4 comments/ 6521 views/ 4 favorites Sara-ndipity By: PlayJett Note to the reader: this story contains romance, but not sex. Hope you enjoy. * Sara adored fall. There was something about the changing of the season that spoke to her. As the days grew shorter, and the chill crept into the breeze of fine, sunny days, the colours of her New England world would change slowly into the burnished golds, straw and rich browns accented with fiery reds. It was as if nature was determined not to go quietly. The last flush of energy before the long sleep of winter was spent in a spectacular display of visual glory. She dressed for the season. Light, floating summer dresses gradually gave way to jeans, heavier fabrics, boots and scarves. The brightness of summer fashion fading into the deeper shades of denim, mahogany and ochre. While her friends complained about summer lost, Sara rejoiced in the increasing crispness in the air that brought a pink flush to her cheeks. She laughed as she walked, arms spread wide for a moment and then a single spin which sent the carpet of fallen maple leaves around her into a little eddy. They cavorted around her ankles for a moment before rustling back to rest on the paved path through the park. She knelt down and picked up one of the leaves. Marvelous, this creation of nature. Discarded and lifeless it was still a thing of exquisite structure and beauty. Was there a lesson here, she wondered, about life? Sara returned to the present with a pair of boots just beyond the leaf in front of her. It took her a moment to register that they weren't hers. A second moment to admire them and then, with a flush that had nothing to do with the coolness in the air, a third moment to glance upward. In a world of fall colors, eyes the color of the sky were a brilliant, unexpected contrast. It seemed the sky had - with its view blocked from her - still found a way to condense itself into the two orbs studying her merrily. "A melancholy time. So charming to the eye!" "I'm sorry, what?" "Ah, Pushkin. The second line in the stanza is 'Your beauty in its parting pleases me.' You make a striking 'youthful nymph' crouched down there amongst the debris of summer's glory." "Umm..." "Yes, I'm sorry. That was rather odd wasn't it. Here: let me give you a hand up and we'll start over." Sarah felt sheepish as she took the large hand he offered to her, and she wondered how long he'd been watching her. She used her gloves to brush the dirt and leaves from her jeans, glancing surreptitiously at the man through the veil of her chestnut hair. "I didn't see you there, I'm sorry. I can get a little lost in my own daydreams when I come here this time of year." Her dark eyes regarded him cautiously at first, but the man's expression, actually his whole person, radiated with a sort of quiet enthusiasm that caused her to smile in spite of herself. "So.... Pushkin? I have to admit I'm not much of a literature buff, but I'll thank you for comparing me to a youthful nymph I think." His laugh made her flush again, and she buried her balled up hands into her pockets, her shoulders tight. His eyes got smaller when he smiled, and almost disappeared when he laughed, which was often, judging by the fine lines at the outside corners. He held out his hand one more time for her. "My name is Paul. It's nice to see someone here who enjoys this place as much as I do, even if she seems to be embarrassed by her enthusiasm." "Yeah, well, sometimes I forget I'm not eight years old anymore. Sara, by the way." Paul watched her with amusement. She was certainly younger than him, he'd guess her at just shy of thirty, but something about her bashfulness at the moment made her seem younger. He reached forward and plucked a bit of leaf out of her loose hair, dropping it to the ground with a friendly grin. "To be honest, Sara, I was sorely tempted to photograph you there, but was afraid of being knocked around a little for taking a pretty woman's picture without her permission," Paul gestured to the camera slung by a strap over his shoulder. "But I also wasn't certain if nymphs translate to film." Sara couldn't quite tell if he was making sport of her. Those blue eyes were incredibly intense and a little alarming if she tried to meet his gaze for too long. "I would imagine there are far more worthwhile things for your lens in this park than a woman making a fool of herself." She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a breath. Compliments were never her forte, but she realized she must sound terribly rude. "Thank you, though," she added. She leaned back against the tree as he began to pull his digital camera out of its case. She stared at her shoes waiting for him to tell her that he was ready. "Thanks, all done." "What ...?" "Your pensive expression was so striking that I just snapped away. "Oh. Um, may I see?" Paul laughed. "Oh no, I want to touch up the contrast and reframe it slightly first. Besides, I need an excuse to see you again." He smiled as he said it, bringing the crinkle again to the corners of his eyes. It was a very nice smile, Sara decided, and was surprised to find an answering one rising unbidden on her face. "OK, I'd like that too." "These chilly mornings are just right for a latte or a hot