““A striking blonde had just come through the front doors. She was wearing a black pants suit and pumps. Practical, but classy. What you’d see on a traveler carrying a first-class ticket. She was tall, too, maybe five-nine, five-ten, with long legs that looked good even in pants, and a ripe, voluptuous body. A porter followed her in, gripping a pair of large Vuitton bags. He paused near her, and leaned forward to ask something. She raised a hand to indicate he should wait, then started her own visual sweep of the room. I hadn’t expected that, and quickly returned my attention to Keiko until the blonde’s gaze had passed over us. When I glanced over again, she was standing beside Belghazi, her arm linked through his. Something about her presence was as relaxed and, in its way, as commanding as his. Everything about her seemed natural: her hair, her face, the curves beneath her clothes.””
