Overexposure - Closed thread for Huntress

[darrenfate]

PATRICK ALLEN SMITH

The flight from La Guardia airport in New York had been scheduled for 90 minutes ago and if he was lucky they would soon board. He mused that La Guardia must be Italian for “guaranteed delays”, since the airport had the worst on time flight record in the nation.

Having said his goodbyes yesterday night, Patrick still nursed a pounding hangover from the whole thing. Leaving Jenny had been tough, they had just begun a relationship but it was so new that both understood it would not span the New York to San Francisco distance. Still, last night’s sympathy fuck had been incredible; with extra intensity due to his looming departure. Patrick was grateful that Jenny had slipped away in the early morning without another word. He would miss her.

The whirlwind nature of it all still amazed him. One day he was secure at the New York Museum of Modern Arts. He had discovered he had a knack for convincing elderly patrons to leave their life’s accumulation of photographic art to the museum for posterity. His generation would be eternally grateful he intoned when they spoke. The old folks looked in his youthful eyes and believed they preserved their own small bit of mortality. Daguerreotypes and fine art black and white photography had become his specialty. He fully expected to retire from this same museum some day. Then wham. Cut backs were necessary they had said. Low seniority made him vulnerable, and at the ripe old age of 28 he had only 4 years of it.

Not to worry the curator told him. “I am owed several favors, and it’s time to call them in.” Soon after he was on a “phone interview” where after a few cursory questions they told Patrick that he was hired sight unseen based on his reference. Not references mind you, but reference. The old curator had clout. A formal employment letter was arrived via Fedex the very next day.

That was just two weeks ago. Now here he was, finally aboard that west bound 767. Stretching his long legs into the aisle, Patrick relaxed for the first time that day.

He was supposed to report to an M Hughes, the photographic section curator the next morning. Patrick and Mr. Hughes had never spoken before. Probably some other old geezer – this industry was full of them. Well, look at the bright side Patrick. He had a lot to learn yet, and SF was the place to be on the Left coast. This M. Hughes could teach him the ropes. Hell in just another five years he could pick his own position anywhere. He had asked Human Resources to start right away, he’d acclimatize to SF on the fly. The advantages of youth.

Patrick fell asleep before the wheels came up, dreaming of Jenny and her bouncing red hair as she rode him deep into the night ….

 

[Huntress]

Miranda Hughes

The small basement office, whose glass door bore swashed gilt letters, “Curator, Photographic Collection, M. Hughes,” was close and warm. Late afternoon sun filtered through the wide, old-fashioned Venetian blinds catching lazily swirling dust motes in brilliant stripes of light. An antiquated black steel catalog file stacked haphazardly with sheaves of yellowed paper, corners curled by heat and age, appeared zebra-like in the shadow play of the blinds. Gleaming streaks made a crazy illuminated roadmap as they spilled over worn furniture and wilting plants. The room’s sole occupant was bent over a small light table with a loupe affixed to her right eye, scanning a series of black and white slides, oblivious to the interplay of light and shadow about her.

A soft knock at the door failed to disturb the black haired woman from her task. A second attempt, louder and more insistent, made her sit up and blink as she refocused on the three-dimensional here and now. She set the loupe down and switched off the light table before responding to the petite girl outside.

“Come in, Hillary. What is it?”

Miranda Hughes was an imposing person. In her mid-forties, she was a tall, handsome woman with black hair and deceptively warm hazel eyes. Her competitors would agree that it was nearly impossible to beat her to new acquisitions; she had an unparalleled network of contacts, donors or purveyors of rarities seldom refused her cultured (and generous) offers and she had a remarkable gift for organization be it in the archives or arranging new exhibitions. Her staff would (and did) tell newcomers that they’d better learn to keep their personal lives separate from work because Ms. Hughes was all business and didn’t tolerate even the slightest mixture of the two. They’d also relate her even-handed dealing with subordinates and unflappable demeanor. It might not be all fun and games in her department, but Miranda ran tight ship without playing favorites or politicking in the office and was highly regarded by both her employees and upper management.

“Um, Ms. Hughes? I’m sorry to bother you but you did ask me to remind you about your dinner engagement with Randolph Meriweather this evening. I made reservations at Trader Joe’s for you at seven thirty.”

