Summit with a general
He tasted like boiled beef and Arabian spice. DREADFUL PENNY Ep. 6
From Episode 5: Penny fails in her attempt to seduce Timur, and time is running out.
Do it now.
Timur was stretching his toes in bed, emerging from his grog. The laptop was across the room, not yet having drawn his attention.
Which is where she found him once she had returned wearing nothing but a smear of knock-out drug on her tit. He had draped himself in a furry zebra-striped robe that made him look like a primordial beast of the Asian steppe. He acquiesced to her kisses and happily pawed her until his phone rattled.
She tried to distract him from its buzz by burying his face between her breasts, twisting her torso to aim the toxin at his mouth. Take it…
Kasym’s trademarked one-two-three knock prompted him to push her aside. “Dress,” Timur commanded as he moved toward the door. Veronique pouted as she retreated to the bathroom and locked the door, so that Penny could scramble for the hand lotion with its flumazenil antidote.
She hadn’t hesitated to contaminate her flesh. But now, as she saved her own life by kneading the lotion against her breast, tremors seized her hands. She caught herself in the mirror, obsessively covering her entire torso with cream.
Beats the desk job, right? Viktor smirked.
“Shut up.”
She breathed until her heart stopped racing and contemplated her failure.
Jupiter might spend the rest of the day relaxing in the duplex, drinking in one of the cafes, or luxuriating at the spa, but he would not be alone. Kasym and the bodyguards and the butlers would resume their orbits.
Penny couldn’t stand the idea of wasting the day in the suite, watching the hands of the clock projected against the stairwell crawl from minute to minute. Veronique told Timur she was bored, and he permitted her to go out so long as one of his bodyguards kept her company.
She donned a wrap over her monokini and slipped into sandals. The bodyguard, still immaculate in his white shirt and blue suit, stood behind her in the elevator, smelling of cologne. She could feel his eyes checking her out from behind his aviator sunglasses, but he wouldn’t dare lay a finger on her.
The lobby occupied two levels at the bottom of the hotel’s vast atrium beneath a gauntlet of dancing fountains and aquariums flashing fancy fish. The Burj al Arab couldn’t risk boring the guests even during the mundane moment of standing on an escalator.
The bodyguard remained two steps behind her.
Veronique approached a tall red ottoman where attendants gestured for her to wait as they fetched a golf cart to ferry her across the causeway. She regarded a middle-aged Black man in a beige linen suit and an open-necked shirt, sitting with his legs crossed, twiddling a mobile in his fingers. The red-rimmed glasses and the bracelet of prayer beads suggested an eccentric playboy.
Stack.
She blithely followed the hostess’s gesture and sat beside him. The bodyguard stood in a military pose of rest nearby, endlessly scanning the crowd.
Stack glanced at her, with the casual interest that men routinely took in her, but he otherwise preserved a polite distance. Timur’s bodyguard took no further notice of the man in the linen suit, and a moment later she followed a smiling bellboy toward a golf cart. The cart would now take her—and the bodyguard, always—across the bridge to the Burj’s private beach.
Bumping into Stack was a coincidence. It posed a risk. But Penny was quietly delighted to see him. It reminded her that she wasn’t entirely alone. She didn’t give him the slightest acknowledgment as she made for her golf cart.
The day burned away and after lounging long enough in the heat along the Gulf waters she eventually made her way back. Uniformed men at the approach to the causeway confirmed Veronique’s identity and the bodyguard’s. There were dogs, too, in case a car needed to be sniffed.
Busting out of the Burj al Arab on foot would not be an option.
Timur elected to host his Chinese guests in his suite. He told her to get dressed. Veronique picked a navy cocktail dress that was corporate but didn’t hide her curves. Timur wore a suit with a KazPetro pin in his lapel and a Vacheron Constantin watch on his wrist. It was the one he had been wearing in Moscow when she first angled into him. Trying to impress her, Timur had told her the watch had cost more than his two Ferraris.
Kasym ushered in three Chinese men. The boss, General Liang, looked the part, with a humorless buzz cut atop a square face and a barrel chest. Despite the Chinese man’s grumpy demeanor, Timur, himself usually taciturn, came to life. He was in his element now—his big broad face lit up with a welcoming smile, his arms spread wide. The two CEOs warmly embraced and exchanged pleasantries in broken English as they arranged themselves around a table prepared by the butlers. One of the Chinese men handed out presents of expensive Maotai whisky as he complimented his hosts in fluent Russian. Veronique shook hands with the guests, and kissed cheeks with the Chinese boss. “Wah! Such a beauty!” he proclaimed in English.
“Thank you,” she said. “So many powerful men in this room, I don’t know which way to turn.”
“That way,” Kasym said, gesturing toward the double doors.
Timur nodded to her. She left. Kasym closed the dining room’s double doors on her with a smirk.
“Would miss like to eat in the living room?” a butler offered.
“I’m not hungry.”
She sat on a sofa opposite the grand stairway. The projected clock’s seconds hand seemed to slow to a complete halt.
The voices behind the door maintained a steady drone. Occasionally a butler would come and go, his silver platter ferrying food and drinks, the open door letting out a burst of animated talk before quickly clicking shut.
Finally, the negotiations wrapped up, and the double doors parted.
Penny jumped on Timur, wrapping him in her legs and arms, as Kasym ushered the last Chinese officer out of the suite. The meeting must have gone well enough because Timur was relaxed, and had drunk enough to be in a good mood. He responded to her shamelessly in full view of his men and the butlers.
“I’m bored, Timur. You’ve kept me waiting too long.”
The shine in Timur’s eyes lightened his earthy face and his fingers dug into her flesh. She giggled as he hoisted her and took to the stairs. He was a little too old for this to be a good idea, but Chairman Buribaev was also determined to show off his strength.
“Like bull,” he said, pausing halfway up to catch his breath.
“Or a stallion,” she said. “Fast Kazakh stallion.”
He led her into the bedroom and she used her suspended foot to slam the door. The briefcase with the laptop was still on its chaise, closed tight.
“Now wait here,” she said.
“No.” He grabbed the collar of her dress with both hands and began to rip.
“My dress!”
“Buy new one.”
They squirreled her out of the remains of her clothes. “Now your turn,” she said slipping her hand inside the fold of his shirt. She gave it a good rip and buttons rained on the carpet. He laughed as his hands groped and squeezed and the only way to slow him was with a languorous kiss. He tasted like boiled beef and Arabian spice.
His fingers fiddled with hooks. Penny squirmed out of his embrace, leaving his two hands holding her bra. He was too astonished at her escape to protest. “Girl stuff,” she said, pirouetting into the bathroom.
She ran to the contact lens container and smeared herself with the last of the gel, with a spritz of the Bulgari for good measure. A single phone call could be enough to distract Timur, but she resisted the urge to run to him. Seduction should be fast but not rushed.
Veronique wrapped a leg around the door frame. “Mr. Chairman.”
Timur was still hers, leaning bemusedly against the bed, wearing just boxer shorts. His torso was square and hairy, and his stout belly was hardened stodge rather than flab. If her escape had surprised him, Timur returned the favor by grabbing her with unexpected reach. She was on the carpet, squeezed beneath his bulk, and he was devouring her with his mouth. “That’s it…yesss.” She levered his head toward her breasts, feigning erotic joy as she tried to breathe.