Hey—yes, yes, I know. I've been MIA for the past few days. Yes, I did get your text saying you were contacting the U.S. Embassy in London if you didn’t hear from me pronto. That’s what prompted my call. A little harsh if you ask me, but I know ya love me. So, no harm, no foul!
Believe me. I did want to call you. I was just—detained. I bet you want an explanation, don’t you? Okay, let me begin from when I last spoke to you.
So, after I got off the phone with you, I dressed and made myself presentable for my meeting. I can’t tell you how nice a lengthy shower without any distractions was, especially the not running out of water part.
Afterward, I dug through my carry-on, hoping that during the trip my clothes had gotten frisky and produced another clean shirt for me. Alas, they’d behaved, and I had to choose between two coffee-stained blouses, one with its buttons intact and the other minus several. Ultimately, I decided on the one with all the buttons. The latter reminded me too much of the steamy interlude in the airplane’s bathroom, both in good and bad ways.
Well, the good way doesn’t need explaining. Why bad? Well, at the top of a long list of reasons, the harsh reality is this god-like man who rocked my world was now no more than memory. So, the crème silk blouse seemed the better choice. Luckily, I had a belted jacket that hid the giant Rorschach coffee-blot from the world.
The meeting was promptly at nine, so around eight, I headed downstairs and had a scone with clotted crème and jam and a spot of English breakfast tea. Yeah, I know I sounded stupid saying “a spot of tea,” but I just loved how the little old man talked when he served me, so I decided to give it a whirl. Fine, note to self: stick with my usual lingo.
Around eight thirty, the limo came to take me to London’s branch of Wolfram and Hart. Even though the day was overcast, which I’ve been told is quite common here. The sights were amazing.
I looked like a total tourist with my face pressed against the glass, my mouth agape and eyes wide open. The best part of the short trip was going over London Bridge. I began singing the nursery rhyme—“London Bridge is falling down, falling down; London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady,” under my breath. Well, the way I acted on the plane ride over definitely wasn’t befitting of a fair lady. So, I had nothing to fear. No falling bridges for this not-so-fair lady!
All too soon I was at my destination. London’s downtown buildings held a great deal of old world charm mixed in with more modern architecture. Unfortunately, downtown L.A. doesn’t have the same character. All the buildings back home look identical, or maybe that’s just the part of me that’s bored with the same ol’ same ol’.
What really sucked was that Angel booked my return flight for four, which didn’t give me nearly enough time for sightseeing. I wanted to change my flight to the following day, but I knew I’d never hear the end of it from Angel, so four it had to be.
The driver opened the door, and I stepped out of the limo. My eyes instantly went to building towering before me. The firm occupied one of the more modern buildings, constructed of sharp angular lines with large windows that almost looked bluish in the foggy morning air—simply breath-taking.
Even though the modern exterior reminded me of the many buildings in L.A., once I stepped inside, the homey and welcoming décor let me know I definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
In our building, everything from the furniture to the walls is decorated in hues of harsh blacks and whites with splashes of red here and there. This lobby was so very different. You should have seen it, decorated in neutral hues of beiges with accents of deep burgundy and sage green, with beautiful mahogany wood floors and strategically placed pieces of mahogany furniture throughout. I fell in love with the place instantly.
Despite my professional appearance, I looked like a tourist once again. I looked around the space in awe, taking it all in. Anyone who saw me wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d whipped a camera out of nowhere and begun taking pictures as I oohed and aahed.
While I was making a mental note or more so borrowing ideas on how I was going to redecorate our office when I got back, the secretary sitting behind a large mahogany desk greeted me and asked if she could assist me.
I finally answered her, once I stopped gawking at the place like a total idiot. It also took me a moment to wrap my head around the fact that everyone had an English accent— very similar to the accent that had my insides clenching with lust less than eight hours before.
After I got my bearings, I told her why I was there. She smiled at me warmly, before calling upstairs. Following a few “Yes, sirs,” she showed me to the elevators and told me Mr. Wyndham-Pryce would be waiting for me on the fourth floor.