cocoa. Tomorrow?" "Yeah, I usually have a slow start to Saturday and read in a corner of a cafe someplace anyway." "Great, well where shall I meet you?" "Black Forest, at ten?" "Done", he said and held out his hand. Sara extended her own tentatively. She gave a little gasp when, instead of shaking as she expected, he brushed a soft kiss on the back of her hand. "Until tomorrow then, Sara." And with a grin and a final flash of his blue eyes he was gone. Sara stood and watched him stride away along the path, the leaves dancing joyfully around him as he went. As the distance increased it was difficult to tell whether they were rising before him or in his wake. It was easy to imagine that these children of the gods of autumn were parting before him, making way for the Lord of Winter. She shook her head and turned towards home. She tried telling herself that the unsettled feeling in her stomach was just hunger. Or perhaps she was shaking a little from the cold. She retied her scarf and hugged herself tightly as she left the shelter of the trees and the wind increased. No, the butterflies in her stomach flitting like the leaves in the fall gusts had nothing to do with the recent encounter. Nothing at all. Or, so she kept telling herself. ------- The bell chimed cheerily as Sara pushed open the oak door. From the Avenue's sidewalk you could see through the glass panes and imagine the atmosphere, but it wasn't until you stepped inside that you got the full force of that extravagant assault on your senses. The tantalizing scents of freshly brewed coffee combined with pastries and cinnamon. The smell of the pine cones in the brazier against the far wall underlain with that distinct smell of old, well-worn polished timber. The sound of chatter and laughter was a counterpoint to the clink of crockery. The sights, smells and sound of Black Forest always rejoiced her spirits. Sara waved at the barista. She was a regular enough customer that several of them recognized her. She'd often stop and chat while waiting for her order. It was another of the things she liked about the place. It was friendly in that comforting, old-world way. Professional service was fine, but it had no charm when it was delivered with a cold crispness devoid of feeling. No, the feeling here was just right and she loved it. "Sara?" She walked over to the counter where Jill smiled at her through a cloud of steam from the espresso machine. "Someone left a message for you early this morning. A little unusual, too", she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Ben? Under the counter. Can you get that for Sara?" Ben handed her a leaf. The large maple leaf was still green-tinged at the centre, fading through yellow to a burnt orange at its outer points. Written hastily in a dark brown ink across the patch of marigold was, 'Sorry. Called away. See you soon? P.' The keen pang of disappointment was a little unexpected. After all, they'd only talked for a matter of minutes yesterday, and yet she'd really been looking forward to coffee today. She would have blushed to admit how much time she had spent on her appearance before she left the apartment, carefully crafting herself to appear carelessly cute. She noticed the barista studiously wiping down an already spotless area of the countertop, watching her intently. She was obviously hoping for some details about the mysterious note. Rather than try to explain, Sara counted out the money for the coffee, dropped a bill into the tip jar and thanked her. She carefully tucked the leaf into the pages of her book, and turned back towards home. As she made her way down the peaceful path back to her apartment, shuffling her feet through the carpet of newly fallen leaves, her thoughts spun, making up reasons for his cancellation. Perhaps he had second thoughts, and just didn't want to see her? Maybe he had a wife, and couldn't get away. The longer she thought, the more preposterous her ideas began, ranging into ideas straight out of movie plots. Sara shook her head and laughed in spite of herself. He hadn't left a number or anything, so she was unsure how or if they would ever meet up again. There wasn't much point to worrying about it. It was disappointing, but that had been her luck lately. Why should it change? ------- "Mike, for God's sake! I still don't understand what's so important about this guy that I needed to drop everything and drive down," Paul groused as he pulled a suit jacket on over his t-shirt. Mike just laughed. He'd known Paul for five years now, and had organized at least twice that many gallery showings. Paul wasn't your typical New York artist type, but he wasn't exactly the easiest photographer to work with either. Where most of the artists Mike dealt with were self-important divas, Paul was almost too laid back. If Mike hadn't pushed so hard, he was sure that Paul would never have tried to sell his photos in the first place, much less make a living at it. A damn good living too. And now this. "I'm sorry that I pulled you away from your Saturday morning cartoons, buddy, but this guy won't move until he meets you. He's a really interested and well-connected buyer. He really likes your stuff, but it seems like he's looking for something specific, and if he thinks you're the