A slender hand brushed aside a few stray tendrils at her temple.

“Thank you, Hillary. I completely forgot about that. It wouldn’t do to stand him up, not while he’s still waffling over whether or not to donate a gorgeous Cartier-Bresson to the permanent collection.”

“Shall I call a taxi for you?”

“No, thanks. I need to freshen up. I’ll take care of it, Hillary. Say, isn’t it time for you to be running along? It’s almost six.”

“Yes, Ms. Hughes. I’m just on my way out. Oh, I almost forgot. You’re meeting with the new hire tomorrow morning at ten. Patrick Smith.”

Her face remained placid while she groaned inwardly. Thank you, Herbert! You and your good old boy’s network. What a time to bring in a greenhorn!

“I’ve already made a note of it on my calendar. Now off you go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Ms. Hughes.”

She watched languidly as the girl disappeared down the corridor. Another college student who’d be leaving as soon as she completed her degree, married or, became pregnant. Good help was so hard to find these days. Where had the passion gone in the young? Was there no one who understood the value of the museum’s trust? To preserve, restore and hold the finest examples of art in perpetuity for all people? Miranda sighed and shook her head slightly. She fully expected Mr. Smith to confirm her dismal opinion of the up-and-coming in her profession. Fortunately, he would not be making his arrival until tomorrow and she was determined to part Mr. Meriweather from his cherished Bresson gelatin silver print tonight.

http://www.huntressweb.com/litimages/Bresson01.jpg
HENRI CARTIER - BRESSON, (Srinagar), Kashmir 1948

 

[darrenfate]

PATRICK

http://www.tfaoi.com/am/6am/6am195.jpg



Patrick walked up to the magnificent buildings that comprise the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, and stood for a full two minutes in simple awe. He knew how lucky he was to have landed on his feet so fast, and particularly at such a prestigeous institution.

He ran his hand through his gelled hair as he quickly turned and walked in. They certainly wouldn't be disappointed in him, he vowed. Patrick resolved then and there to do anything it took to be successful. And it all started with being on time for his first day. He hurried in, and was ushered to Human Resources.

Two hours of the usual paperwork ensued including health insurance forms, payroll W2s, and 401K elections fund selections. Finally, he stood outside the office of Mr. Hughes. He spoke to his secretary, the embossed nameplate on her desk read "Hillary Weems".

Hello, my name is Patrick, Patrick Allen Smith the new assistant curator in photography. I have an appointment with Mr. Hughes, would you tell him I'm here please?

Curiously, Hillary laughed - sort of a knowing inside joke kind of laugh. Patrick smiled back, and turned towards the door. Quickly he checked his zipper to make sure it was closed <that's a guy thing>. He heard Hillary call and then beckon him in.

Patrick squared his shoulders and then opened the door and strode into the office talking as he went.

Mr. Hughes, I am so pleased to ..........

The last words hung in the air.

Patrick felt his face turn beet red as he blushed furiously as he instantly realized his mistake. Mr. Hughes was no such thing, Ms. Hughes stood in front of him, an amused look on her face.

She was magnificent. Tall, and very very striking with flashing green eyes and black hair that shone in the mid morning sun. She was also considerably older than Patrick - how much he had no idea. He had never been even remotely attracted to an older woman before, this was a first. He literally had to tear his gaze away from her body to snap out of it.

All this flashed through Patrick's mind in the 10 seconds he just stood there jaw gaping. He struggled mightily to speak finally managing to croak out -

Oh, I'm soooo sorry. Ms. Hughes. I, er, that is should I call you ahh Ms. Hughes or something else ...

Patrick paused, just praying she would start speaking and bail him out ...

 

[Huntress]

Miranda

She was sorting through the previous day’s memoranda when Hillary’s blonde head popped in and announced Patrick Smith’s arrival. The girl had a funny smirk on her face, which Miranda found both perplexing and amusing. Maybe he was an absolute geek. It mattered little because she’d had nothing to do with his engagement. Herbert Vanderpool assured her Mr. Smith was quite eligible for the position having just come from New York and MoMA (as though the mere mention of the names carried enough significance to establish his worth) and that was sufficient for the board, therefore, it should be adequate endorsement for her. As long as he pulls his own weight and follows instructions…

There was a quick shuffle as Hillary sidestepped to allow the new assistant curator to slip by. Patrick Smith’s gleaming dark hair and cock-sure posture belied his youth as he entered the office addressing “Mr. Hughes.” Miranda had an awful time keeping a straight face when he realized the depth of his error and paused for an interminable, slack-jawed, his cheeks flushing crimson.