My stomach felt tied in knots during the short ride up. Even though I knew this account inside and out, I didn’t have a clue as to what Angel had said or done to fuck it up so badly as to require a personal meeting. Usually, a conference call worked. But knowing Angel, he’d really put his foot in his mouth this time, and if I didn’t make nice and smooth things over this morning, Angel could kiss this million-dollar account, and most likely his ass, good-bye! If I didn’t think my ass was on the line too, I would’ve tanked this meeting on purpose to teach his arrogant ass a lesson!
When I arrived at the fourth floor, the little elevator bell dinged, and the door opened while I was still deep in thought. It wasn’t until the door started to slide closed before my mind registered and screamed— “Hello, get out!” Gratefully, the doors had sensors on them, or I would’ve been cut in half, since I tried sliding through the partial opening that was closing quickly.
Only one person, the secretary, witnessed my almost sawing-the-lady-in-half trick, and thankfully, she didn’t make a comment on it. Once I told her who I was, she escorted me to the boardroom that was already half-filled with those attending the meeting.
Prior to setting up my laptop for my presentation, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce introduced himself and some of the other members of the board to me. Despite the beaming smile I wore, I was completely freaking out inside. Of course, they all had English accents like Spike’s.
Granted, their voices didn’t have the same deep, sexy quality his had, but after hearing his words rumbling in my ear during the best sex I’ve ever experienced, even the gecko from that insurance company’s commercials would get me wet. Like Pavlov’s dog, I will be forever reprogrammed to react that way to an English accent.
Quickly, I slapped my mental slut a few times so I could get through the meet and greet. Finally, once two more members entered and introductions took place, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce instructed everyone to take their seats. Following one more formal introduction of yours truly, I started my presentation.
Let me just say this, I was on fucking fire! Once I pushed past the lusty thoughts of Spike, I focused on my presentation. By the end of my spiel, Angel’s fuck up was a thing of the past. I could barely keep my grinning to a minimum while putting my things away, when I overheard several board members discussing how they wanted me to be the sole contact for this office from now on. Ha—take that Angel!
Following several handshakes and thank yous, I headed toward the elevator to leave. Before I pressed the button, my bladder decided to protest, with my morning tea making itself known. After asking the secretary where the restroom was, I headed down the lengthy hallway, while my mind wandered to the last bathroom trip I made— the one on the plane.
The closer I walked, the more my insides twisted, and the more the thought that maybe, just maybe, Spike would be waiting behind the door. I knew it was wishful thinking, but neither my hoping nor my inner lustiness understood nor followed any sort of reasoning.
Tentatively, I stood facing the closed bathroom door for several moments as I tried collecting myself. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
Before I opened my eyes, my mind brought forth a vision of what existed behind this door. A spacious, candlelit room and in the center of it was an ornate four-poster, mahogany bed with swags of black muslin hanging from the canopy. Lying in the middle of the massive bed on the black silk sheets was Spike in all his naked glory. The inky fabric showcasing his glorious pale skin, while he rested on his side with his head propped up by the palm of his hand. His other hand rested on his hip and hovered just mere inches from his impressively erect cock.
My gaze traveled hungrily over his body until I reached his beautiful face. The soft candlelight flickered across his sharp features, and his full lips held a sinful, knowing smirk. But it was his eyes that held me captivated. They appeared to be a deep shade of blue, almost black, as they twinkled with a combination of mischief and lust. As our gazes remained locked, his full lips parted and his voice broke through the silence.
“Excuse me, miss, are you alright?”
My face scrunched with confusion. The voice was all wrong; too high pitched and whiny. Not the sexy timbre that I remembered. I slowly opened my eyes and realized all that I’d envisioned was just that, my imagination. Completely not real, and I feared right then and there I should’ve have been institutionalized for having these sordid hallucinations.
Instead of the fantasy candle lit room I visualized, it was a sterile-looking company bathroom complete with three stalls and a row of sinks. Also, the person in there with was not the naked man I had hoped for, but a gratefully fully clothed, mid-fifty-ish woman, who was badly in need of a good dentist and a hairdresser.
With the sweetest smile I could muster, I headed into the furthest unoccupied stall and closed the door, my eyes remaining downcast during my entire walk of shame.
I waited inside the stall until she left, so I didn’t need to further my embarrassment by seeing her again. Finally, after taking her sweet ol’ time, she left. Quickly, I left the stall and went to the sinks. After washing and drying my hands, I tried fluffing up my limp hair that had fallen flat since that morning’s primping.
