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"Have a nice weekend, Mr. Frazier," the sultry voice purred automatically. |
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Charlie released the button, picked up his briefcase and stopped just long enough to take one last fleeting look at the rapidly darkening skyline. It had started to snow. He turned off the lights and left by the side door. |
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In a distorted, bigger than life sense, Kristen Irene Masters represented everything that had become Charlie's way of life since he had taken over at Frazier Securities. She was a well-connected, eastern-educated slice of the big apple way of living; she was cool, hip, liberated and monied. If there was anything about the lady that Charlie Frazier would have liked to change, it was the excessive notoriety she carried around with her everywhere they went. Kristen Masters was pure front page tabloid; every woman in America was reading about her protracted, name-calling, scandal-ridden divorce from the President's top security advisor, Martin Masters. Still, it was Papa's money and her own largely private condo on Port Belle that provided them with their getaway for the weekend. |
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She was, for Charlie's tastes, a trifle too tall, a trifle too thin and, in the final analysis, had a trifle too much control. What Kristen Masters wanted, Kristen Masters got. She was olive-skinned with a perfectly symmetrical face, |
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