tens of millions
of dollars in revenue a year. If she succeeded in getting that
account, it would be the largest account the firm had ever won
since its inception twenty years ago.
Although it was breezy, sunny, and
beautiful in that part of Florida, thirty-four-year-old Eyleen
Pendleton would rather have remained in her air-conditioned office.
She was an attorney with Waterman, Vasquez, Oosterhout &
Associates LLP for nine years now, and four of those had been spent
playing foot soldier.
Over the years, she’d recruited more
than her fair share of finicky clients for the firm, and she
thought she was done with that. She was apparently wrong. That’s
why she was a little more than just a little miffed at being sent
out to recruit this one.
For some reason Edgar Waterman, senior
partner of the firm, wanted her to court this one personally. As a
favor, he said. It had been four years since she finally got to
hang up her saleswoman cap for the firm, and it irked her that she
had to dust it off one last time.
“ It better be the last
time,” she scoffed.
Ambitious Eyleen, however, wanted to
make partner. It was hinted at that, and if she could win this
client over, partnership would definitely be in the cards for
her.
She had to meet Mr. Ryan at his home
in the exclusive waterfront community. She would’ve preferred a
nice, neutral place for this meeting. Like a four star restaurant
or someplace like that, but Edgar Waterman had told her Mr. Ryan
wanted the meet at his home. She hoped it wouldn’t get ugly.
Clients usually felt empowered when doing business on their own
turf. It always made for a harder sell. Not impossible. Just more
difficult.
As always, she arrived a half hour
earlier than expected. It was always good to show punctuality with
possible new clients, but it was better when you went that extra
mile. In this case, unfortunately, it was necessary. There was
another law firm lobbying for this account. It just so happened
they were their chief competitor, too.
She took a seat in one of the four
armchairs. She sat prim and stiff with her briefcase set by her
brown, sling-back pumps. Her shoulder-length, dark brown hair was
naturally highlighted with gold, twisted up into a prim bun at the
back of her head. She wore a fitted long sleeve, maize-color satin
blouse, and copper-brown skirt . . . and a well-trained, serene
look on her face.
Although she appeared very
professional, unbeknownst to her, she also breathed a certain
sensuality that was hard to deny. The figure-fitting cut of her
outfit showed her curves nicely, and the satin blouse and tiny
waist emphasized her large, plump breasts.
Some moments later, Armand returned
with a tall glass of ice tea with a slice of lemon plunked on its
edge. She thanked him and he quietly left. She consulted her plain
wrist watch a couple of times while she had a sip of her refreshing
ice tea, trying to squelch her impatience. To divert it, she
quietly gazed around the room with big, azure-blue eyes; eyes that
always seemed to be in awe of something.
They were also eyes that successfully
hid her tenacious, unrelenting will.
As she gazed at the portraits of
tropical, Floridian landscapes and sparkling blue seascapes, her
mind wandered to her two children. Her two boys never did resemble
their father. In fact, they looked more like—
She