Giving her friend a faux glare, Number One's wife stood lazily, stretching. "Those idiots wouldn't know a worthy project if it came up and bit them in the arse. You learn to herd the board like cattle if you want to get anything done."
Laughing, Lauren sketched a low curtsey. "I bow to you, my Queen."
"Let's go get a cocktail," Arabella suggested, "the afternoon is young."
"I can't," the girl said apologetically, "I'm meeting Miles down at one of the schools where the project is already implemented so he can give me a tour."
Leaning against the boardroom table, her friend looked her over, "My, my, are you sure all this money isn't going to Pretty Boy because he is so very pretty? A bit of a crush, perhaps?"
Lauren's jaw dropped. Arabella must be insane, saying something like that? In The Corporation's stronghold? Where everything was filmed and recorded and nuance and jokes were no excuse? "What are you thinking, Arabella?" her voice was sharp and cold. "That isn't funny. Not as a joke. Not at all." She felt a little sad to see the older woman's face pale, two red spots on her cheeks. "You... you want to come with me?" Lauren offered, "Come see the kids?"
Arabella shook her head briskly, "No, things to do. Enjoy."
Miles was everything she hoped he'd be. Funny, kind, animated - just as he been on the phone - and he was tall, nearly as tall as Thomas with blonde hair and warm brown eyes. "Let me take you to see our latest project," he said excitedly, gently pulling on Lauren's arm to bring her into one of the bigger classrooms.
It was an organized melee if such a thing existed, Lauren thought. Students were painting the walls with all kinds of fantastical figures. There were little groups gathered in a circle playing guitars and another section madly pounding away at keyboards. Someone was projecting all kinds of unusual, stark images of the sea and sky. Looking around, Lauren could feel a frisson of excitement going up her spine, responding to the feeling of creativity that was so strong, it made her shiver. "What is all this?" she asked, turning to Miles.
"One of our creation rooms," he explained sweeping out a hand grandly. "The students are hearing the music, and watching the images to put their own vision of what they hear and see, the musicians are creating music based on the art. It's an endless circle of creativity." Lauren nodded raptly, the feeling of excitement in the room was wonderful to witness, especially on the faces of usually blasé teenagers.
"It is amazing, Miles," she said sincerely. Turning to him, she asked, "How many more of these creation rooms can you make with one and a half million pounds?"
The man's jaw dropped. "I thought... I thought we were talking about say, 50,000 pounds," he gasped, "One point fivemillion?" Running his hands repeatedly through his shaggy hair, he grinned.
"Not all at once," Lauren hastened to explain, "but it would start the foundation, and each year you could draw fifteen percent off the principal to use for-" She was cut off by a huge, enthusiastic hug from Miles who was still grinning foolishly.
"I can't begin to tell you–" he choked for a moment, "how many kids we can help with that kind of funding." He eyed her curiously. Lauren sometimes forgot how she looked to others: expensively dressed, certainly, but still with huge, innocent eyes and a friendly, unguarded smile. Lauren had always looked younger than she really was, and it was never more evident than when she was excited like this.
"How can you command that kind of fundraising when you're so young?" Miles questioned, "You still look like you shouldbein one of these classes."
Rolling her eyes, Lauren said, "One day I'm sure I will be happy to have my mother's good skin, but at my age, it's very annoying. And the money isn't commanded by me of course, it comes from The Corp-" Lauren thought of the dark, granite building that housed The Corporation and all its ugly secrets, and swallowed before finishing. "It comes from the generosity of Jaguar Holdings," she paused for a moment. "They're in finance, trust me, it will be good for their souls," even her inner self was rolling her eyes at that one, "and the ruthless fundraising is actually headed up by Arabella Kingston, the wife of the CEO of the company." Tucking a blonde curl behind her ear, Lauren shifted. "I am a very small cog in a very large wheel."
