What Money Can Buy by Katie Cramer Page B

quite looking forward to our little adventure together. You might learn something."
    "No disrespect, M r King, but why aren't you taking Amanda , your personal assistant? Surely s he's more qualified for this than I am."
    "Because," he said with a sigh, "Amanda is very good but I need someone who isn't going to question everything I do. As you will soon find out, I work hard and play hard. Amanda can be…w ell, she can be a pain in the a s s at times."
    I smiled. He was absolutely right, of course.
    "Let's ju st keep that between us, okay?"
    He walked back to his desk and I began to leave his office . "Thank you, Mr King," I said.
    He didn't look up. "Jason. Call me Jason."
     
     

TWO
     
     
    After eight-and-a-half hours in the air, I touched down in Milan. Jason had already left the day before in order to catch up with business he had to attend to overnight. He was generous, though – my flight was in business class and I managed to not only sleep on a fully-reclining chair , but also read a book in peace and quiet. Now I was here, I could hardly believe my eyes. The city was fast and congested, not unlike New York in many ways, except I couldn't speak a word of the language. Luckily, a driver had been arranged to pick me up from the airport and take me straight to the meeting we had with Jason's supplier.
    Jason was late. The stocky Italian guy opposite me kept tapping at his watch and sigh ing out loud. He said some things in Italian – some of which seem ed fairly bad tempered – and I nervously smiled at him. He smiled back and , a couple of times , gestured to the coffee machine. At first I assumed he wanted me to get him one , but he was more concerned about my well-being . I politely made myself an espresso and sipped at it nervously. He left the room and returned moments later with a box of Amaretto biscuits for me, miming dipping motions with his hands. It seemed, even though my boss was annoying the hell out of him, he actually wanted to take care of me.
    That wasn’t all he wanted. Both he and a colleague kept looking at me, glancing at my long legs beneath the glass desk and staring at my bare neck. It was hot in Milan and a tight, plunging top probably hadn’t been the best choice of attire. Still, it distracted them. I was used to men checking me out, even if I was running down a New York street with headphones blasting Arcade Fire into my ears while sweat dripped off me. I didn’t care anymore.
    Now I knew why Jason brought me here. Looks don't hurt.
    When Jason finally arrived, he stormed into the room, shook the guy's hand, and immediately launched into what I could tell was a tirade in Italian. The man next to me desperately tried to translate as quickly as possible so I could make notes. I did my best but it got fairly heated. Eventually the Italian went a shade of crimson red and, hands waving around as he spoke, seemed to be apologizing . Jason sat down, glaring at the Italian . He looked over to me and flashed a little smile. I felt my heart beat faster for a second and I looked back down to my notepad, full of incomprehensible scribblings that I would simply have to turn into something remotely decipherable later on.
    Eventually they shook hands, embraced, and all seemed well again. Jason put his hand on my shoulder and ushered me out. What an absolutely bizarre meeting.
    I felt myself getting angry inside. Had he really brought me here just as eye candy?
    "Mr King…"
    He put the palm of his hand up. "Outside," he sternly replied.
    Once we had left the building, he turned to me. "Never, ever discuss anything while you are still in the building of another company. It doesn't matter whether they're suppliers or customers. Walls have ears."
    I looked up at him. Even in my five inch heels, he towered above my petite frame . "You always maintain silence on the way out ?"
    "Yes," he replied. "Every advantage is important, no matter how small. ”
    "Why did you bring me here? I had virtually