It was midday, and I couldn't put it off any longer. As the bellboy backed out of the Presidential Suite checking his tip, I asked him to hang out the red Do Not Disturb sign. Then I sat down to rehearse the damn speech I had to make. It would be difficult.
It would last only last five minutes. The staff would arrive for the welcome-night cocktails at the Florida resort where my executive team has its annual getaway. They'd walk in smiling, and then get hit in the face by my news. The fun years as a close bound team were over. I ended it this morning when I sold up Michael Lange Technics to a European conglomerate.
I signed the deal with Avionics Brussels at breakfast, and was left with a sweet and sour feeling. Sweet because after twelve mad years building my navigation systems business, I was suddenly a very wealthy man. Sour because you don't choose the moment some industry giant makes the offer you'd be crazy to refuse -- and you know it affects 300 people, many who've worked with you for years.
I tried to write the words I needed, one part of me feeling a traitor, and another, deeply relieved to be finally freed of the chains. Twice in the earlier years, my business had been within days of taking me down the gurgler.
A door clicked open. I turned, angry the hotel staff had ignored my privacy request, and startled Nicola Nicolaides. My youngest executive's hand flew to her mouth, and her face flushed.
"Oh, no. I'm sorry, Mr. Lange," she stammered. "I just checked in, and I thought I was opening the door to my bathroom and --- and it's your suite. I know I should have knocked first...." She was floundering and humiliated. I needed to turn the moment into some sort of joke.
"Hell Nicola, I order coffee, and Room Service sends up you instead. What's this joint coming to?" I asked her. "There's a coffee machine in that spiffy butler's pantry on your left. Do me a huge favor - I badly need a very long black. And why not something for yourself too."
I smiled at her. "Look, I know this is your first time at the executive retreat -- but how many times have I asked you to just call me Michael?"
There was something between relief and uncertainty on Nicola's face. "Okay Mister... okay Michael. Coffee. I'll get it." She turned towards the pantry. "A double for The Boss," she murmured.
I saw her smile shyly to herself. And not for the first time, Nicola Nicolaides made my heart catch.
****
Let me tell you what I knew about Nicola Nicolaides.
First, the obvious. Nicola is - and only the blind might argue -- very, very beautiful, but in a startling and distinctive way, which I'll tell you about. She came to Lange as a management trainee three years ago. Elle Norris, our personnel manager, sent her to me for the final "sign off" interview that was a formality unless I took serious exception. "She's a bit shy, and - considering she's an unusual beauty - not all that confident. But I see some special qualities," Elle commented.
While Ms Nicolaides waited in the lobby, I flicked through her resume. Nicolaides -- presumably the name meant an Eastern Mediterranean background? Very young -- only 22. Good passes in her business degree, but it was from a second rate college, and the part time waitressing and factory jobs showed she'd had to work her way. My assistant buzzed, and Nicola walked into the office.
Okay.
Now, you'll remember the beauteous Nefertiti? I know that somewhere you've seen a picture of the museum bust of the fabled Queen of Egypt. Nefertiti preceded the famed boy Pharaoh, Tutankhamen, and when she was sealed in her tomb, its entrance was lovingly inscribed with the words "the Mistress of Sweetness." Two thousand years later we see the serene face of her statuette, and recognize the extraordinary beauty of her finely chiseled features. While the face seems shaped from quite another age, it is peerless.
Well, Nefertiti, in the form of Nicola Nicolaides, was standing in front of me. I swear that if she'd shown any smart knowingness about her unusual beauty, I would have shown her the door. She would have been too disruptive a presence. However she was just as Elle Norris described her -- a little young and shy, but possessing a quality that was hard to pin.
I hired Nicola and she started as an assistant in the sales group, but within weeks its frustrated Sales Director complained she wouldn't progress because she lacked confidence and forcefulness. Elle Norris and I put time into two review meetings, one with Nicola in tears, and realized we were pushing her in the wrong direction. Sure, that face might open a thousand doors, but her shy temperament didn't match up with a sales department. Perhaps she was made to be a back room girl. I moved her into the team doing the tough yards preparing our largest technical tenders, and she found her niche immediately. Nicola could organize and manage challenging detail, and she quietly became indispensable to her section.
