Claim
Page 128
“Oh, God.” She clutched his shoulders, her head falling back limply as his thumb flicked over her clit. “What - what is it?”
He smiled at her wickedly. “Tying you to the bed before we work our way down the list.”
Epilogue
Two and a half years later “Now that, ladies, is a man who definitely knows how to wear a suit. Not to mention one who has aged very, very well. Just like a really expensive bottle of red wine. Which coincidentally is the same color as Mr. Suit’s tie.”
The three friends – and co-workers – had decided to stop in at the very posh Gregson Hotel on Nob Hill for an after-work cocktail before heading out to do some holiday shopping. It was the Monday after Thanksgiving, and all of the department stores in the nearby Union Square shopping district were having big sales. The three woman, ranging in age from their late twenties to their mid thirties, were currently seated in the elegant lobby bar of San Francisco’s most luxurious hotel, and observing all the goings-on around them. The towering Christmas tree in the lobby was due to be lit shortly, and there were dozens of guests – many with small children – already assembled in anticipation of the annual event. The three women had already discovered, much to their dismay, that the tree lightning ceremony and accompanying festivities were strictly for hotel guests or those who had been otherwise invited.
But it hadn’t stopped the three women from craning their necks for a better view of the lobby to see what was unfolding, and definitely hadn’t deterred them from people watching. They were all single and currently unattached, and often patronized upscale establishments like the Gregson in the hopes of meeting some rich, handsome men – very much like the tall, dark haired one dressed in an obviously expensive black pinstriped suit who had caught their eye.
“Mmm, I’ll say,” agreed Gen, the youngest member of the group, a petite, dark-haired woman of Asian descent. “Though he’s probably at least twenty years older than I am. That’s just a little too old for me.”
The statuesque brunette, the one who’d first commented on the object of their attention, shook her head emphatically. “Honey, a man like that is never too anything. And I’m guessing he’s only in his early forties. Wouldn’t matter anyway, given what a hunk he is.”
Their slightly plump blonde companion nodded in agreement. “Stacey’s right. He’s the sort that will always look good, no matter what his age. You don’t see many men who look like him around these days. And it’s almost a given that someone that hot is already taken.”
Stacey, who was always the boldest, most outspoken, and most flirtatious of the trio, gave a little shrug. “Maybe not. Attractive guys like him wouldn’t need to settle for just one woman. Most of the really handsome men I’ve met over the years have a huge ego, and like to date a lot of different women. I’m betting Mr. Suit over there is no different.”
Gen elbowed Stacey in the ribs. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” she challenged slyly. “You always say it never hurts to ask.”
Stacey hesitated, not wanting to admit to her friends that she felt oddly intimidated, and definitely out of her league, about approaching someone as obviously sophisticated and confident as the man in the pinstriped suite appeared. “I’m not sure I can even get to him,” she argued. “All of these people keep coming up and asking him questions, like he’s in charge of this place or something.”
“Maybe he is,” replied Carly, the blonde, who was the oldest one of the trio. “Maybe he’s the manager of the hotel or something. Let’s find out.”
Carly beckoned their waiter over, a young man with a charming Irish accent and a ready smile.
“Are you ladies ready for a refill?” he inquired. “Or perhaps some appetizers?”
Carly shook her head. “Can you tell us who that man is over there?” she asked, pointing in the direction of the dark haired man they’d been ogling. “He seems like someone important.”
The waiter nodded. “Of course. That would be Mr. Ian Gregson, the owner of this hotel.”
The three women let out a collective gasp at this news, with Gen giving Stacey another nudge.
“Good looking, powerful, and rich,” she murmured. “What are you waiting for, girl? Go give it your best shot.”
Stacey continued to hesitate, still unwilling to acknowledge her lack of confidence. “I don’t know,” she mused. “He doesn’t seem very approachable.”
Carly brightened. “I know. Why don’t you just send a drink over to him? That way if he refuses it, or doesn’t bother trying to find out who sent it, there’s no harm done.”
Stacey grinned at her friend. “Great idea! Now, what do you suppose Mr. Suit - I mean, Mr. Gregson - likes to drink? The Gregsons are British, right? So probably a martini, or Scotch.”
“I’d go with a martini,” advised Gen. “More sophisticated.”
Stacey nodded. “I agree. Martini it is. Now, let’s see. What should I write on the note?” She grabbed a cocktail napkin and fished a pen out of her purse. “It’s got to be something clever, something that will definitely get his attention. I know!”
She wrote on the paper napkin carefully, not wanting to tear it, then held it up triumphantly for her friends to read.
Gen rolled her eyes. “Really, Stace? That’s the best you could come up with? ‘Cheers! From the future mother of your children’. I think you’re losing your touch, girl.”
“And I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” drawled Carly, “but I’m pretty sure someone’s beaten you to the punch on that one, Stacey. Take a look.”
All three women turned to watch as first a little girl of about four years old ran excitedly towards Ian Gregson, quickly followed by a boy who was a year or so younger. Ian crouched down and scooped both children into a fierce hug, then pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks. The girl had long, curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, and was wearing a green velvet dress, while her brother had the same dark hair and hazel eyes as their father, and was dressed in gray pants and a navy pullover sweater. Both children were beautiful, and it was obvious how much they adored their handsome father.