While my hands tousled my hair, I noticed something that convinced me instantly whatever had been fucking with me yesterday—Murphy’s Law, karma, or what have you—wasn’t through with me yet. My earring was missing. Yeah—my favorite diamond stud earring gone!
After pulling my eyes back into my head, I slowly ran my fingers through my hair while whispering prayers the earring was caught within the strands. No such luck. I started gently shaking out my clothes. It wasn’t there either.
Shit! I rushed into the stall and started stripping down. While standing and shivering in a public bathroom in only my bra and granny panties, I began crying.
It was inevitable that this day— well, not exactly a day since the shit storm had followed me from one day into the next— was going to catch up with me. After a few minutes following a good cry, I wiped my remaining tears away and quickly got dressed.
As I stood in the mirror, continuing to wipe away my raccoon eyes, a thought came to me. During my presentation, I had felt something brushing against my neck. At the time, I shook it off thinking it a wayward piece of hair. But maybe, just maybe, it was my earring falling out! Excitedly, I finished freshening up before leaving the bathroom.
Heading toward the boardroom, I continued my silent prayers my earring was there and not lost somewhere between LA and England. My pace quickened once I saw the closed door at the end of the hall. Looking around me and not seeing anyone close by, I entered and closed the door softly behind me.
I started taking slow and hesitant steps toward the front of the room, all the while my gaze remained fixed on the carpet below. Nothing, once I reached the front, my eyes continued scanning the floor and still nothing. I moved chairs, the small presentation table, even a potted plant in the corner. I came up with more nothing.
I decided I needed to get closer. Hiking up my skirt somewhat, I squatted and continued my search. I tried looking under the table, but after bumping my head several times on the edge and with my ankles in pain from maintaining this position, I knew what I needed to do. Looking around and heaving a deep breath, I went onto my hands and knees and started crawling under the table.
Yeah, har-har! Get all your laughs out now. In my defense, I didn’t care how stupid I looked. I needed to find that earring. Appearances be damned!
Anyway, being on my knees did the trick—what? Very fucking funny! Again with you being a comedic genius! Like I said before, you should really look into becoming a professional. Now, where was I…oh, yeah…I was on my knees, and after a few moments, I found it!
Resting on top of the compact fibers of the multi-colored carpet was my earring! With a triumphant grin and a muted but excited, “Yes!” I cupped my precious in my palm, before wrapping my fingers around it. Holding my diamond-containing fist to my chest, I thanked any faith willing to listen for helping me find it.
Now, all I had to do was shimmy myself out from under this table and make a stealthy get-away before someone caught me in this compromising position. Yeah, you know what happened next, don’t you? With how Murphy’s Law has been making me its bitch, I should have kept my mind completely blank. But, noooo, I had to go and think about my getaway. Just then the door I had come in earlier opened and in walked two men.
Before you ask, I knew they were guys by their shoes. One wore a pair off the shelfers — boring, plain, and ho-hum. But the other, he wore a pair of John Lobb of London! What! I know you have just as a big shoe fetish as I do! I’m deeply disappointed you don’t know this! John Lobb is the Manolo Blahnik of men’s shoes! Their motto is “The bare maximum for every man.” These fucking things cost more than two-months rent! Needless to say, truly impressed!
Anyhoo, getting off of the topic of shoes, I was so hoping these two were looking for a pen or a missing paper, but no such luck. Once I heard the door close, they walked toward the table I was hiding under. Standing only a few feet from me, their murmured conversation started. I knew, just knew I’d be stuck there for a while. Then going with an impersonation of an inanimate object, I did my best to remain stock-still.
The whole time they were there, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce was the only one who spoke. The other man just listened, grunting and scoffing responses throughout. At one point, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce’s voice rose enough so I could actually make out what he was saying. He was giving the other guy a big-time tongue lashing for his not having been at the meeting, especially since he was the one who wanted it to take place.
Then, Mr. Grunt and Scoff actually responded something other than his caveman-like noises. Now what happened next, threw me for a loop. It wasn’t what he said, ‘cause all he uttered, which sounded more like a growl, was “I know.” It was his voice. The deep and silky timbre caused my insides to clench instantly. My first thought was, “It can’t be!” Then, on the heels of my first, my second thought came—“It’s not him. It’s only my mind playing tricks on me again.”