He’s staring! What on earth can this young pup find so distracting? And why do my bones suddenly feel like they’re made of rubber? Miranda! You’re old enough to be his mother, for gawd’s sake. Snap out of it!

“I’m Miranda Hughes, you may address me as Ms. Hughes,” she said extending her hand. “And I accept your apology. It’s a common misapprehension. I expect most people think of curators as decrepit old bookworms. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Smith. Herbert Vanderpool has given you quite a strong recommendation and I look forward to your joining our department. You’ve met Hillary, my secretary? She’ll be your guide this morning; show you where you can hang your hat, etc. Hillary? Did you give him the catalog and prospectus? Good. Make yourself familiar with the permanent collection, Mr. Smith, and then I’d like to you to meet me in the cafeteria at 1 p.m., so we can go over some of the pieces on the acquisitions list. We’ll be leaving for Athens on Thursday and I’ll need you to be up to speed on Theo Antonopoulis’ Stieglitz collection by then. Any questions?”

He shook his head and gulped visibly.

“No, no questions right now, Ms. Hughes. Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you at 1 p.m., then.”

Hillary was still trying to get a rise out of her as she closed the door, eyes rolling exaggeratedly.

“Thank you, Hillary. Please make sure to provide Mr. Smith any supplies he might require before our lunch meeting.”

Hillary nodded with a conspiratorial wink and ushered the young man out of the office. Miranda absentmindedly stared at the frosted glass door. Up until a few minutes ago, she would have said the most delicious sensation in the last twenty-four hours was when Meriweather agreed to relinquish the Cartier-Bresson over dessert. Now she wasn’t sure.

 

[darrenfate]

Patrick

Patrick left Mirand'a office, with extremely mixed feelings How could he have been turned on like that? Who the hell knows. Athens! My God how wonderful? Something about being in Athens with Mirada made him physically squirm. Then there was the Hillary issue.

Hillary, I just want to say that I deserved that back there. I came on way too strong and I'm really not like that. I deserved what I got. Let me start over.

Hillary, I'm Patrick. Patrick Allen Smith. Nice to meet you. I am thrilled to be here.

Patrick stuck out his hand with a sheepish grin on his face. To her credit Hillary laughed and shook it.

You really did deserve that Patrick, but I forgive you. Now here is your desk and I have already tabbed the catalog on the section detailing Theo Antonopoulis’ Stieglitz collection. Just ask me for anything you need from now on, ok?

Patrick nodded, very glad that he was forgiven. He rapidly started reading the section. One section became two - then he pulled out a dog eared book called " Alfred Stieglitz : Photographs & Writings". He never signed his work, a detail that many modern forgers missed. Fascinating stuff.

Minutes turned into dozens then suddenly he realized with a sickening feeling he was late ! 1:35 already. Damn it ....

Patrick raced out the door flying down the old marble steps two at a time. He barely avoided an elderly woman who glared at him with unconcealed malice.

Patrick made it to the cafeteria only to see that Miranda was nowhere in sight? Was she late? Was she peeved and had left him there as an object lesson on punctuality? What would she make him do to make it up? Would she fire him on the spot? FUCK !!

He sank miserably into the nearest chair.

What a miserable start to his new job! He sat there hoping against hope that he would be lucky this time and that she would show up unaware of his angst ...

 

[Huntress]

Miranda

After Patrick left her office, she set aside all but one memo, scribbled a brief response in the margin, and put it into Hillary’s tray. The others could wait until after lunch. Her next task couldn’t.

“Hillary, would you come in, please. There are a few things we need to go over…”

The balance of her morning was spent finalizing travel plans and giving Hillary the staff assignments for the following week. Correspondence, restoration schedules, and archive requests were each reviewed in turn. Hillary had sizeable stack of papers in front of her by the time the last bit of correspondence was dictated, and Miranda heard her stomach churn in a most unladylike fashion. She glanced at the wall clock. Twelve-fifty already?