guy, this could be huge, okay. So, Paul? Don't fuck this up, will you? " Paul rolled his eyes and groaned, muttering, "Goddamn it, Mike, you know I hate this sort of meeting. I'm shit at selling myself, isn't that what I pay you the big bucks for? I had better things to be doing this morning, you know." Paul had been halfway into the city before he'd realized that, despite how clever his little note might have been, he'd really left himself no way to find Sara again unless he staked out the coffee shop or the park and just hoped. Though, he smiled remembering those dark eyes and the uncertain smile, it might just be a stakeout worth doing. Truthfully, he'd been in such a sleep-deprived haze this morning that he was lucky he had remembered to put on his good jeans, and to throw this jacket into the back of the Jeep. Mike reached for the door handle and turned back to Paul, his face arranged into that encouraging and hopeful expression that did, despite his complaints, serve to bolster his client's confidence. "Ready, old man?" All he could do was nod, and assume what he hoped was a pleasant expression himself. "Alright, let's see what this guy wants from me." To be honest, he was expecting a much older client. The man rising from his seat and the long granite table was perhaps thirty-five, which made him several years younger than Paul himself. He had a firm grip, and a friendly, if far-off look to him. "Mr. Balfor, I would like to introduce Paul Turner. Paul, this is Mr. Eric Balfor." "Mr. Turner. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've been to several of your gallery shows, and Mr. Holloway here tells me that your most recent show was the most successful yet." "It's, umm ... it's Paul. Please. And yes, Mike here has done wonders for getting my work out there, pounding the pavement and getting some very positive reviews for my pictures." Mike smiled; the fond smile of a true friend. That sort of minor self-deprecation sold Paul's work almost as much as the work itself. Paul hated the actual gallery shows, but Mike always insisted he be there. Once people met Paul, and spoke to him... Paul was, in many respects, an open book. His photography was a reflection of that, and Paul's personality probably made him more money than the photos themselves. "Yes well, your 'pictures,' as you call them," continued Mr. Balfor, obviously amused, "deserve every good word ever printed about them, from what I can tell. I do love the stories you tell through your lens, I enjoy them very much. I am actually the owner of two of your pieces already, and they hang proudly in my home here in New York. And yet, for all the beauty if your photographs, I have not found what I'm really looking for." Paul's head cocked to one side, and a frown flickered across his face. The man spoke eloquently, but he could not fathom where this conversation might be headed. "Can I ask if you have ever done any sort of portrait studies?" "Not professionally, but I've shot quite a few which I have in my personal collection and some for friends." "Do you have any with you?" The question caught Paul off guard. He always had a folio of work with him to present to clients. It was full of impressive, artistic shots of landscapes, architecture and scenes from life, but none of individual people. Except for the one he'd thrown inside the back cover that morning to keep it flat. He liked it, but for reasons more than just its photographic merit. Was it good enough? He took out the image of Sara and wordlessly handed it across. Balfor looked at it for a long moment. "That is very, very good", he said softly. "When can you start?" "I'm not currently working on any commissions so, other than preparing some gallery work, I'm at your disposal. What did you have in mind?" A quarter hour later, Mike was clapping Paul on the shoulder as they walked back to the Jeep. "Brilliant work in there. That silent thing handing over the shot; that was genius! Just the right amount of mystique to incite his curiosity. Couldn't have done it better myself. I'd better be careful, saying things like that or I'll be out of a job." "Hardly! It wasn't a ploy. It was the only portrait shot I had. You could have warned me." "Honestly, I didn't have a clue what he wanted or I would have told you. He just asked to meet. And when Eric Balfor 'asks', you don't say no. He doesn't ask twice. We had one shot: today." "I think I've blown my shot for today." "What? Balfor's a windfall - and I'm not talking about the cash. Just having his name on your client list is setting you up for life!" "No, Mike. The girl in the portrait. Sara. I was supposed to meet her this morning when you called me down." "Hah! I didn't know you had a bit of skirt in Connecticut", laughed Mike, digging Paul playfully in the ribs. Paul looked at him coldly. "Oh. It's serious. Sorry, old man, thought it was just a ... well, you know. So you two have been seeing each other for a while then?" "I met her yesterday." "OK, I deserved that", chuckled Mike. "Well, keep your secrets: just don't let them distract you from Balfor's work." ------- For the next few days, Sara couldn't get Paul out of her head. Try as she might she kept remembering those brilliant blue eyes. She could feel the echo of