If you like a story with legs, we suggest you start at the beginning with Plan C, Inception. Even if you skim the previous three stories, you'll be able to appreciate what happens here that much more.
Note that this story does include hints of infidelity, so if that's not for you, we understand and hope you find another story you like.
*****
Sarah stood in the hotel foyer, her finger curled to her lips, miming "did I forget something?" She had walked about 10 metres from the entrance to the hotel lounge and turned as if to head down an intersecting corridor. She needed to see the lounge entrance without being conspicuous about it.
What happened next was governed by a single decision variable in her working model of the plan: Would Mr. X follow her?
"An inflection point if there ever was one", she thought, using the language she was familiar with. As a clinical researcher, she had learned to reduce a complex problem down to a set of key turning points. Typically, changes in biological systems are driven by many events that accumulate until they pass some threshold. But the more interesting cases involve just a few events -- events that can just as easily go one way or another. A single molecule might randomly bond with another molecule, setting off a cascade altering the metabolism of the entire cell. "A compelling analogy", she mused, "but a flawed one". If this were a turning point, the dynamics were "well-explained by the Standard Theory of Men". The outcome was "predictable with relatively high assurance".
And there he was. Scanning left and right. Seeing her, without acknowledging that he had seen her -- confirmation that her intuition about the suitability of her candidate had been sound! -- , he turned in her direction and started walking.
She set off at a good pace down the intersecting corridor. With her husband engaged in meetings, she'd had many occasions to explore the ground floor of the hotel over the last two days. There was the gift shop, the decent if uninspiring restaurant, the obligatory day spa. Really, a very pleasant place, she thought. Tasteful, contemporary, comfortable, and designed for use. It was attached to the small convention centre and contained many well thought-out spaces -- small foyers, group conversation areas, board rooms, and so on.
She paced herself so anyone motivated to do so could follow her. Now she looked back and saw Mr. X a casual distance behind her. In her travels, she had noticed one decent-sized alcove that was the perfect stage for Plan C, Phase 3. It contained a few upright armchairs with broad backs facing one another in loose formation, obstructed by a stair case, and buried in a small wing of disused conference rooms. The sort of spot that someone looking for a quiet place to prepare a presentation would have been pleased to discover. With a slightly self-conscious smile, she moved into the inviting nook and sat down in a chair facing away from the corridor.
She wouldn't be able to hear his approach across the well-carpeted floors, so she waited for him to appear, breathing slowly through her nostrils to still her heartbeat.
Mr. X wandered into the nook with a distracted half-curious air, as if he also had a special appreciation for hotel design. He didn't greet her directly -- perfect! -- but took his obvious mark in a chair slightly offset from hers and perhaps 2-3 metres away. He smiled -- almost shyly! -- and started to open his mouth.
She put her finger gently to her lips. This was so much more intimate a space than a hotel bar! She knew that conversation would seal them within that intimacy, and she didn't want that. Instead, she wanted a kind of anonymous intimacy -- and that required keeping communication to its barest essentials. And to ensure that the train of her plan stayed on its very slippery rails, she needed to control that communication completely. She looked at him and spoke:
"I should clarify a few things before this goes any further, and please understand that I don't mean to be rude. I just don't want there to be any confusion." She paused for a moment. His face fixed into a bemused, curious expression.
"I'm not propositioning you, and I'm not looking for a lover, or even for a friend. I already have a wonderful lover -- my husband -- ", she said, as her eyes actually twinkled, "and frankly, when this is over I hope never to see you again."
She waited a moment for this to register.
"What I am offering you is something that -- based on your reaction so far -- I think you'll enjoy. I know I'll enjoy providing it."
"But there are some basic ground rules: First, no talking unless I ask you a direct question. Second, I alone decide what happens and when it happens. You are not to make a move without my having asked you to do so. Third, I expect you as a man of obvious integrity to keep what happens between us to yourself. Fourth, if at any time you feel that you can't abide with these conditions, you can simply leave. Don't feel that you need to thank me."
That last statement she ended with an endearing half-wink.
"Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"Now, then. When did you first seem my panties this evening?"
"When you first sat down at the table. You were a bit clumsy and I got a quick glimpse at them."
"Did that 'quick glimpse' make you want to see my panties again?"
"Yes."
"And were you looking in my direction with the hope of catching another glimpse?"