“That’s everything on the critical list, Hillary. Thank you. I’m meeting Mr. Smith for lunch in a few minutes.” She smiled benevolently. “I’m sorry to have kept you from your own.”

They parted company at the office door. Miranda walked down the corridor and took the stairs up to the main level. A large crowd was gathered behind chrome stanchions waiting admission to the Chagall exhibit. It had been like this since the show opened in July and the board was ecstatic about the turnout. Weekends were even more heavily attended, but she seldom had to endure the throngs on Saturdays and Sundays. Just as well, since she detested crowds and excessive noise. Only two screaming tots today… I hope the restaurant’s quieter.

She crossed the expansive, sunlit atrium, nodded to a couple of docents and a security guard before ducking inside the café. It was still the lunch hour and very few tables were open. A quick survey of the diners showed no sign of Patrick so she ordered a cup of tea and sat down near a window. Between checking the galley proof of their latest catalog and reviewing her notes on Antonopoulis for the hundredth time, she had plenty to keep her busy until he arrived.

Thirty minutes later, her tea was cold and Patrick was still a ‘no-show’. This didn’t look good. First day on the job and he’s already missing appointments. Miranda kept her cool, gathered her things, and headed to the kitchen. Maybe Hillary had seen him. She dialed the extension and it rang straight to voicemail. She’s still at lunch. Now what? Paging was an option, but one that inevitably brought on some form of public humiliation. Returning to her office was a better choice. It was, after all, the most obvious place for an errant new hire to find her. The alternatives became moot when she reached the double doors leading into the restaurant. Through the small circular windows, she spotted Patrick’s dark hair and immaculate suit at the same table she’d just vacated. Well, well, well…

“Mr. Smith,” she greeted him. “I’d almost given up on you.”

Her chilly smile conveyed the rest of the message beyond question.

 

[darrenfate]

Patrick

Miranda - er, Ms. Hughes please excuse my tardiness. It, it won't happen again. I was so engrossed in my research on Steiglitz that I just totally lost track of the time. The museum's collection is fantastic! Seeing the photographs themselves rather than the poor representations in books is an almost religious kind of experience. Thay have a power quite unlike any I have ever seen before, look at this one. That face! I stared for 15 minutes reading his expression trying to look inside his mind. The scary thing is that I believed I actually could ....

http://www.artslides.com/gallery/images/64764.jpg

He could see that what started as a glare had given way to mirth. The sides of her mouth were upturned, and she was smiling despite herself. With a groan he realized he had been prattling on like a fool.

He stopped thinking about himself as he looked at Miranda. She really was quite beautiful. She had graceful lines, and an angular face that just seemed to work out perfectly in proportion to the rest of her body. Patrick, my boy knock it off. She is your boss for God's sake. A whole new city of undiscovered women were out there and here he was smitten with the first woman he had really talked to in San Francisco. Crazy. Yet somehow, it was a completely and utterly irresistable thought.

Patrick snapped out of his reverie, and got back in the present.

So, I think I've talked long enough on that ... what is it you'd have me do now Ms. Hughes? ......

 

[Huntress]

His enthusiasm was nearly tangible. Youth, zeal… She leaned in to get a better view of the image he was talking about. Miranda felt a light prickling sensation in her belly, which quickly became a manic butterfly looping in all directions. Her reaction had nothing to do with the photo. She could feel warmth emanating from his skin and detected the faint scent of soap; the combination was both utterly beguiling and unnerving. Only recognition of the photographer’s subject saved her from complete discomfiture and the sensual excitement was quickly buried beneath her professional mask.

“Mr. Smith, I’m gratified by your new found passion for Stieglitz and I’ll over look your late arrival, just this once,” she said with a tight smile. “You’re right. This is a marvelous face. I believe there are nearly five hundred documented images of this person. You ask what I’d have you do? Come with me. I’m going to acquaint with the artist and his subject.”

He looked perplexed, almost anxious, but gathered his things and followed her out of the restaurant.