Miles instantly shook his head, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Not to me," he said sincerely, "to me you are the guardian angel to these kids." Smiling politely, Lauren stepped away from his grasp. She knew Miles was simply sincere and enthusiastic, but it would never do for Chuck to see it. "Come," Miles offered, "let me take you to lunch." To her amusement, they headed for the school's cafeteria, where the food was just as bad as she had remembered from her own high school experience. But they sat and talked for hours, animatedly discussing new plans of how far they could extend Miles's program.
Finally, Chuck rose from the adjoining table. "Miss Lauren," he said composedly, "it is nearly five o'clock, and I believe that Mr. Williams has plans for the two of you this evening?"
Lauren instantly rose from the table, grabbing her messenger bag. Miles stood too, with a rueful smile, holding out his hand. "I'm so sorry Lauren," he apologized sincerely, "I didn't mean to take so much of your time."
"Don't be!" Lauren protested, "It was wonderful to see this, to hear about your vision." She squeezed his hand and firmly pumped it up and down in a goodbye handshake. "I knew we had made the right decision with you."
Smiling, the man bent over and gallantly kissed the knuckles of her left hand, lips grazing her wedding ring. Looking down at it, as if for the first time, Miles released her hand and stepped away smiling apologetically. "Thank you again, Lauren. I will see you at the gala."
Thomas moved silently up behind Lauren as she was putting her keys on the hall table. Hands sliding around her waist, he pulled her firmly back against his hard chest. "Oh God!" she gasped, "you can't slink up on me like that! I swear you're part cat!"
He merely chuckled, placing slow, sucking kisses down the side of her neck, enjoying how her pulse raced against his mouth. "It is a rare thing when I return home before you do," he said. It was said without disapproval, but Lauren still felt the weight of it from his sonorous voice.
"I'm sorry," she instantly apologized. "I was taking a tour of one of the Genesis classrooms, it's amazing, Thomas!" Her husband looked down at her animated face with a slight smile. "Miles has done so much with so few funds," she continued, "he has over fifteen of these classrooms across the city, and with the funding, the foundation can bring he can expand it by another hundred in the next two years alone. Isn't that wonderful?"
Thomas paused for a moment looking his wife over carefully. Her excited lavender gaze was as wide and clear as always, her smile unrehearsed. "Then I am quite looking forward to meeting this musical genius of yours at the gala," he answered.
Lauren's smile faltered a bit at his cool, blue eyes. Shaking her head, she said, "Miles isn't mine," she shrugged, "I just picked him out of the selection of the candidates for the funding."
But by then Thomas was unzipping her dress – right there in the entryway! – and nothing more was said. Lauren found herself seeing her husband more at his place of business in the following week than she had for the entire time they'd been together. Many of the foundation's meetings were held there, and the intimidating Number Two would step silently behind her, taking her in a firm grip on her upper arms or hands landed heavily on her shoulders, pulling her back against him as if re-staking ownership. As if there were any need, Lauren thought, standing stiffly in front of him. Like anyone at The Corporation was the slightest bit confused about who owned her.
Because Lauren never did decide on a dress for the gala, Thomas had chosen for her and had the dress sent to their house the day of the event. Pulling the heavily beaded gown from its nest of tissue paper, the girl gasped. It was exquisite, a beautiful vintage 1920s dress in the style of the free-drinking flapper girls of the era. Sliding it on, she turned back and forth in front of the huge mirror in their dressing room. The skirt fell to just above her knee, with a saucy slit that ended higher up on her thigh than she was completely comfortable with. But the elegant design of the jade green and silver beading made her feel mildly sultry. Styling her hair and attaching a sequined headband, Lauren was just finishing her make up when Thomas stepped up behind her, hands low on her hips. "Beautiful," he approved with a husky tone, "I knew this would be the perfect dress for you." Lauren smiled shyly looking back at her husband in the mirror's reflection, admiring how effortlessly elegant he was in his tux.
"It's out of my comfort zone," she admitted, "but I feel quite glamorous, thank you."
Thomas didn't seem to be listening, running his long fingers along her exposed shoulders and the delicate ridge of her collar bones. "Beautiful," he said in the same tone, looking at her with totally filthy intent. "We'd best leave, darling, or I shall remove this from you now." Lauren laughed and nodded, taking his outstretched hand.