Stacey gave a tiny shrug. “Just because he’s hugging them doesn’t mean he’s their father. He could be their uncle, for example.”
He smiled at her wickedly. “Tying you to the bed before we work our way down the list.”
Epilogue
Two and a half years later “Now that, ladies, is a man who definitely knows how to wear a suit. Not to mention one who has aged very, very well. Just like a really expensive bottle of red wine. Which coincidentally is the same color as Mr. Suit’s tie.”
The three friends – and co-workers – had decided to stop in at the very posh Gregson Hotel on Nob Hill for an after-work cocktail before heading out to do some holiday shopping. It was the Monday after Thanksgiving, and all of the department stores in the nearby Union Square shopping district were having big sales. The three woman, ranging in age from their late twenties to their mid thirties, were currently seated in the elegant lobby bar of San Francisco’s most luxurious hotel, and observing all the goings-on around them. The towering Christmas tree in the lobby was due to be lit shortly, and there were dozens of guests – many with small children – already assembled in anticipation of the annual event. The three women had already discovered, much to their dismay, that the tree lightning ceremony and accompanying festivities were strictly for hotel guests or those who had been otherwise invited.
But it hadn’t stopped the three women from craning their necks for a better view of the lobby to see what was unfolding, and definitely hadn’t deterred them from people watching. They were all single and currently unattached, and often patronized upscale establishments like the Gregson in the hopes of meeting some rich, handsome men – very much like the tall, dark haired one dressed in an obviously expensive black pinstriped suit who had caught their eye.
“Mmm, I’ll say,” agreed Gen, the youngest member of the group, a petite, dark-haired woman of Asian descent. “Though he’s probably at least twenty years older than I am. That’s just a little too old for me.”
The statuesque brunette, the one who’d first commented on the object of their attention, shook her head emphatically. “Honey, a man like that is never too anything. And I’m guessing he’s only in his early forties. Wouldn’t matter anyway, given what a hunk he is.”
Their slightly plump blonde companion nodded in agreement. “Stacey’s right. He’s the sort that will always look good, no matter what his age. You don’t see many men who look like him around these days. And it’s almost a given that someone that hot is already taken.”
Stacey, who was always the boldest, most outspoken, and most flirtatious of the trio, gave a little shrug. “Maybe not. Attractive guys like him wouldn’t need to settle for just one woman. Most of the really handsome men I’ve met over the years have a huge ego, and like to date a lot of different women. I’m betting Mr. Suit over there is no different.”
Gen elbowed Stacey in the ribs. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” she challenged slyly. “You always say it never hurts to ask.”
Stacey hesitated, not wanting to admit to her friends that she felt oddly intimidated, and definitely out of her league, about approaching someone as obviously sophisticated and confident as the man in the pinstriped suite appeared. “I’m not sure I can even get to him,” she argued. “All of these people keep coming up and asking him questions, like he’s in charge of this place or something.”
“Maybe he is,” replied Carly, the blonde, who was the oldest one of the trio. “Maybe he’s the manager of the hotel or something. Let’s find out.”
Carly beckoned their waiter over, a young man with a charming Irish accent and a ready smile.
“Are you ladies ready for a refill?” he inquired. “Or perhaps some appetizers?”
Carly shook her head. “Can you tell us who that man is over there?” she asked, pointing in the direction of the dark haired man they’d been ogling. “He seems like someone important.”
The waiter nodded. “Of course. That would be Mr. Ian Gregson, the owner of this hotel.”
The three women let out a collective gasp at this news, with Gen giving Stacey another nudge.
“Good looking, powerful, and rich,” she murmured. “What are you waiting for, girl? Go give it your best shot.”
Stacey continued to hesitate, still unwilling to acknowledge her lack of confidence. “I don’t know,” she mused. “He doesn’t seem very approachable.”
Carly brightened. “I know. Why don’t you just send a drink over to him? That way if he refuses it, or doesn’t bother trying to find out who sent it, there’s no harm done.”
Stacey grinned at her friend. “Great idea! Now, what do you suppose Mr. Suit - I mean, Mr. Gregson - likes to drink? The Gregsons are British, right? So probably a martini, or Scotch.”
“I’d go with a martini,” advised Gen. “More sophisticated.”
Stacey nodded. “I agree. Martini it is. Now, let’s see. What should I write on the note?” She grabbed a cocktail napkin and fished a pen out of her purse. “It’s got to be something clever, something that will definitely get his attention. I know!”
She wrote on the paper napkin carefully, not wanting to tear it, then held it up triumphantly for her friends to read.
Gen rolled her eyes. “Really, Stace? That’s the best you could come up with? ‘Cheers! From the future mother of your children’. I think you’re losing your touch, girl.”
“And I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” drawled Carly, “but I’m pretty sure someone’s beaten you to the punch on that one, Stacey. Take a look.”
All three women turned to watch as first a little girl of about four years old ran excitedly towards Ian Gregson, quickly followed by a boy who was a year or so younger. Ian crouched down and scooped both children into a fierce hug, then pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks. The girl had long, curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, and was wearing a green velvet dress, while her brother had the same dark hair and hazel eyes as their father, and was dressed in gray pants and a navy pullover sweater. Both children were beautiful, and it was obvious how much they adored their handsome father.
Stacey gave a tiny shrug. “Just because he’s hugging them doesn’t mean he’s their father. He could be their uncle, for example.”