“Alfred Stieglitz is arguably the most noted and influential American photographer of our century. His work spanned over seventy years and until his death in 1946, he practiced his craft with an unfailing eye for detail and beauty. Many believe he was the most significant promoter of photography being accepted on equal footing with more traditional art forms.”

They ascended the broad staircase leading to the second floor, which housed the museum’s permanent collection of photography. Patrick listened attentively as they turned into a gallery.

“The collection was acquired in 1952 and was, in part, a gift from Stieglitz widow. There are sixty-eight pieces in all and represent an excellent sampling of his life’s work. Among them are images of that person whose face you’re so taken with.”

She stopped in front of a large gelatin silver print showing a woman’s slender arms and elegant hands posed before a gently curving shape.

http://www.uca.edu/cfac/art/arthistory/images/Seymourimages/Wemon%20Images/Stieglitz00001a.jpg

“That face you’re so taken with belongs to Georgia O’Keefe, and while best known for her erotic florals and landscapes, she was also Stieglitz’ muse, model and wife.”

“Let me see Antonopoulos’ catalog, please. Here,” she said, turning to well-worn page. “This is one of the jewels in his collection. If we can come back with just this one print in hand, I’ll consider the trip a success.”

http://www.masters-of-photography.com/images/full/stieglitz/stieglitz_okeeffe_25.jpg


“It’s imperative that you familiarize yourself with not only the catalog, but details of Stieglitz relationship with O’Keefe. Antonopoulis is obsessed with the pair. I believe that if we both speak to his passion, there's an excellent chance of attaining our goal.”

She looked at Patrick expectantly.

“Are you ready to become a student again, Mr. Smith?”

 

[darrenfate]

Patrick

Patrick listened fascinated. He had never heard about the O'Keefe / Steiglitz romance before. How cool it must be to have your own muse, one who enables your creativity and indulges your eccentric whims. Ah, the life of an artist! Or artiste with an e to be precise.

Somewhere along the way during Miranda's speech, Patrick stopped listening to her words and started thinking about her as a very attractive woman. Perhaps it was all the Steiglitz talk, but for whatever reason Patrick didn't fight the urge at all. Freely, he let his eyes trace the gentle curves of her neckline, he even focused on the sides of her mouth that moved so alluringly as she spoke ... whatever it was that she was saying now.

Miranda rose still talking. As he followed her out, Patrick fell in step a pace behind her and as she climbed the marble staircase he was rewarded by the seductive sway of her ass. He couldn't quite believe his eyes when the stopped in front of the nude. Miranda looked at the photo as she spoke, and Patrick couldn't help but admire the side view of her impressive bustline. He knew that these were just horny fantasies of his, probably caused by the fact that he missed the warmth of Jenny's body wrapped around him. Whatever the reason, he didn't care. The sexuality of Miranda overpowered him, and he gave in willingly.

*Snap out of this Patrick or she'll notice!* He thought.

Miranda paused, and looked at him quizically. Her question lingered in the air and Patrick took just a bit too long responding. Something about being a student again.

Yes, of course Ms. Hughes. You can count on me. I'll be prepared

To do what, Patrick had no idea. Probably research something.

Impulsively, Patrick flipped his pen past Miranda. It hit the ground and as he had hoped, she bent over to retrieve it.

*OMG YES* was followed by a sense of dread.

Sorry Ms. Hughes, how careless.

The words were there but the look on his face betrayed the fact that he was anything but sorry. He was on very thin ice at least in his own head. She could fire him on the spot for God's sake! That is if she was aware at all. Or even if she was, if she minded his overtness.

Hell, he might as well go down swinging, Patrick never was the shy type and he definitley knew what he wanted now. Her name was Miranda Hughes. So, he took his best shot.

Ms. Hughes, are you busy tonight? I'd love to take you to dinner and get the inside scoop on San Francisco from a local. I've got some work to do on Steiglitz, how about 7? I haven't been to the Wharf yet - where shall we go?

Patrick tried this practiced presumptive close that worked so well on New York donors. Don't ask "if" , propose a "when" and have them modify the time is they want. That way - she never has top say "yes" to the initial premise - going out with him in the first place.

He summoned up his best smile, and stood waiting her response ...

