Best Laid Plans Read Online Free PDF Page A

I
just need to get out of my head right now.
    By three o’clock, I’m home
and scanning the closet for business meeting attire. It’s been a couple of
years since I’ve bought myself a new business suit. When I had the money, I
didn’t have the time for shopping. Now I have the time, but not the money.
    I pull out the professional-looking
gray twill jacket and skirt. It’s been my go-to garb for meeting a new client
since I can remember, which is why it’s looking old. The lapels are the wrong
width to be fashionable this year, and the skirt is “rump sprung”—the fabric is
stretched from sitting, so when it’s hanging in the closet it looks like a
death mask of my rear.
    My eyes drift to the little
black dress. Could I wear that? It’s short, but I have some black tights that
would look good with it. It certainly would be an ego boost.
    I give the dress the smell
test, and it passes. It’s a little wrinkled from lying on the desk, but if I hang
it in the bathroom when I shower, it should steam smooth. All right, I’m going
to wear it, and tomorrow I’ll take it to the dry cleaners, and then I’ll send
it back.
    . . .
    Hunter Enterprises is on the
top floors of the Embarcadero Building. The views areincredible.
Just from the reception area, you can see from Coit Tower to the Bay Bridge. But
right now I’m staring at the clock tower in the Ferry Building, and it’s 4:50. I’m
a little peeved. They were the ones who needed to have this meeting today, and
they’ve kept me waiting for twenty minutes. I probably should be standing. I
can’t let this dress get rump sprung.
    “Ms. Whitkins?” a voice
behind me calls.
    I turn around. A woman stands
in what I thought was a solid wall. Now I realize the doorway was hidden in the
paneling. This certainly isn’t Felicity, the intern. This elegantly dressed
woman is in her fifties and could be a poster child for executive assistant.
    “Sorry to keep you waiting,
but there’s been a little hiccup in our schedule today. Let me show you to the
conference room. May I get you anything to drink?”
    I stand and am shocked to see
my skirt hiked up much too high, and glued to me. I try to shake it loose, but
there is a buildup of static electricity between the dress and the tights and I
can’t pull them apart. I look up to the woman with a “Please help me”
expression. She notices immediately.
    “I see you’re a victim of the
new carpet. That was supposed to have been treated today. Come in here. There’s
a spray that should help.”
    I follow her through the door.
I’m holding my briefcase in front of me, and keeping my thighs as close
together as I can, which just builds up the electricity even more.
    She shows me into a small
conference room. “If you’ll wait here, we’ll be with you shortly. And I’ll try
to find that spray for your dress.”
    She walks out the door, and I’m
alone. This is my chance to shove my hands inside the dress and wrestle it free.
I face the door, so no one can walk in on me, and peel the little black dress
from my tights.
    “Ms. Whitkins?” Another
voice behind me! A male voice. An oddly familiar male voice.
    I move my hands away from the
hem and turn around. That’s when I see him, standing in another of those damn
hidden doors. The man who gave me this little black dress that is now clinging
to me like Saran Wrap.
    “I’m Jackson Hunter.” He
extends his hand. I reach for it and sparks fly. Literally. The static electrical
shock looks like a lightning bolt between our fingers. I shriek and suddenly my
dress un-clings (if that’s even a word) and hangs perfectly relaxed.
    “Hmmm, I believe we have some
electricity between us,” he quips.
    “I think my dress just orgasmed.”
Why did I say that? “I mean your dress…I’m sending it back tomorrow. I just…all
my suits were at the cleaners.”
    His smile tells me he doesn’t
believe me—again. “Of course, but you really don’t have to return it.”
    I give