his lips as they brushed the back of her hand. She'd read the maple leaf at least twenty times looking for some hint, some hidden message. A return to Black Forest on the Sunday had been equally fruitless. She was despondent as the door shut behind her, the clanging of the little door bell suddenly cut off as it closed against the jamb. Sara sighed and trudged up the sidewalk. She browsed through the shop windows on the Avenue, but wasn't really in the mood for any serious shopping. Her reflection in the panes of glass showed at odds with the bright displays. In a side street she found a bookstore and idly thumbed the second-hand sale table. The word 'Pushkin' caught her eye and out of the stack she dragged a well-thumbed anthology of the poet's lyric work. She smiled wryly, bought it and shoved it in her bag. "Well, at least I can read the rest of the poem", she thought. The next few weeks were a whirlwind of meetings and projects and mandatory overtime. The impending holiday season increased Sara's workload exponentially, and it left her little time to dwell on the mysterious Paul or those incredible eyes of his. Still, she found time to flip through the dog-eared pages of the Pushkin collection when she had a moment to breathe. She skimmed verse after verse, and found herself marking pages of her own, noting lines and images that struck her fancy. She'd essentially given up on finding Paul again, and in fact, if it wasn't for the maple leaf she used to mark pages in the tome she now carried with her everywhere, she would have thought he was a figment of her imagination. Tuesday was an incredibly long day. Meetings kept her from her desk all day, so by the time she left, she not only had all of her work yet to do, but she missed her bus by several minutes. It was not a bad walk home on a regular day, but it was chillier than usual. Rather than go all the way home, Sara stopped at Black Forest. Her apartment was only eight blocks further, but she was chilled through and they had Wi-Fi, so she could get started on her work, warm up and grab something to eat. It was the perfect solution. She chose an oversized chair off to the edge of the room near the electric fireplace. It only took a few moments to settle herself in, laptop screen glowing, suede Sherpa coat flung carelessly across the chair back. She didn't even have to go to the counter to order, the barista pointed to the specials board, brows raised, and Sara nodded. One of the perks to being a regular, she supposed. Sara loved to work here; she felt clearheaded here and was able to concentrate completely. She scrolled through the PDFs her colleague had emailed early in the morning and got to work. "....Miss?" She started, realizing that the word, which had already been repeated twice from behind her shoulder, was directed at her. "Ah, there you are. Do you recognize this woman by any chance? I've been looking for her." A photograph dropped to the keyboard in front of her. She looked up, startled -- and straight into those piercing blue eyes. A merry twinkle glinted in their azure depths. Paul's smile echoed his eyes and he chuckled softly. "I see now why I could not find you at the park. You've decided instead to 'sulk around the stove behind storm windows'." "Oh, you're disappointed? And here I thought that you must have loved the 'lavish withering of nature, the gold and scarlet raiment of the woods'; preferring them to me, seeing as I thought we were to meet here by this 'stove' on a Saturday quite a few weeks ago!" Paul's eyes widened slightly. "Touché. Yes, I deserved that. I must apologize for that, but it involves a story if you have the time. May I get you something? "I've already ordered, but I can easily add to it if you'd like. Latte and the special?" Paul nodded his thanks, smiling. Sara saw one of the wait staff bringing her order over. She caught her eye, gestured to the maple leaf on the table next to the laptop and held up two fingers. She grinned, nodded her understanding and quickly retreated to double the order. Sara-ndipity Paul was amused. "I suppose I should be grateful you did that with a wave, rather than a wink." "In which case, I should be grateful that you did not threaten me with a pistol first! And now that I think about it, your flattery is awry tonight. I am, it seems, 'sulking' as well as being a black queen. What happened to my being a nymph of autumn?" Paul laughed appreciatively and flipped over the book that was lying on the table behind the laptop. "Ah, mystery solved. I see you've been brushing up on your Pushkin." Sara smiled and blushed, despite herself. She picked up the photograph from her keyboard and studied it for a moment. "This is the one you took of me in the park isn't it?" She glanced up and caught an odd look on his face. It was quickly gone and she wondered what it was that she'd seen. Or perhaps she'd been mistaken and it was just the play of the light. She was distracted by the arrival of their food and coffees. The food absorbed them for a few minutes before Paul replied. "Yes, it is. Do you like it?" he asked, gesturing at the photograph. "I do. I'm not sure it actually looks like me though." "Oh, I think it does. It's very, very good." Sara blushed again even as she laughed. "Of