In the exhibition hall of an exclusive art gallery, a plump, fuming, fifty-something art agent paced up and down muttering under his breath. As he loosened his tie, his shifty eyes darted about in agitation. Hunching his shoulders, he grew increasingly rigid.
“That girl’s always late! It’s her last bloody chance!”
He scraped his chubby fingers over his balding head.
“Complete and utter disrespect! What does she think I am?”
He paused by a white framed window and stared out. For a moment, he just shook his head and checked his watch. I’m sick of it! If she doesn’t get here soon, I’ll have her bloody killed, that way her work might be worth something!
The agent’s face grew increasingly crimson, “This is her last bloody chance!” he spat.
In a luxurious hotel, overlooking Bournemouth’s sandy beaches, Max laid on his king-size bed, smiling at the naked woman before him. He admired her curves as he traced his finger across her tanned, lean stomach. She smiled a coy smile, removed his hand from her hip, and slipped on her black, satin dress. “Time for me to go,” she said.
He sighed, “You don’t really have to go, do you?”
“You know I do.”
She gazed at him, bent over and kissed him on the forehead. Max gazed at her breasts and then into her eyes. She shook her head, turned, and glanced over her shoulder as she walked towards the door.
He watched the elegant woman leave the room and adjusted himself. He would never see her again.
“Damn, I have to call Olivia!”
Max yawned, rolled over and reached for his mobile. He resented having to call Olivia. She had an exhibition looming and would be at her wits end. Did he really need to deal with all that stress? He huffed; what he put himself through just to be with her was ridiculous. Max smiled wryly; he had his reasons and it was nearly time.