Mr. Grunt and Scoff didn’t say another word as Mr. Wyndam-Pryce continued speaking. Once more, his voice lowered and held the same hushed tone, so I couldn’t hear a damn thing he was saying. After another five minutes, the murmuring stopped, and I saw both pairs of feet turning back toward the door.
When I heard the sound of someone placing his hand on the door knob, turning it, and releasing the latch, the breath I didn’t know I was holding passed by my lips as I dropped my head in relief.
Then it happened. Like I said, I’ve been fate’s bitch lately. While I was taking in another slow draw of air through my nose, I must’ve been too close to the rug or a wayward piece of dust decided my nostril would be a fun place to explore. Whatever it was caused the inside of my nose to start twitching and tingling with an impending sneeze. I tried to hold it in. I really did. However, my body had other plans.
Yup, before I could stop it, a big ass sneeze came barreling out of my nose. Now you know how I sneeze -- no dainty “ah-choo” for me, oh no. My sneezing sounds like the big bad wolf’s blowing the pig’s house down or something equally obnoxious.
So, once my spittle-snot flying sneeze ended, I started cursing under my breath. The room was completely silent as I kept my eyes closed tight and my head down. I was afraid to look. I hoped and prayed they’d left before the blast, otherwise known as my sneeze, had sounded. Yeah, you’re right: I wasn’t that lucky.
Slowly looking up, I noticed both pairs of shoes turning now facing the table. Great! Just great! I was scared shitless that Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and Mr. G & S were going to be extremely pissed off that I didn’t let them know I was under the table before they began their obviously private conversation. Never mind them being pissed, I was so scared everything I had accomplished that morning was all for naught, and they were going to pull out of the deal completely.
Still living in denial, praying they didn’t hear and hoping they would turn away, I remained where I was. I watched one set of feet, those of the guy sporting the John Lobb’s, as they continued walking past me, while off the shelfer remained still, now facing the table. I wanted to cry and wished the ground would open and swallow me whole. Again, I wasn’t that fortunate.
Oh, let me not forget the cherry on the top of this shit sundae. My ass was hanging out beyond the table. Before I could back out from under it, as gracefully as one can on their hands and knees, and skirt hiked up can be, I heard Mr. G & S, he of the John Lobbs, speak.
“Buffy?”
It happened again. Once more I thought the voice floating from above me resembled my own personal Eros. Shaking my head slightly, I started to back out from under the table.
Once I stood to full height, my eyes remained fixed downward while I started toying with my outfit, brushing off my knees, trying to buy some time to think of something witty to say. Before I could come up with some garbled bullshit, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce spoke,
“Ah, even though this is not exactly the way I envisioned your introductions, this will have to suffice. Miss Buffy Summers this is Mr. William Pratt, MD, or CEO as you American’s call them, of the London branch of Wolfram and Hart.”
On cue, I looked up and almost swallowed my tongue. It was him! Sure, gone was the black on black leather, replaced by a clearly tailored dark blue suit with thin, white pinstripes, a deep rose-colored dress shirt, and a silk cranberry tie, but the slicked-back bleached blond hair and beautiful blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and lust remained. Even after Mr. Wyndam-Pryce called him William, not the moniker by which I knew him, it was still him—Spike!
Going by the way his eyes only flashed briefly with surprise, I could tell he didn’t expect to see me again. Yet, just as he had on the plane, he composed himself quickly. But soon his intense gaze shifted from surprise, to blaze with the same intensity that had almost burned me alive earlier.
Despite our earlier pleasures of the flesh, he outstretched his hand as civilized people during introductions do. I steadied myself, attempting to keep my hand from shaking, as I mirrored his actions and clasped his hand in mine. I felt pulses of electricity racing up my arm and spreading throughout my body like wildfire, before settling between my thighs. Then when he decided to speak, I nearly came undone.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Summers. I’ve long awaited meeting the brains of your company. You must pardon my absence from your presentation. It was unintentional, I assure you. I fear the flight I had taken from the States last night, even though it was extremely gratifying, had been far more taxing than I anticipated. I do understand you’ve already given your presentation to the other board members, but maybe if I entice you with the lovely sights of London and fabulous meal, would you be willing to recapitulate the meeting?”