course it is; the photographer is hardly likely to say 'I took a photo and it was complete crap'!" "Aha, but I'm not the one who said that. I promised you a story, didn't I? Ready? Have you heard of Eric Balfor?" Paul told Sara all about the sudden appointment with Eric Balfor which had kept him from meeting with her. He went on to describe the ongoing contract work he'd been doing over the last few weeks, all started because of her photograph. The story then drifted into a description of his attempts to find her again; from the maple leaf message, to frequenting the park and searches on his days off around Black Forest and the environs of Greenwich Avenue. Sara was stunned by just how much effort he'd apparently gone to. Even if he was exaggerating it by half, he'd gone to quite a deal of trouble to try to track her down again. He was under no obligation to. After all, it was his photograph. She began to wonder, then, just why he was here. In the lull that followed his story she was again struck by those ice blue eyes. They were perpetually sparkling, as if he was just about to laugh. It made her fidgety, she felt sure that somehow she was the source of his mirth, and she didn't like to be made fun of. Paul saw her discomfort and put a hand on her knee. "I did tell you in the park that I wanted an excuse to see you again. It's a pretty excuse, to be sure, but even without it I would have tried to find you." Nine instances out of ten, Sara would have brushed aside a statement like that as well-meaning but unfounded flattery. Her mouth opened to dispute his claims, but she stopped herself before her retort even began. Instead, in a voice that was far softer than she intended, she replied, "It's just a matter of poor timing, I suppose. Any other time of year and you would find me either here or in the park more than at home. The past few weeks though I'll bet I've only been here half a dozen times. The park hardly at all." She gestured to the laptop which was still open on the low table in front of them and smirked. "I've heard rumors that HR has approved my boss' request to move a cot into my office so that I never have to leave." Paul nodded in sympathy, chuckling. "I count myself very lucky that I was able to leave those games behind. I'm still not exactly sure how I accomplished it. It's a mystery to me. It's hard to be passionate about expense reports and fax cover sheets. I dread the thought of having to go back once it's discovered that I'm a fraud." The playfulness in the quirk of his lips confirmed to her that he was teasing, but there was something about the texture of his deep voice, and the cadence to his words that was sort of intoxicating to her, and so she played along. She leaned forward in her seat, fists beneath her chin and eyes wide in mimicry of breathless awe. She half whispered, "Fraud?" He leaned in close until they were only inches apart and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "Oh yes. You see, I pass myself off as an artist, but in reality, I'm just a monkey with a nice camera. If you only take photographs of beautiful things, it is easy to make it look like art." The change in his companion, the sudden playfulness, made his heart beat a little faster, and now that they sat so close ... His eyes flickered from her dark eyes to her lips, which were bowed just slightly upwards as she listened to his banter. There was a distinct possibility that he would have closed the narrow gap between them and kissed her had the server not appeared. "You two looked like you were done, and this just came out of the kitchen," she cheerfully sang as she set a single plate on the table. A slice of some triple chocolaty confection with a pair of forks was artfully arranged on the plate beneath a warm chocolate sauce. "Just something new we're trying out and I thought you two wouldn't mind being guinea pigs." She offered a wink to Sara that Paul was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to see. Sara sighed, obviously a little perturbed, but then smiled back. "Thank you, Jill, it looks delicious!" She glanced at Paul whose eyes still had that playful sparkle, even though he was smiling ruefully. He couldn't help one last sally though. "Oh wait, you were talking about the dessert?" She was taken aback for a moment and turned to watch Jill as she walked back to the counter. "You're checking out Jill!? Well, she's OK I guess ... " He smiled softly and this time couldn't help himself. He reached up and stroked her cheek gently. "No stupid", he said tenderly, "not the waitress." Sara's eyes flew back to Paul's face as the fiery blush spread across her features from the location of his touch. Was he just playing, or was this -- amazingly -- something far more wonderful. She found herself locked in his gaze and watched in wonder and delight as the laughter in his eyes faded into a genuine expression of feeling. "Paul, I ..." She never got any further. His hand moved around to put a finger against her lips. Then, after a moment he gently took her chin in his hand and pulled her gently forward as he leaned over to meet her. Time slowed for a moment, like the chocolate syrup congealing on the forgotten dessert plate. She was conscious of the tender light in his brilliant blue eyes, the firm grasp on her jaw, the warm scent of him as he drew closer, the subtle features of the bronzed skin of his face and the strong, sensual curve of his mouth. His mouth, oh my God, his mouth ... And then she lost herself in the wash of emotion that flooded through as he kissed her. Shades of golden autumn roiled through her senses -- fiery reds, warm honey orange and bright sunshine. A barrage of conflicting thoughts created a cacophony of commentary against the background of delirious sensation. 