Literotica Winter Holidays Contest 2024
City Christmas
Consider this a reverse-engineered Hallmark movie. I got the inspiration from a meme I saw.
Chapter 1
Alisa Amy Anderson got off the train, hugging herself in her jacket, which was too light for the time of year. But it was the newest and best she owned, and she needed to project an image. Underneath the jacket was a thick turtleneck sweater, and she wore her best pair of jeans. The jacket pocket had a stocking cap, but she'd worked too long on her hair to mess it up. Then again, the way the wind was whipping it was probably a moot point. She clutched her battered portfolio case, a legacy from her father, tightly to her, knowing she had to keep the papers inside safe. The weather matched her mood: gray, overcast, dark clouds threatening the season's first big snow. Damn these Northern winters! It had been pretty mild the last couple of years, and she thought global warming wasn't bad, but long-range forecasters predicted the worst winter in forty years. Thank you, El Nino.
She had checked the bus schedule and knew she had time to make it to the office she was seeking, so she got a coffee and tried to relax. She would need her wits about her for this, the most important meeting of her life. Alamy, her mother's nickname for her, a combination of her first and middle names, walked the half block to the address and looked up, unable to see the top floor. The town she came from had one skyscraper if you counted five floors as a skyscraper.
The doorman held the door open, wished her a nice day, and gave her directions, pointing her to the 48th floor. The elevator seemed to take forever, but it opened to an expensively decorated lobby and eventually led to a receptionist's desk. The woman was attractive and friendly but the ultimate professional, checking her appointment information and smiling.
"Please take a seat, ma'am. He'll be able to see you in fifteen minutes. Would you like some tea? Coffee perhaps, or water?"
Alamy took an expensive brand of water, sipping it slowly while she marshaled her thoughts, trying to find a calm place in her mind, and the fifteen minutes passed soon. A young, well-dressed man in his early twenties fetched her, and she thought he looked way too young to be a senior Vice President of a national bank. Then he stopped before a door and knocked, motioning her forward. She paused just long enough to read the doorplate. Winston (of course, it would be Winston, a name like Bob wouldn't be pretentious enough), Warrenton Jr., Vice President, Amalgamated Holdings, Trustee Bank, and Trust.
Expecting to see a stuffed shirt, balding and overweight, but when she got into his inner office, she was so shocked she hesitated before speaking. He was in shirtsleeves, his jacket draped casually on a chair. His longer-than-normal hair was jet black, and one stubborn curl, drooping over his forehead, refused to be tamed. He stood as she approached, and she was shocked by the intensity of his blue eyes. "He's Superman," she thought. She saw the definition of his muscles rippling under his shirt. His hand was out, and when she shook it, she was amazed at how firm and warm it was.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Anderson. Thank you for coming all this way to speak to me. Please, sit."
Instead of returning to his desk, he picked up his laptop and guided her to a comfortable loveseat, sitting on the armchair opposite. "It's Miss, Mr. Warrenton. Thank you for seeing me."
He sighed. She was a very persistent woman, hammering at the walls of corporate shielding until one crumbled. Winnie (only his close friends called him that) was not looking forward to this conversation. Nobody else in the company was, but he drew the short straw, so to speak. "Very well, Miss. I'm more relaxed myself. Winston is fine. What have you got for me today?"
"I've updated the information your bank requested, and you will see that I should receive that loan extension. If next season succeeds, I can discharge most of my debt and be solvent again."
He watched her as she made her pitch, noting the stray tendrils of her hair as the blond locks floated around her face, and she absently flipped them back, probably unaware of it. Her body seemed lean and fit, and from what he'd seen, she had an exceptional ass, and her turtleneck did nothing to hide the firm breasts that seemed to stand straight out. Winston sighed, thinking of his current girlfriend and how unpleasant she had been lately. She was pushing for a ring, and he knew eventually he would have to disappoint her, but he was holding off. Nobody needs to be dumped during the holiday season.
He got up and made a coffee using his single-cup device. It looked like some kind of evil monster, but it could make just about every coffee drink you could think of, although he mostly used it to make plain coffee. After hesitating, his guest asked for black coffee. He was so used to his girlfriend ordering the most outrageous, sugar-laden, fruity concoction popular at the time that he found it refreshing.
He read through the paperwork twice before laying it down and sighing. "I was excited when we acquired this small string of banks in rural areas. I had grand visions of helping farmers and ranchers navigate the pitfalls of modern finance, but in reality, most of the older ones are so stubborn and set in their ways I fear nothing will help them. 'That's The Way We've Always Done It' doesn't work anymore, especially if a chain swallows up a small community bank. We didn't grow up together, our kids didn't go to school or play sports together, and we haven't intermarried. Sadly, all we are is a faceless entity that does what's in its' mission statement: make money for its shareholders. The fact that Gary's your uncle or you were Maid Of Honor at Jenny's wedding doesn't mean anything to us. Our main concern is ensuring the payments are made and the institution stays solvent. I know it sounds cold and cruel, but that's the nature of business these days."
He sat, gathering his thoughts, before speaking again. "You inherited nine hundred acres of valuable land, two hundred bordering a lake. Your father refused to see the writing on the wall, but you must face reality. You can't make a living farming anymore. I'm surprised real estate companies haven't started eminent domain proceedings to latch on to the lakefront property. I'm sure they've made offers, and now they can smell blood on the water. You're a month over our foreclosure policy and almost two years behind on your property taxes. I'm surprised the county hasn't already started proceedings against you, and I only allowed you to come here today to help you try to salvage something. I can give you another month if you let us help you. If you don't, you'll lose the farm, and the best you can hope for is to be clear enough to start a new life, and we'll try to keep your house off the table."
Then he paused, watching the slow tears roll down her cheeks despite her stoic face. She knew he was offering her a lifeline and wondered if she had the courage to take it. Luke would be furious, but it was partially his fault for her dwindling fortunes. He assumed they'd be married by now, but lately, judging from things he'd said or didn't say, she wondered how much he loved her and how much he loved the property.
She felt slightly sad over his apparent distaste for making her face reality. She composed herself and rose, shaking his hand. "Thank you for the truth, Mr. Warrenton, as unpleasant as it was. Truth has become a rare commodity, don't you agree?"
His hand was still warm and gentle, and she had to fight the urge to hug him. He looked incredibly sad before smiling. "Thank you, Miss Anderson. Usually, they shoot the messenger. I'll get your parking sorted out."
"I didn't drive. I took the train into town and then bussed over here. I'll cut it close because the conversation took longer than anticipated, even though I knew the answer. Have a good Thanksgiving, Mr. Warrenton."
"You as well. If you'll wait a minute, I'll arrange a car for you."