F Paul Wilson - Sims 02 Read Online Free Page B

“Wonderful.”
                 One word…but the acid she managed to
lace through it seared him to the core. She was looking right through him, and
her eyes, the twist of her lips, everything in her body language radiated
contempt.
                 “My number is on the card. Call me
when you decide.”
                 She turned and walked out, leaving
him mired in a pool of dismay. A woman like that, you wanted her looking at you
with admiration, not like something that had just crawled out from under a
rock.
                 But what else was he supposed to do?
What else could he do? Sometimes you simply had to be pragmatic.
                 Patrick sighed. The
perfect cap on the worst weeks of his life.
                 He heard a patter behind him and
turned toward the window. It had begun to rain. Great.
                 With his mood darker than the
weather, Patrick stepped out into the hall. Off to his right he spotted the
pretty lady with the briefcase full of pretty money waiting for the elevator.
                 “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee,”
he told Maggie.
                 “Want me to get it for you?” she
said, looking up from her computer screen.
                 “Thanks, but you’re busier than I am
at the moment.”
                 Down the hall, laughter echoed from
the open doorway of the kitchenette that housed the coffee maker and a small
refrigerator. He slowed his approach when he heard his name.
                 A voice he recognized as belonging to
Rick Berger, one of the younger associates, was saying, “…and so when I still
won’t give Skipper a steak instead of dog chow, he says, ‘I’ll get you! I’m
calling Sim-Sim Sullivan!’”
                 More laughter. Patrick felt his face flush. Setting his jaw he turned and glanced back at the
waiting area. The elevator doors were sliding open and Romy Cadman was stepping
inside. He broke into a run.
                 “Ms. Cadman! Hold those doors!”
                 She turned and gave him a curious
look, but put out a hand to stall the doors. He hopped into the cab beside her.
                 “I’ve made up my mind,” he told her.
                 She blinked, shock and disbelief
playing tag across her features. “You mean—”
                 I know I’m going to regret this, he
thought, but fuck ’em. Fuck ’em all.
                 “Damn right. Want to meet my
clients?”
                 Her smile lit the elevator. “I’d love
to.”

           4
     
                 Romy’s head spun as she followed
Sullivan’s BMW through the downpour to the golf club.
                 What happened back there? she wondered. There he was, standing in his office, and he’s
clearly out of the picture—wouldn’t say so to her face, but she’d seen defeat
in his eyes, his posture, I quit written all over him—and a couple of minutes
later he’s jumping into the elevator with her and not looking back.
                 Had he truly been on the fence and
she’d misread him? She’d been so sure …
                 Well, no use in beating it to death.
He was still on board. That was what counted. She didn’t know how good Sullivan
was, but at least the sims still had a lawyer.
                 He stopped next to a high privet
hedge and she pulled in behind him. She grabbed her umbrella and stepped out of
her car. The umbrella was auto open which was good because she had the
briefcase in her other hand. She had no intention of leaving it in the car.
                 An umbrellaless Sullivan came
splashing over to her.
                 “Let me help,” he said, reaching for
the briefcase.
                 She handed him the umbrella handle.
“Help with this.”