how much longer will he be?” Salim quizzed the old man’s assistant. It took a lot to address the old goat by “father.” An adulterer did not deserve that kind of respect.
“I scheduled his interview for an hour,” Diane answered in her usual, unperturbed manner. “If I’d known you were planning to pop in, I would have booked you time.” She lowered her glasses, looking at him.
Salim winked at Diane. “If you can fit me in I’ll take you to lunch, you gorgeous thing.”
“I can buy my own lunch, thanks. Save your flirting for that string of wide-eyed young things your own age that you impress with stories of your travels.”
He wished there was a string of young things. Lately he’d had no time for romantic entanglements, not even flings.
“You’re a hard woman, Di,” Salim said, clutching his heart. “One day you just might succumb to my charm. You know you’re a cougar in a fab suit.”
Diane settled her glasses back on her nose and gave him the full effect of her cold, unsettling stare. “I don’t think so. I like my men buttoned down and settled. I’m too old to babysit.”
Salim chuckled. He absolutely loved the woman and her droll sense of humor.
She was one of those ageless matrons who must have been a knockout in her heyday. Diane was the complete package: efficient, good looking, intellectual and fearless. She took no guff from her tyrannical boss, which was another reason Tanner kept her around. As studio head he was used to intimidating people. Diane simply could not be intimidated.
Salim hovered at Diane’s circular desk, listening shamelessly while she buzzed her boss.
“Your son’s been waiting to see you for almost an hour,” she said in an even voice that never changed, even when Tanner was having a hissy fit, which was often.
When Diane’s eyebrows rose a fraction, Salim guessed the old man’s response wasn’t exactly positive. Not that that came as a big surprise.
“You’ve got about fifteen minutes free after you’re through with Ms. Fitzgerald,” Diane reminded the mogul. “And you did have me call Salim earlier this week. You said you wanted to see him.”
Salim tapped the face of his Timex and whispered to Diane, “Tell your boss I have to be somewhere in forty minutes. Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.”
“Salim!”
He ignored her and strode toward the closed office door.
“You can’t just go bursting in on an interview,” Diane called after him.
“Watch me. My time is just as valuable as his.”
He paused briefly in front of the smoked-glass double doors that had Tanner Washington, President of TSW engraved on them. The T stood for Tanner and the S for Salim. It had never occurred to the pompous old ass to make it TSCW and include his daughter Christiane’s initials.
Tanner’s dream had been that one day his son would take over from him. Except Salim couldn’t care less about the superficial world of media entertainment and placating high-maintenance stars and volatile executives. That had always been a bone of contention between them.
Christiane was the one better suited to running a studio. She loved the glamorous life and had married Leonard Green, one of TSW’s executives. She enjoyed being the trophy wife and although she was at home raising two children, much of her time was spent hosting parties her husband threw.
Salim had always thought it a total waste that a studio like TSW would focus on lighthearted sitcoms and trashy talk shows. They should be making documentaries educating the public on the HIV situation in African countries, or life in war-torn Iraq.
He rapped on the door while Diane hissed behind him, “Salim, come on now. Your dad’s in the middle of an interview.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Salim waltzed in. He found the mogul on his knees in front of the seated woman he was supposedly interviewing. Tanner looked up, his pinched expression reflecting his surprise.
Salim cleared his throat. It was obvious what the dirty old goat had been up to or was about to do. And to think he’d admired the woman and thought she was classy.
Tanner slowly got to his feet, dusting the lint off his slacks.
“I gave Diane instructions I was not be disturbed,” he said all bluster.
“Yes, I know.”
The woman was watching them intently. She didn’t seem overly concerned.
“Your pearl earring has to be here somewhere, Kennedy,” Tanner said, brusquely. “I’ll have the cleaners look for it before they vacuum. If it can’t be found I’ll replace it.”
As though Salim was supposed to believe that. So much for initial impressions; wholesome she was not. She was just another ho, except this one was more cleaned up.
The studio head now stood with his arms crossed. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with silvering hair, wide shoulders, a bit of a gut and an intimidating stance. Yet women were drawn to him like a magnet. Salim never could understand why. It certainly couldn’t be his overbearing personality, so he had to attribute it to his power and wealth. And Tanner was a powerful man with influential contacts.
“When a door’s closed it usually means a person is busy,” his father barked.
“I knocked. You wanted to see me and here I am.” Salim glanced at his watch. “I have to be some place in exactly thirty-five minutes.”
His father’s woman stood, smoothing the skirt that had slid up to her thighs. She was as cool and brassy as they came.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Washington,” she said. “You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about. May I get back to you tomorrow with an answer?”
She sounded formal, almost prim; a departure from the usual classless type Tanner went for. It was an act, had to be.
“Of course you may, and if I can do anything more to help make up your mind, don’t hesitate to call.” Tanner handed her a business card. “I’ll see you out.”
With a smile and a nod she made her way by Salim. Tanner stopped for a moment to make introductions.
“Kennedy Fitzgerald is a leadership consultant. I’m hopeful that she will soon join our team of executives. Kennedy, this is my son, Salim.”
Kennedy’s handshake was brief but firm. Salim swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. The audacity of the old man, hiring a woman he was involved with, as if he hadn’t embarrassed his wife, Lucinda, enough.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Were you in the lobby earlier?” Kennedy Fitzgerald asked.
“I was.”
Salim took his time looking her over, letting his eyes slowly slide up and down her long legs. She wore sensible pumps and her navy suit reminded him of a banker. The plain white blouse under it covered her full breasts. Kennedy’s
