Tom decided that this woman needed to be kept away from safety scissors.Tom decided that this woman needed to be kept away from safety scissors. "Miss Winchester--" "Please, call me Ava," she said. "Right. Ava, either you've got an Uncle that thinks he's Napolean, or you've got more money than good sense. I mean, I'll be happy to lose a few on purpose, but for a million bucks a fall...hell, I'd pin my own mother for that much." Ava seemed unfazed. "Mr. Bradley--" "Please, call me Tom." "Fine. You may rest assured of three things, Tom. First, I am not deluded, psychotic, or otherwise mentally impaired. Second, I'm a primary shareholder in Amatech Conglomerated, and have more money in one mutual fund than you could collect in an evening of pins. Finally, I intend to prevent you from collecting any of the money." He scratched the back of his head, trying to decide whether to roll around with her for the sheer lewd thrill of it, or to be kind and send her elsewhere. Tom's id and superego clashed momentarily, his libido prodding him to leap at the opportunity, and his conscience wagging a finger of still-unresolved Catholic guilt; he sighed as his conscience won the fall. "Ava," he said finally, "You're a beautiful woman. Correction: you're the most stunningly attractive woman I've ever met. And if you'd asked me to dinner or out for coffee, I'd've jumped at the chance. But, I'd feel too much like I was taking advantage of you. I know some female wrestlers, maybe I could introduce you to them and--" She moved her left hand from behind her--he hadn't noticed, but she'd kept it obscured the whole time--and held out an envelope fat with something square. She dropped it on top of his car with a thud. |