 

[Huntress]

Miranda

The invitation sent a host of feelings to roiling inside her. Triumph because his behavior suddenly made sense; all the oblique glances followed by more frank efforts to observe her (he actually tossed his pen, for heaven’s sake!), and finally a dinner offer. She almost yelped with satisfaction. The brazen pup is trying to seduce me! Is this how he managed to curry favor with Herb? Or maybe Herbert’s wife has more influence than I give her credit for… Panic quickly replaced exultation as she realized how much she wanted to accept. Oh my gawd… he’s so young and beautiful… so full of himself… Ultimately the fear was superseded by anger: first toward Patrick for behaving so boldly and disrespectfully and then at her own uncontrollable reactions.

“Mr. Smith, I need you to listen to me closely,” she said, lowering her voice to a soft hiss to conceal its trembling. “This is your first day on the job so I’ll forgive and even overlook your boldness. While the museum has no official policy regarding interoffice fraternization, I do. My personal, long-standing principle is to avoid mixing my intimate life with museum business or its employees. Secondly, we are not peers in the workplace and because I’m your immediate supervisor accompanying you to the wharf for dinner is wholly inappropriate. This department has enough to occupy its collective attention without the distraction such an even would create if it became common knowledge. I’m incurring enough risks by taking you to Athens.” She shuddered at the thought. “Your offer is very flattering, Mr. Smith, but I must respectfully decline. Please honor my wishes in this matter or you’ll find yourself cataloging student work in short order.

Now, I’m going back to my office. I’d like you to take the next fifteen or twenty minutes to reflect on what I’ve just said. If you feel that you can work within these confines and with me, come downstairs and we'll begin to strategize our meeting with Antonopoulis.”

Miranda turned and walked away, heart hammering in her chest, and for the first time regretted the hardline stance she’d adopted so many years ago.

 

[Huntress]

Oops...

OOC: Hit the wrong button... in the wrong thread...

 

[Huntress]

Miranda

Her descent into the warren of offices beneath the museum was purposefully slow. She listened in vain for the clatter of hard leather soles against the marble steps or the sound of her name whispered in harsh, urgent tones. She dreamt he would catch her and toyed with a fleeting image; his hands grasping her shoulders, pressing her to the stairway wall as his mouth crushed her lips and the trim gray skirt rode up her thighs with an upward stroke of his knee. The vision cleared and she paused on the last step, her heart beating wildly as she strained to hear one sound that gave her hope. There was nothing. Only the dull murmur of indistinct voices and the shuffling feet of the crowd overhead.

The sound of her heels raised a sharp echo in the empty corridor leading toward her office as she abandoned the stairs and her fantasy.

“Hillary, will you hold all of my calls, please. I’ll be on long distance to Athens for the next half hour or so. If Mr. Smith arrives while I’m on the line, just have him come in.” She hesitated. “Oh, and would you please verify that the travel office has our flights booked for day after tomorrow? I haven’t seen the confirmations come across my desk yet. Thanks.”

Hillary’s blond head nodded as she scribbled some notes on her pad. Miranda didn’t wait for further acknowledgement but headed through the reeded glass door into her office and pushed it shut with one foot.

There’s nothing for it now but to wait and see if he shows up. And maybe try to be less hard nosed…

She sat down heavily in the leather chair, slipped off her shoes, propped her feet on up on an open drawer and picked up the phone. Theo Antonopoulis loved to talk about his collection. If he was going to prattle for half an hour, she was damned well going to be comfortable while he did so.

 

[darrenfate]

Patrick

Now, I’m going back to my office. I’d like you to take the next fifteen or twenty minutes to reflect on what I’ve just said. If you feel that you can work within these confines and with me, come downstairs and we'll begin to strategize our meeting with Antonopoulis.”

Miranda Hughes words hung in the air long after she had turned on heel and left Patrick standing there mouth agape. Patrick's mind whirled she had looked right through him, his intellectual wordplay had let him down only to be revealed for what it truly was - self indulgent and not-so-clever. The thing was, his actual spoken words were innocent enough, although he knew that she knew his real intent. That was the frightening part, he had been read like a book, damn it!

He stood there for what seemed to be weeks before he could move again. A humbled Patrick climbed the stairs up to her office - all thoughts of Miranda as a sex object had vanished under the weight of her withering reprimand.

