F Paul Wilson - Sims 02 Read Online Free

don’t think I have to tell you
what needs to be done,” Kraft said.
                 Patrick knew. Shit, yes, he knew.
                 “And if I don’t?”
                 “I’m already taking heat because of
this, Patrick. Don’t make it more difficult than it already is.”
                 Patrick understood. Alton Kraft had
been his biggest supporter for partnership. If Patrick looked bad, he looked
bad. The partners had probably told him to give Sullivan a choice: Stick with
the sims or stay with the firm. Mutually
exclusive options.
                 The decision should have been a
no-brainer except for the inconvenient fact that he’d become attached to the
Beacon Ridge sims . He enjoyed visiting them, liked the
feelings that rolled off them—probably the nearest thing to worship he’d ever
experience.
                 But all that was going to end.
Because on his next visit he’d have to tell them he was dropping their case.
He’d make up something good, and they’d believe him, and they wouldn’t hold it
against him, because Mist Sulliman the best, Mist Sulliman never lie to sim,
Mist Sulliman never let sim down.
                 Yeah, right.
                 Mist Sulliman feel like slime mold.
                 He fought the urge to grab Kraft by
his worsted lapels and shout, Fuck you, fuck the firm, and fuck all its
candy-assed clients!
                 Instead, he sighed and nodded. “All right.”
                 He’d lost his house, his girlfriend,
and a shitload of clients. He couldn’t afford to lose his job too.
                 “Good man,” Kraft said. He rose and
thrust out his hand. “I’ll tell the others.”
                 Now the handshake. Patrick made it as perfunctory as possible and beat it the hell out of there.
Or maybe crawled was more like it. Or slithered. He
felt like he’d just ratted out a friend to the police. If the carpet had been
shag he would have needed a machete to reach the door.
                 As he passed Maggie again she cocked
her head toward the waiting room farther down the hall.
                 “New client. No appointment. Wants to know if you can squeeze her in.”
                 “Anew client? No kidding? What’s my morning look like?”
                 “Empty.”
                 Figured. “Then by all means, ‘squeeze her in.’”
                 A few minutes later Maggie showed a
statuesque brunette into his office and introduced her as Romy Cadman. Short dark hair, dark eyes, full lips, and long legs. Dressed on the casual side in a sweater and flared slacks under a long leather
coat, all black.
                 Patrick’s spirits lifted. Nothing like a new client, and a beautiful one to boot.
                 Maggie placed the woman’s card on his
desk: Romy Cadman—Consultant.
                 “I won’t take up much of your time,
Mr. Sullivan,” she said as he rose to shake her hand.
                 Patrick fixed on her eyebrows, so
smooth, so dark, tapering to perfect points. Penciled?
No, just naturally perfect. But he couldn’t find much warmth in the deep brown
eyes below—at least not for him. All business. A woman with a mission. Aconsultant with a
mission.
                 “Take as much as you need,” he said,
thinking, I’ve got aaaaall day. He gestured to a seat. “Please.”
                 “That won’t be necessary.” Because
she remained standing, so did Patrick. “I understand, Mr. Sullivan,
that you’ve come under a lot of pressure from SimGen lately.”
                 “SimGen?” What was she talking about? “No…I haven’t heard a thing from SimGen.”
                 “Indirectly, you have. They’ve been
contacting all your clients and either cajoling or coercing