Lost in Hotels Read Online Free PDF Page A

the water, the beach feels like the grittier Rio I knew of old, with its familiar vendors hawking those puffed peanut-flavored rings, fancy ice cream bars, and mate that are all staples of the Brazilian beach. There, in the distance, our eyes meet over no fewer than three women and a child building a sand castle precariously close to the waves. She stares without so much as a blink walking in my direction with her black swimsuit cinched tight in its wetness to her thighs, which curve in an almost immoral angle making them seem like they were built by God for grabbing.
    She inches closer as if blown by the wind. Her black eyes pierce, entrancing mine with her mocha skin and curly exotic hair dripping on the ends. A smile erupts even before a word. She sits next to me passing a touch of her foot over my sandy ankle as wave’s crash and crowd’s hum around us.
    “You Americano?” she secretes from her fleshy pout with glaringly white teeth of which I can see only a trace as I fantasize about the taste of her perfectly drawn lips.
    “Englander.”
    My direct gaze says, I’ll fuck you right here on the beach if need be, and it’s definitely going to happen; I’m going to get inside you. Her eyes struggle against the sea breeze as a single strand of hair beckoned by my perverse thoughts shoves itself into her mouth; her generous fingers tug at it but only push it in more, deeper, as we gaze into each other’s eyes that feel as though we’ve sunken into each other’s souls.
    “You sleep at Hotel Copacabana?” She references the posh hotel down the beach where most businessmen stay, and most Brazilian girls like her, only venture into once they are married or rightly dressed for a private client.
    Her question gives away her intent, a cash deal negotiated with a guy she would probably do without even being paid.
    “No, Marriott, da.” I point to the nearby hotel. Her sexy exoticness fades in just a single question as a look of disappointment echoes across her face. She inches a bit farther away and ponders my fallen value.
    My instinct is to continue to flirt and watch the salesmanship of a prostitute give way to the more primal desire of a girl who’s obviously into a guy. However, I also realize that leaving the situation without a room or intent to seal the deal would have her following me off the beach or causing some sort of commotion that I would not likely win given her home-beach advantage. Despite her knowing she cannot make money off a guy like me, she lingers with her eyes as we savor the passing light of the sun retreating to half-brightness beyond the staggered skyline of Copacabana.
    Realizing that our meeting is almost over, she firmly places her soft palm on my upper thigh in a clumsy last-ditch effort. I pull away with the tide and along with it, a fantasy that just isn’t meant to be this day.
    Then Rio and its women became secondary as the purpose of my trip, and life swept in on my second day that lasted forty-eight hours, thanks to one hellish all-nighter, courtesy of my firm’s partners in London. The very purpose of me being in Rio was to sort out quickly whether our venture capital company should continue with our offer to buy out a Brazilian-based advertising company. My partners didn’t appreciate that I was three days in and had gained so little insight into the financials of our acquisition prospect so far. Usually, a deal is either good or bad based on things you dig out of financial statements from larger accounting firms well in advance of such a visit, which usually comes shortly before the final deal negotiation.
    However, accounting isn’t as transparent in Brazil, and sometimes that equates to a better value for buyers. Other times, it’s simply a hack deal only discovered once you’re on the ground. My job is to sift through the numbers looking for inaccuracies, and then shift to the profit forecasting looking for ways to make even more money. This time, everything was off,