He walked into Ms. Hughes outer office - Hilary was nowhere in sight at the moment although he could hear her voice down the hall next to the Xerox machine. Her inner door was halfway open and he could see her seated at her desk a tidy stack of papers on her left and a smaller but equally ordered stack of papers on her right. He could see her, but she could not see him. As he watched, she took the top document, signed it, and placed it neatly onto the other pile. She never looked up, and he felt safe watching her unobserved for the moment. Somehow this was a clue about her personality, Patrick knew, but right now he willed his mind to watch and not wonder.

This was the consumate business woman in her comfortable surroundings. He had been a fool to ever think that she would take risks in her own workspace. He could play the businessman as well as anyone and now was the time. He had better move - he could here Hilary's heels making hollow sounds coming back down the hallway. He spoke loudly as he stood in her doorway -

Hello?

Ms. Hughes looked up -

Hi. Hilary isn't here so I called out. I want to apologize for before, of course we are not peers Ms Hughes, and in today's age of sexual harassment suits I realize now that I was entirely innappropriate in putting you in that situation. I meant no disrespect, and you can trust me that it will never happen again. I am now fully ready to participate in our conference call scheduled for - three minutes - from now. If that is, you accept my apology" ....

 

[Huntress]

Miranda

She gazed at him evenly and turned toward the door so he could see the handset pressed to her left ear. Motioning with her free hand, she waved Patrick in and pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Please sit down,” she mouthed silently, put a finger to her lips and pressed the speaker button.

“…Miranda, you must agree that my Stieglitz prints are a treasure beyond compare.” His thick accent and deep tenor sounded weak and tinny coming through the phone.

“Mmmhmm. Yes, Theo. You’re absolutely right about that.”

“I would not consider selling even one of them except that it is you who is asking. You arrive in the morning, yes? Will you join me for breakfast?”

“Thank you for the kind offer, Theo. The flight arrives very early Friday morning, just after midnight in fact. Too late for dinner and too early for breakfast, I’m afraid. Could we meet for lunch?”

“Certainly. I will send a car for you at two o’clock. Where are you staying?”

She glanced at Patrick and knitted her brows, thinking fast.

“My assistant and I are booked at the Electra Palace.”

There was a long pause before he responded.

“I see. Well then, I shall make lunch reservations for three. Miranda, it has been a pleasure speaking with you. Until Friday, my dear.”

“Thank you, Theo. I look forward to seeing you again. Goodbye.”

The receiver clattered into its cradle as Miranda’s forehead came to rest in her upturned hand. She sighed deeply, then sat up straight, eyes closed, and shook her head ever so slightly, as though to dislodge an unpleasant thought. Opening one hazel orb, she noted that Patrick was still sitting there, silent and attentive. A wave of chagrin swept up from the pit of her stomach and lodged in her throat. He’s probably waiting for the next scolding.

“Will you please shut the door, Mr. Smith?”

“Mr. Smith… May I call you Patrick?” He nodded, returning to his seat, still silent. “I want to be perfectly candid with you, Patrick. About six months ago, I petitioned the board to hire an assistant curator. Normally, I have discretionary authority to bring in personnel when needed but an assistant’s salary has to be approved by the board. Well, they sanctioned my request, but gave me no option to interview candidates because Herbert Vanderpool had his eye on someone “young and brilliant,” yes, I believe that was how he put it, and hired him outright.” She shrugged. “He informed me that I would be delighted with his selection. I was not in a strong position to argue. What Herb wants, Herb gets – he brings a lot of very deep pockets to the table besides his own. I’m sure you can imagine why I might find the situation difficult to accept with any measure of grace.”

He grimaced and nodded again as she continued.

“I’ve reviewed your credentials, Patrick. Given your youth and inexperience, they are quite impressive. Someone ten years your senior would be proud of your accomplishments. I believe you are capable of becoming a valuable addition to the department, if we can come to some understanding, some agreement about how we work together. I think our biggest problem is going to be…”

Miranda hesitated, cleared her throat, and fixed him with a steady gaze.

“My biggest problem,” she corrected herself, “will be curbing the way I feel when you look at me.”

 

[Mistress Jorja]

.