My mind was all in a tizzy! Never mind running into him again, but running into him here at the company where I made my presentation. Plus, his accent wasn’t the same brash Cockney accent that had rumbled in my ear, but a cultured, intellectual one that still made my insides clench.
On top of all that, the entire time he spoke, he still held my hand. With gentle and torturous caresses, his thumb skimmed across my knuckles. It became almost too hard to concentrate with him doing that! I was stunned, absolutely speechless, and it took me a few minutes to grab a thought, since so many were busy running through my mind. Finally, I caught the slippery little sucker, and I actually sounded somewhat intelligent! Kudos to me!
“And it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pratt. You’re correct, I have given my presentation already, but it seems you know exactly what to say. Bribing me with the sights of London and a delicious meal has earned you an encore.”
He smiled, even though it wasn’t nearly as cat-that-ate-the-canary-ish as it was before. I knew by the way his eyes flashed, he definitely thought, “game on.”
Not too long after, we left Wolfram and Hart via limo to take in the sights of London. After an hour of sightseeing, I told him I needed to get back to my hotel, since I had a four o’clock flight back to the States. He told me he took the liberty of having Mr. Wyndam-Pryce contact Angel to tell him my services were still needed in London, then instructed him to call the airlines to have my flight postponed.
One part of me wanted to yell at him and tell him he had no right to do that! Just because we had a fling in the plane’s bathroom didn’t make him the boss of me! Yeah, I know I’m full of shit. That belligerent, “I am woman hear me roar” part of me was really small and remained in the forefront for all of a minute. It was instantly replaced with the other, much larger part of me that was gushing like a school girl from his actions. You’re right. I’m a total sucker for a man in charge.
With the worries of Angel and my flight out of the way, he showed me the sights of London: Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, and the London Eye. While he explained each one, his voice had me mesmerized, and every inch of my skin felt on fire.
Despite the UST hanging heavy in the air, he never touched me. The entire time he remained a perfect gentleman, that or a complete clit tease—depending on your perspective. Mine leaned toward the latter.
After several hours, we stopped for lunch. He took me to one of Gordon Ramsey’s restaurants. The minute we walked in, the maître d’ greeted us, calling him by name. Immediately, despite the customers who had been obviously waiting for awhile, we were shown to our table.
I shuddered uncontrollably when he placed his hand on my lower back as he escorted me toward our table. That was the first time he had touched me since I shimmied myself from under the table, and we shook hands. It took all my restraint not to jump on him like a bitch in heat.
The meal was beyond exquisite. Every bite was like an orgasmic experience! It took all my control not to moan after each delicious bite. Throughout the meal, he eyed my mouth as I slowly wrapped it around my fork or framed the edge of my glass. Two can play that game. Despite all my womanly wiles, he remained ever the gentleman.
Once our lunch was over, we took in more sights. We talked the entire time, everything from my presentation, to lighter subjects such as how we enjoyed living in our respective cities and of our friends and families. The conversation never dragged. Time passed so quickly, and when he pulled outside my hotel it was already seven o’clock!
Even though we’d spent the entire day together, I didn’t want it to end, so I asked him if he wanted to join me for a drink. We spent another two hours talking before it was clear the night needed to end. You should have seen him when I tried to leave. He blushed while he asked me if he could walk me to my room. The man that spent time between my thighs feasting on me—blushed!
At the door, I had a sense of déjà vu. It felt like when I was in high school, my parents were waiting in the living room and if I stood out there too long with my date, they were going to start flicking the porch light off and on. After we said our goodnights and before he turned to leave, he slowly leaned over to place a kiss on my cheek.
No way! No way was I letting him give me only that. I’ve been on the edge from the moment I saw him again, and I was a good girl all day! I deserved a little kissage!
Just before his lips met with the side of my face, I turned quickly and met his lips head on. The instant they met, I felt a surge of electricity. It was like a dam letting loose despite the ever vigilant little Dutch boy standing there with his finger in the seawall. Before I knew it, he was inside my room and everything else from there a flurry of clothes being torn away and bodies clashing in a hurried joining.
