I spent the entire day locked in a room with half a dozen analysts and a manager from Anderson’s network expansion group. The task was to conduct cost analysis on their major market expansion plans. It was my job to determine if Anderson’s plans were realistic or inflated to drive the acquisition stock price higher.
Stan appeared at the door around six and said to call it a day. I was never so happy to see him in my life. By the time I got settled into my hotel room, it was nearly eight o’clock and my brain was fried.
I stripped off my clothes and hung them neatly on hangers, then went in to take a quick shower. The hot water felt wonderful as it melted away the tension from my neck and shoulders.
I didn’t realize how stressful the day had been, or how my muscles had tied into knots. I closed my eyes and wished that Tanner was there in the shower behind me, rubbing away the tension from my shoulders as his cock slid into me from behind.
My stomach growling forced me back to reality. I remembered that I hadn’t eaten anything since the honey bun earlier in the day.
Oh well, save that fantasy for another day.
I turned off the shower and reached for a towel.
I pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and a ratty Harvard t-shirt. Some women slept in nightgowns, some in negligees, some in the nude. I dressed comfortably for bed. I had no one to impress.
I pulled my hair into a ponytail and picked up the room service menu from the dresser. I called down and ordered a cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate shake. When I was out of town, my usual healthy-eating regiment went out the window.
I picked up the remote and settled back on the bed to watch a little television until my not-so-healthy dinner arrived.
I was thirty minutes into a rerun of The Housewives of Orange County when someone knocked on the door. They called out, “Room service!”
“Just a minute,” I called back. I clicked off the TV and hopped off the bed. I scooped my purse off the dresser so I could give the guy a tip.
When I opened the door, there stood Tanner Wright, wearing a chef’s hat and pushing a cart that held an assortment of covered dishes.
“What the heck?” I asked with a wide smile. “What are you doing?”
“Delivering your dinner, madam,” he said, sweeping his arms over the cart of food as if he had made it magically appear. “May I come in or would you prefer to dine in the hallway?”
I stepped aside to let him push the cart into the room. He directed me to sit on the foot of the bed and made a show of taking the covers off the dishes.
“For Madam Carlson this evening we have a lovely fresh garden salad, which, if I may recommend, you just toss in the trash because it’s really just rabbit food.”
He lifted the silver cover off the first plate.
“As the main course, we have a magnificent filet mignon, garnished with baby carrots and garlic mashed potatoes.”
He lifted the next cover.
“For dessert, we have a lovely slice of strawberry cheese cake and to drink, we have coffee, tea, or…”
He reached beneath the cart and brought out two six packs of beer. “Coors in the bottle, my personal favorite.”
“You’re really something,” I said with a grin. I lifted my chin and let my eyes go around the plates. “It looks like you brought enough for two.”
He mocked a look of surprise. “Did I? Oh my, the kitchen must have messed up your order. I’ll have them flogged at once.”
“I can’t eat all of that,” I said with a shrug. I arched my eyebrows and smiled up at him. “Maybe you’d like to join me?”
Tanner grinned and plucked the chef’s hat off his head. He tossed the chef’s hat on the cart and rubbed his hands together and smiled.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he growled. “I’m famished!”
Tanner spread the food out on the little table in front of the window and we sat on opposites sides and dug in. We both ate like starving souls. The food was amazing.
We trashed the salads.
The filet melted in my mouth.
The dessert literally made me moan.
For hours, we chatted like old friends as we stuffed our bellies with food and washed it down with cold beer. Tanner talked about his life, how he started the company in his parents’ garage when he was just a teenager, how he met Henry Costas at MIT and convinced him to become his partner, how he and Henry had built the company from the ground up.
There lots of victories, but I could sense a sadness when he talked about his personal life. He’d never been married. He had never even come close. He admitted to being a playboy, but in a moment of reflection, he said he would love to meet the right girl someday and start a family. I watched his eyes as he spoke. The douchebag I’d met the day before was no longer there.