snag.
“I’m impressed that you could get this table on short notice,” Tiffany said, arranging herself so that she could cast an eye over the room for familiar faces.
“So am I,” Stone said.
Menus arrived, and they ordered dinner.
“May we have champagne?” Tiffany sort of requested.
“Of course,” Stone said, opening the wine list and running an eye over the right-hand column, the one with the prices. He chose one that was only $250.
The next hour and a half were spent in hyper-expensive gorging, and then they stumbled out into the street and lucked into a quick cab. It took less than ten minutes to drive to Stone’s house, go upstairs, strip, and dive into the sack.
“I trust there are no cameras present this time,” she said from her perch atop him. She alluded to an occasion when, without Stone’s knowledge, a bad person had wired his bedroom for both video and audio, then sent a copy of a tryst between himself and Tiffany to Page Six at the
New York Post
. Fortunately, the angle of the camera’s view had made it impossible to entirely identify either of them, though some accurate guessing took place.
“We are entirely alone,” Stone said, lying back and letting her dothe work. He waited until she had come three times and exhausted herself before rolling her off him and sitting up on one elbow. “Now to business,” he whispered in her ear.
“I released the account this afternoon,” she said. “Your client is now three and a half million dollars richer. Oh, and you can thank your friend Mike Freeman, who called the attorney general on your client’s behalf.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that at dinner?” he asked.
“Because if your wish had been granted too early, you might have been less interested in the latter part of the evening,” she said. “And I’m staying the night.”
“I hope you won’t mind if I get some sleep,” Stone said, rolling over and pulling up the covers.
“Not at all,” Tiffany said. “I’ll let you know when you’re needed.”
And she did.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING , suffering from soreness, Stone called Herbie Fisher.
“Herbert Fisher’s office,” a female voice said.
“Good morning. It’s Stone Barrington.”
“Mr. Barrington, this is the receptionist. Mr. Fisher and his secretary are in a real estate closing at the moment. I’ll tell him you called.”
“Thank you.” Stone hung up, wondering what real estate sale Herbie was closing.
AN HOUR LATER , Herbie called. “Sorry about not taking your call, Stone.”
“Not at all, Herbie. What were you closing?”
“A new client of mine, High Cotton Ideas, bought an old building in SoHo for its headquarters.”
“Oh, this is Marshall Brennan’s software start-up?”
“One and the same. I’ve already got a construction crew in the building, making it habitable for a shiny new corporation.”
“Then you’re a full-service attorney.”
“You betcha.”
“I have good news, Herbie.”
“By the way, it’s Herb, remember?”
“Of course, negligent of me.”
“What’s the good news?”
“Mike Freeman called his friend, the attorney general, on your behalf and yesterday the U.S. attorney released your ex’s brokerage account. You may now do what you will with the money.”
“That’s great news, Stone. After what I’ve seen and heard downtown, I’m going to put it all into High Cotton Ideas. My client is so happy with my services that he has offered me an investment opportunity.”
“I won’t ask you for details, to avoid having to explain myself to the SEC after the IPO takes place.”
“You give yourself good legal advice, Stone.”
“I do, thank you. And you owe me a very good dinner for what I had to do last night on your behalf.”
“I think I know exactly what that means,” Herbie said, “and I take the position that your lack of virtue was its own reward.”
Stone hung up, laughing.
21
HERBIE OVERSAW the signing of the last of the closing
“I’m impressed that you could get this table on short notice,” Tiffany said, arranging herself so that she could cast an eye over the room for familiar faces.
“So am I,” Stone said.
Menus arrived, and they ordered dinner.
“May we have champagne?” Tiffany sort of requested.
“Of course,” Stone said, opening the wine list and running an eye over the right-hand column, the one with the prices. He chose one that was only $250.
The next hour and a half were spent in hyper-expensive gorging, and then they stumbled out into the street and lucked into a quick cab. It took less than ten minutes to drive to Stone’s house, go upstairs, strip, and dive into the sack.
“I trust there are no cameras present this time,” she said from her perch atop him. She alluded to an occasion when, without Stone’s knowledge, a bad person had wired his bedroom for both video and audio, then sent a copy of a tryst between himself and Tiffany to Page Six at the
New York Post
. Fortunately, the angle of the camera’s view had made it impossible to entirely identify either of them, though some accurate guessing took place.
“We are entirely alone,” Stone said, lying back and letting her dothe work. He waited until she had come three times and exhausted herself before rolling her off him and sitting up on one elbow. “Now to business,” he whispered in her ear.
“I released the account this afternoon,” she said. “Your client is now three and a half million dollars richer. Oh, and you can thank your friend Mike Freeman, who called the attorney general on your client’s behalf.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that at dinner?” he asked.
“Because if your wish had been granted too early, you might have been less interested in the latter part of the evening,” she said. “And I’m staying the night.”
“I hope you won’t mind if I get some sleep,” Stone said, rolling over and pulling up the covers.
“Not at all,” Tiffany said. “I’ll let you know when you’re needed.”
And she did.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING , suffering from soreness, Stone called Herbie Fisher.
“Herbert Fisher’s office,” a female voice said.
“Good morning. It’s Stone Barrington.”
“Mr. Barrington, this is the receptionist. Mr. Fisher and his secretary are in a real estate closing at the moment. I’ll tell him you called.”
“Thank you.” Stone hung up, wondering what real estate sale Herbie was closing.
AN HOUR LATER , Herbie called. “Sorry about not taking your call, Stone.”
“Not at all, Herbie. What were you closing?”
“A new client of mine, High Cotton Ideas, bought an old building in SoHo for its headquarters.”
“Oh, this is Marshall Brennan’s software start-up?”
“One and the same. I’ve already got a construction crew in the building, making it habitable for a shiny new corporation.”
“Then you’re a full-service attorney.”
“You betcha.”
“I have good news, Herbie.”
“By the way, it’s Herb, remember?”
“Of course, negligent of me.”
“What’s the good news?”
“Mike Freeman called his friend, the attorney general, on your behalf and yesterday the U.S. attorney released your ex’s brokerage account. You may now do what you will with the money.”
“That’s great news, Stone. After what I’ve seen and heard downtown, I’m going to put it all into High Cotton Ideas. My client is so happy with my services that he has offered me an investment opportunity.”
“I won’t ask you for details, to avoid having to explain myself to the SEC after the IPO takes place.”
“You give yourself good legal advice, Stone.”
“I do, thank you. And you owe me a very good dinner for what I had to do last night on your behalf.”
“I think I know exactly what that means,” Herbie said, “and I take the position that your lack of virtue was its own reward.”
Stone hung up, laughing.
21
HERBIE OVERSAW the signing of the last of the closing
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