Night gripped the throat of the sky like a killer's hand, intimidating all starlight to slink back behind the cover of clouds. I downed the last of the scotch and put the glass on the void expanse of the desk between us.

"I might," I told her, "but you'll have to be playing bigger than that." Her legs crossed and uncrossed beneath her desk, or so I imagined, and after four knocked back, I wasn't in the mood to tell the difference; she'd gotten to me that way, and she knew it.

Shadows played along her face and hair as she moved like poetry around the desk and pressed herself against me, with a voice like a steam sauna asking "How much bigger?", ruby pouting lips and hipbones in all the right places. So I did the only thing I could do. Shoved her off me and stood up, grabbed my coat from the wall hanger. Her eyes smoldered as she glared at me from the couch, running her hands down her dress.

"You want this done right," I said, "then it's strictly professional." Keyed the door and let it swing aside. "And if you don't," I continued, turning to step out, "you'll wish you hadn't ever asked."

"That'd make two of us," she said, standing, once again her poise in place. "And I didn't ask."

At that I paused, and made the fatal eye contact she'd been awaiting. "I never ask," she said, "I do. I take."

And sensing that was as good a line on which to leave as any, I stepped out, the door thudding heavy behind me. The elevator to the lobby was quick enough to spare me any thought, but the rainy streets ahead weren't so kind.