I breathe, and my mind starts to churn again. “So, what’s the spanking rule in marriages?” I ask flatly. I look over, and she is now looking at me.
“I think it’s okay, as long as panties are pulled down.” She bites her lip without realizing it, and I growl.
This is a bad fucking idea.
As we flytowards Tokyo over the calm, blue Pacific, the coffee does its thing, and we talk. We decide we may get jet lag, so we force ourselves to hydrate.
We discuss life, we discuss hobbies, and we work out what we both dislike. We then realize we have things in common, and maybe too many things.
We discuss countries we’d like to visit one day alone, and again, we both click with a few.
I pull off my suit in the hot sun, and Samantha gives me a hard time. Long flights need to be comfortable, and when flying alone, I fly in shorts.
After informing her the captain calls theshots and that comfort is important to us making it there in one piece, she keeps her mouth closed.
That is, until she gasps, “Oh, hell!”
“What?” I ask, looking over in my Ray-Bans.
“We have a problem, well, you do.”
“How so?”
“They’ll see straight through you, orus.”
I look over, my eyes narrowing and my stomach tightening. “Speak,” I command.
Samantha stands, pacing in the small, sleek cabin. “Okay, I understand very little about Japanese culture. But… from a few articles on Japan, and from some weird doc I saw once, we know the Japanese are all about customs. Also, slow deals and careful deals.”
“Wow, really?” I ask, as sarcastic as possible.
She ignores the jibe and continues. “And their way of deal making is this, from what I remember.”
She paces in the small cabin, and I want to command her to get to the point.
“They will want endless discussions and chit-chat. But nothing about the deal. That is... until, say, the last half-day.”
“What is your point?” I growl, knowing exactly what she is talking about.
“They will be with us, you and I, and together, for days.”
“You’re killing me,” I say with a sigh.
“They will see right through it, and they will see right throughus!”
“Shit,” I say, realizing she is onto something.
“Yes,” she says, sitting. “You know nothing about me. Nor I, you, Private Boy.”
I do not like the way this is going. Not one bit.
I also do not like sharinganything.
I never have. Good, bad or ugly, I am as private as it gets. I need my walls, and they keep me this…Safe.
Samantha flicks her legs back up, and her fine, now shoeless feet are distracting.
“Unless I’m wrong, and based on what you have said, we have around thirty hours before your first meeting in Tokyo.”