'He's kissing me! No, this happens in stories, not in real life. I bet he does this to all the women he seduces. My God, he's delicious. Shit, the cake! Am I leaning on it? I don't care. Stop it brain and let me just enjoy this, please! Should I kiss back? Is this too much? Oh, that's heaven. Mmm.' Sara felt Paul break the contact and draw away softly. She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes until they fluttered open as he gently caressed her cheek before withdrawing his hand too. He watched her intently and for a moment they just gazed at each other. A shadow of doubt crept into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sara. That was too sudden. Our second meeting, I ..." Now it was her turn to put her finger up to his mouth. "Sssh. No apology necessary." And she kissed him again to confirm it. ------- Sara studied the picture which dominated the southern wall of the large corporate board room. It was an evocative image of a maple tree in glorious autumn splendor. Somehow the photographer had managed to capture the very essence of the season, the majestic tree frozen in a golden, eternal twilight. It wasn't hard to imagine the wind softly sighing through the bronzed foliage, the whisper of falling leaves, that sense of gentle inevitable sorrow which accompanies the turning of the year. It was a fitting enhancement to this room, she thought. Not the colors and textures -- although they exquisitely complemented everything in the carefully designed room -- no, it was the sheer dominance of the glory of nature. It was a reminder that here, in the world of corporate affairs and big business, the world contained so much more than the mighty greenback. More subtly, it was also a reminder that all things, no matter how glorious, are not immune from the changing tides of seasons and times. Her reverie was broken by Eric Balfor. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. I asked Prudence to see you in here while I was held up with a conference call." Sara stood and held out her hand. "Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mr. Balfor. I appreciate it. Sara Turner." He shook her hand and then paused, studying her face. "Have we met before Miss Turner? Prudence tells me I should just give you the job and get to my next appointment. But every so often I do like to pretend I'm in charge of the company and make up my own mind." "It's Mrs. Turner and, no, I don't believe we've met. You have met my husband though, so I know you by reputation." Sara smiled with a little twinkle in her eye. His answering grin indicated that Paul had indeed described him to her very well. Eric Balfor was not immune from the charm of a well presented young woman who was confident enough in herself to be a little unconventional. "Well then, Mrs. Turner, and how does your husband know me then by, ah, 'reputation'?" Her smiled broadened and she turned to gesture toward the maple. "That's our tree." "I really don't see ... Oh! You're married to Paul Turner? I do see, yes. And I have seen you before, haven't I. Paul showed me the picture -- of you -- that convinced me to hire him. Well, well." "Yes, he took my picture under that tree. I saw the original of this after he took it. I must say though that it's spectacular enlarged like that as the end piece to this room. It's an intriguing statement for those who wish to think about it. Was its placement your idea?" "Yes, it was. And for the reasons I imagine you've guessed. Unless Paul told you?" "Not at all. He didn't know what you'd planned to do with each of his pieces. He's often wondered where this one went. I think he imagined our tree in a vestibule somewhere as a mood setter." "Well, you can reassure him that I value his artistic genius far more highly than that. You may also tell him that his unique photography skills have contributed more to my company's brand, market positioning and enterprise culture than the top three campaigns dreamt up by my marketing team." "I shall, he'll appreciate that, thank you." "Well, I was going to ask why I should hire you as my new Director of Venture Strategy. However, I think that question's redundant. You have a good eye for opportunity, poise, style, a natural charm, a deft skill with flattery -- no, don't deny it Mrs. Turner, I did notice it -- and, I believe, a shrewd business sense as I judge it from your career history. Would you like to add anything?" Sara laughed. "There is one other reason, Mr Balfor." "Oh? And it's Eric by the way. Welcome aboard." "Let's just call it ... serendipity." ------- We hope you enjoyed the story. We'd love to know what you think, so please leave a comment or email us some feedback. Thanks to Warrior_Wolf for the editing. PlayJett