After God only knows how long, we lay on the bed sated and breathing heavily. Once I could gather some sort of coherent thought, I asked why he waited so long to make a move. His response: he didn’t want me to think badly of him. Before I could stop it, a hearty laugh spilled from my mouth, which in turn triggered his.
Well, that’s my sordid tale. Whatcha think? I know. I know the whole thing was completely crazy. Well, not was—is. It is crazy. Yup, I’m still with him. Before you give me a mother hen lecture, just hear me out. Following our laughing and major sexage session, we fell asleep. When I awoke, he was still there, his arm banded around my middle holding onto me tightly, as though I was a beloved stuffed animal or something.
The moment I tried to move, he tightened his grip, pulling me further back into his body. Then his mouth was on that weak-in-the-knees spot just below my ear, and his deep, rumbling voice filled my ears. He asked where I was going. When I told him the bathroom and I would be right back, with a long parting kiss, he finally let go.
When I came out of the bathroom, there was a cart over-filled with breakfast foods, more than you could ever imagine. After stuffing ourselves like pigs, we headed into the shower, and following some sudsy, naked fun, we decided it was time to get dressed.
Long story short, he asked me to come back to his apartment. No, this whole time hasn’t been one giant sexfest. We've talked, really talked, about everything.
He told me he had no intention of letting us part the way we did. When I asked him then why wasn’t he was waiting for me in first class or at the very least at the gate, he told me he tried to wait, but security had other plans for him. I guess when he told the stewardess he was waiting for me, but couldn’t tell them my full name, they thought he was kinda creepy and asked him to “leave quickly.” Not wanting to cause a scene or worse get arrested, he did what they asked.
Uh, what’s what? Is this a relationship? Well, I don’t know. I really can’t put a label on what is going on between us. Even though we’ve only been together for a few days, I feel I know him better than anyone else I’ve ever been with. It’s so weird. No, I’m not going all Fatal Attraction on him!
He’s told me so many times and not just when he’s deep inside of me, that I mean a lot to him and that he wants more than just this short period of time together. We’ve exchanged everything from our e-mails to phone numbers in order to keep in touch with one another.
Plus, of how many one-night stands can you say you’ve met his friends after the fact? Last night we went to a pub and I met them. They were so great. When Spike went to the bar to get me a drink, his best friend, Clem, told me without my asking that I must be someone special to him ‘cause, “He never brings a woman to meet us.”
No, I’m not saying that. I have my life in LA, and he’s in London. I’m not planning to throw away everything I’ve worked for and move here. I mean, don’t get me wrong -- being his concubine has an orgasmic ring to it, but this is all so new. We want to see what happens, but I’ll tell you this, whatever this is, it’s amazing. He’s amazing.
Where is Mr. Amazing now? Well, if you haven’t guessed by what I’ve been saying so far, the man has major stamina. However, my body isn’t used to that type of attention. He’s taken pity on me and is working out his energies elsewhere, at the gym, his gym. Yup, the man’s apartment is huge! You could fit at least three of my apartments in here with room to spare.
Hey, I’ve got an idea. You wanna see a pic of my man? Ok, now I have to be really quiet. He has like supernatural hearing or something. I can never sneak up on the man, he always catches me. Now, shhh…be vwey quiet, I’m huntin’ Spwike.
CLICK
Oh my god, oh my god, did you get it? He’s so going to punish me! Don’t worry. It’s in a good way, a totally good way! Ok, shhh…he’s coming, I’ve gotta hide.
“Fe, fi, fo fum. I smell a nice… ripe…. girl.”
Did you hear his voice? It's sooo sexy! Why am I whispering? I told you I’m hiding.
“So, you want to play with fire, kitten. I’ve told you it will burn you one day. Today is the day. Such a naughty girl taking pics of yours truly, you could’ve waited until I was starkers. Oh, and lookie here, now I am.”
Yeah, I know I’m acting like a kid but I’ve gotta drag out getting caught, don’t I? Ok, there’s only room for two of us in the sexual hide-and-seek game. I’ll talk to you—
“Hello, cutie. You think I wouldn’t find you? Well, it’s time to say bye-bye to your mate and take your punishment like a big girl.”
Umm…I really gotta go. Take care of Mr. Gordo and I’ll talk to you when— CLICK