Still, I know the Director of Sales sometimes pulls her aside and sends her into new business meetings just for the hell of it. He says they've never seen anyone quite like her, and take a good ten minutes to get their eyes back into their heads.
Myself? Well there's not that much to tell. I'm 42 years old, I've been divorced four years, and luckily there were no children to get caught up in it. We managed a split with only a few touches of acrimony, and then got on with new lives. I work very long hours, and worry, but that comes with building your own business. My days are full - but am I lonely when I finally get home to an empty house? Yes, more than I'd admit.
And Nicola? Well she'd be 25 now, a fixture in her job, and the office rumors say there's no particular boyfriend. One other thing I know about Nicola - if she was the plainest woman in the street, I'd still like her. (True, that's if I ever managed to notice her). I sometimes find myself looking at Nicola when it won't be noticed, and thinking about crazy stuff. About the things that can't possibly happen. She's too young, I'm too much older, I'd look like a creep, and besides all that, she works for me.
****
"Tee-off's in two hours. Are you joining up with the guys in the golf group," I asked Nicola, as she handed me the coffee she'd made, and perched herself on the seat opposite, unconsciously pulling down the hem of her closefitting skirt. It was pointless. Her legs remained long, tanned, and shapely.
"I tried out a couple of golf lessons, but I need some practice. I'd look silly and get in the way if I played, so I'll stay in the hotel and maybe go to the spa."
"The suite's got its own spa pool out on the deck. You could have it to yourself if you liked."
She seemed uncertain. "That'd be nice. Maybe - but I wish I could join in and golf with the guys. Perhaps I'll be good enough next year," she mused.
"Hell, you don't have to actually play, Nicola. Ride along in the cart with me, and have a putt when we get to the greens. Would you like that?"
"Could I? Are you sure I won't get in your way?"
****
A dozen of the team had signed up for golf, and we met at the first tee. While we loaded clubs and drinks on board the carts, the course starter pulled me aside.
"Your group?" he asked.
"Yes it is."
"I'm sorry, the girl can't go out on the course," he said, nodding towards Nicola.
Nicola was dressed in all white -- her dark wavy hair cascaded from under her perky visor, and a cotton blouse was knotted in a bow half way up her brown stomach. Tailored shorts that reached only a couple of inches below the curve of her firm backside, clung to the top of her long tanned legs.
"You mean she'll draw too big a gallery?" I joked.
"Yeah, she probably would -- but actually it's the dress code," the chubby man said grimly. "There's one here for the female players too. Shorts have to reach just above the knees."
"But she's not actually playing," I said. "She's just here to watch. Surely there's no dress rule for spectators?"
He thought about that a moment, then burst out laughing. "There's not, but I've got me ten bucks says you don't break a hundred with her in your cart. How you gonna keep your eye on the ball, huh?"
I played rubbish golf the first five holes, just like the marshal predicted. Nicola seemed nervous beside me, and somehow I'd made myself self-conscious. We were not at ease with each other. While you were never unaware of Nicola's beauty, I hadn't seen her dressed in anything overtly sexy, and the wattage glittering through now was overwhelming. We stuttered along, me awkward, and her overly polite to the boss. I knew that after tonight's announcements I'd no longer be shackled by being her employer, but the hard truth was if I ever made a move on her, she'd tag me as yet another older guy on the make. It was stupid to even think about it.
The sixth tee was on a steep crest, and when we drove back down the curving path behind the other carts, I took a corner too quickly. The cart lurched, and Nicola slid across the seat towards me. I was wearing shorts so her smooth legs slipped along mine as she tried to recover her balance. By the time I'd stopped the cart, her backside was across my lap, her breasts were pushed against my chest, and her olive skinned face was buried so close to my neck I could smell her.
There was skin contact everywhere and I jumped as if I'd been charged with an electric prod. Beside me, I felt Nicola's body quivering like a startled doe's.
I looked into her gold and green eyes, and she surprised me by holding my gaze. "Wow, did you feel the charge?" I exclaimed, not thinking about my words, and instantly wanting to take them back. But she nodded slightly. Then slowly, as if dawn was rising, the serenely beautiful face of Nefertiti opened into a secret smile. The others were now thirty yards in front of us, and I acted on unthinking impulse. I leaned into her and brushed her mouth with mine. Startled, she opened her lips to me and we kissed.
