What? Of course I remember that day. How does a horny teenage boy not remember a pretty girl like Kathryn Alison sauntering up to him and swaying those come-hither hips and sending sex-signals with her eyes? I asked her to dance because I wanted to see if she was serious. While we danced, she kept talking about lingerie shopping and her favorite things to do in the bath. I don’t remember what I said to invite her into that closet, but next thing I remember I had my hands all over those breasts and hips and…

Well, you know the rest.

She’s grown quite a bit more since then. I daresay I barely recognize her. I only do because I have seen her off and on since that day. She’s taller now. Wider hips and bigger breasts she hides beneath designer pantsuits. Her stringy light-brown hair is now completely blond, sometimes bobbed above her shoulder, sometimes pulled back into a long ponytail, but today worn straight and long. Never seen it curled. Too high maintenance for a busy gal like Kathryn.

Her face is thinner, more pronounced. She wears subdued makeup that pops out her features without making them garish. Yeah, lots of men notice those things. Including me.

Because I look at Kathryn Alison. A lot.

Not because I’m plagued with that ugly memory of losing my business before I could even stick it in her, but because she’s a beautiful woman. My exact type, honestly. Confident, blond, can hold her own in a conversation or regular argument…

Fuck, she’s my perfect physical type. I can’t help but steal glances at her when we’re in the same room. Yes. Physical type.

Emotionally? Ha. Hahahahaha. Ha!

She may be hot, but we are as compatible as peas and gasoline. She was forward and domineering back then. Now it’s been amplified times ten.

Shit. She didn’t tell you, did she? That she’s a Domme?

Yup. Kathryn Alison, that pretty, feminine blonde sitting over there trying to clean up her coffee and not fuck up this deal is a Domme. Everyone who would know that, well, knows that.

And I would know.

Because I’m a Dom.

So, you see, we’re not really… compatible.

“Kathryn.” Neither Lana nor Ken is keen on holding her attention for much longer. No flirting with Kathryn Alison. Well, to be fair, she’s not the one involved with the buy, although my father is bringing her in for a part of our plan. It’s all our money going into the buy. Kathryn is here to help convince the Andrews to sell.

It’s kinda funny. The Andrews are willing to flirt with me, but they completely overlook Kathryn. Guess I’m that irresistible!

Sure enough, the four of us are cornered on one end of the table, our assistants perching with recorders and analog methods of note-taking. I don’t have my assistant here with me. Instead my dad and I are sharing his, a middle-aged woman named Bertha. I kid you not. My mother never allowed my father to have young assistants.

And then there’s Kathryn Alison, sitting by herself – well, with her assistant – down at the far end of the table. It’s cute. They look like they’re having their own conference about butterflies and ball-cutting.

“I hope you realize our hesitations,” Lana says twenty minutes into the meeting. Finally, we are cutting to the chase. “The Grand is a staple to the community. One of the reasons we haven’t done anything with it is because, quite frankly, we don’t want to deal with any backlash that comes with compromising a historical institution, no matter how much help it needs right now. Sure, we could simply sell it to you…” She leans back in her chair, cleavage on full display in her button up black blouse that isn’t really buttoned up. My father is looking. “Even if you screw it up, it’s our asses people will flay forever. For selling it to you.”

“We completely understand.” My father, who thinks he’s Earth’s greatest diplomat, sits up straight and spreads out his hands. You think Kathryn told you that I have a smug face? Nothing compares to my father’s. Only he looks like a grandfather now, so people think it’s cute. I know the truth. Deep down, he’s as capable of being slimy and cunning as anyone else. Yes, even me. Well, maybe not slimy. “That’s why we’ve brought you the full proposals for you to take home and consider. Ian?”

That’s my cue. In my briefcase I have the full proposals we and the team at my father’s offices put together over the past few weeks. I display them now, carefully, each sheet of paper impeccably laid out so both Andrews can see the full picture, so to speak.

“As you can see,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “We have put every attention into the details. Wright and Co. are the designers we’re working with. Together we’ve concocted this historically accurate design. We don’t want to update The Grand. We want to take it back in time to its former glory.”

The couple glances over the pictures. They exchange looks. Whatever they shared in that second… I have no idea. I don’t speak Couple, let alone Married Couple With A Business. It could be good. It could be bad.

It’s probably something Kathryn should be paying attention to, but she’s knee-deep in her own briefcase looking for her part of the project. Before the Andrews can notice this, I lean in and put my elbow on the table, effectively blocking their view of her. Never say I don’t look out for her. Or my own ass.

“These are lovely… sketches.” Pursing her lips as if I showed her a clown juggling a litter of puppies, Lana pushes from the drawings with a dramatic sigh. “Doesn’t really matter what we think, Mathers. What matters is what the public thinks. The community board.”

“You have to admit that it’s very true to the original design of the building.”

“Sure. And people thought we should bring back bell-bottom pants.” Lana shrugs.

Her husband isn’t much more committal. “Besides, there’s another part to your plan, isn’t there? Something about a local museum. We have to take that into consideration as well. It sounds good on paper, but depending on how it’s executed…”

“Ah, yes. I believe Ms. Alison is heading up that end of the bargain.” My father motions behind me to the young blond whispering to her assistant. The plain girl dressed in a plainer sweater dress lets out a squeak and starts searching through her own bags for whatever the fuck it is they’ve misplaced. Probably their designs for the museum, because of course.

“Um…” Kathryn thumbs through a stack of papers but doesn’t seem to find what she wants. “Just a second…”

My father has that look on his face. The fake look. The fake look that says, “Kathryn Alison, I’m smiling, but if you don’t get your shit together in two seconds I’m firing your ass.”

“Wright and Co. is a spectacular design firm.” I point to the picture nearest me and make further comments on the aesthetic Houston Wright picked. Everything is decorous, with grays and beiges accentuating the true-to-time-period stone and woodwork that remains in the building. The wood will have to be replaced, since the inspector said there’s rot. The stone’s still good, but it was important to us that Wright understood to keep the old wood in the design anyway. It will be replaced. Copied, but replaced.

Guests won’t know the difference. They think they will, but…

“Found it!” Kathryn slaps a paper on the table. A single paper.

Is she kidding us? She has to be kidding us. Did they even use a designer? It looks like a kindergartener scratched some shit together while waiting for its parents to pick it up from school. The lines aren’t straight .The shading is… nonexistent. I’m almost embarrassed for her. Except I can see a look of disappointment on her face…

This is not what she’s supposed to show. This is probably the rough draft the designer provided, and either Kathryn or her assistant have botched bringing the real thing.