 

[darrenfate]

Patrick

Patrick sat in her comfortable chair listening to Miranda's voice. It had a sense of playfulness that had been entirely missing from her conversations with him before. With Patrick a more managerial tone underscored all her words. Now, with the Greek, she was downright funloving for God's sake. Oh, and one more thing - the voice made her ever more womanly, ever more desireable.

Patrick imagined kissing her long neck, and getting utterly lost in the sheer sensual pleasure that act would bring. Snap out of it Patrick! How soon he had lost the willpower to keep those sexual thoughts at bay! Damn. Why couldn't he been assigned to a man?

Those thoughts drifted away as he heard her mention the Electra Palace. A friend of his had just been there and raved about it. The Electra Palace - Thessaloniki had just reopened after a seven-months period wherein it was fully renovated and refurbished, upgraded to the 5 star category. It sat on the old world Aristotelous Square on one side and the cerulean blue waters of the gulf on the other. Patrick began to get excited. This was a beautiful venue - and Patrick would be in the company of an equally beautiful woman.

Her voice broke his silent reverie. There was an odd look on Miranda's face as she asked him to close the door. Dutifully, Patrick complied.

... “My biggest problem,” she corrected herself, “will be curbing the way I feel when you look at me.”

Shock bolted down his spine like an electric current. Nothing she could have said would have surprised him more. Time seemed to stand still. A million random thoughts raced through his mind - dozens of verbal replies were rejected in a flash as being too weak. He needed strength. His next action surprised even Patrick.

He walked behind the desk to where Miranda sat, her questioning green eyes wide and beautiful. Reaching out his hands he beckoned her to rise. She stood, taking his hands in hers.

Then, still without saying a word, he kissed her full on the lips. Without hesitation, she kissed him back, her long graceful body melting into his. He traced her backbone down from the neck, slowly pulling her tighter and tighter against him. Miranda arched her back, and when she did threw back her head exposing that elegant neck.

Like a dream come true, Patrick kissed her there, a low moan of contentment escaped his lips. This was the moment of truth. Miranda was by all rights the forbidden fruit.

Call me Adam.

 

[Huntress]

Miranda - Better late than never...

"Damn…"

The long fingered hands she’d imagined sensuously gliding over some Grecian statue were suddenly skimming over her vertebrae; a finger tip kiss, quick intake of breath, she gasped. Oh heavens… “To hell with the Artemis, I want those discriminating digits roaming over my skin!”

“Patrick! Oh…”

A deep, rasping sound of a voice, her voice, shocked the present moment into harsh focus. Suddenly the sensation of fingertips tracing her spine and warm lips smothering her mouth was irritating instead of welcome.

“Mmmmph… Pat… mmm. Aaaah…. Mr…. Smith!"

She extracted herself gingerly, placing a delicate hand against Patrick’s chest.

Her heart was hammering a beat just slightly faster that the one she felt beneath her palm.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of. You’re so… damned… desirable… er… distracting…”

Patrick blinked and actually smirked with still wet lips, just the hint of a dimple flickered on one cheek.

“What a rogue!” she thought, smiling inwardly. “It suits him better than the puppy act.”

“Theo Antonopoulos is a shark, and a clever one. He’ll smell our attraction to one another like blood in the water. That’s an advantage I don’t intend to give him. There’s nothing he enjoys more than having an edge over his opponent and he’s not above setting his adversaries up to do battle against one another. Several of my able colleagues from very fine institutions have underestimated Theo and come away from their negotiations politically bloodied – literally shredded a considerable reputation in one case – and empty handed. I have never fallen short of my acquisition goals and failure to obtain these prints is not an option I will entertain. Do you understand?”

A slight nod and another shadowy grin acknowledged her question.

She paused, still breathing a bit hard, and waited for the heat to fade from her cheeks and loins. As she gazed at Patrick distractedly and wrestled with the demon, Desire, a scheme began to emerge from her turbulent thoughts. One elegant eyebrow arched, her gaze intensified and focused.

“There may be a way to satisfy all our hungers. Remember I told you that Theo was obsessed with Stieglitz’ relationship with O’Keefe? It occurs to me that we might be able to play his fixation to our advantage. How do you feel about role-playing, Patrick?

Hazel eyes gazed into his, trying to intuit a response.