Seven Days

He'd been making his way home after the exhaustive night of sex with Susie when the Old Man had telephoned him, asking if they could get together at the hotel. But rather than meeting at their usual table in the restaurant, he'd asked Daniel to meet him in the hotel's underground car park. The part rented exclusively by his agency.

Daniel had been intrigued, of course, but the Old Man wouldn't elaborate until they met. All he would say was that it was in both their interests to keep things low key, and could Daniel keep the meeting to himself.

The whole scenario was so out of character for Tom Watkins that Daniel's mind had subsequently been working overtime at the reason for such curious subterfuge. Something to do with Emilio Silva, perhaps? He would soon find out. Looking out of the window of his top of the range Lexus LFA, he watched the Old Man guide his silver-grey Bentley down the entry ramp and into the adjacent bay.

This part of the car park was empty but for their two cars.

"Thanks for meeting me," Watkins said, as Daniel climbed in the passenger side of the Bentley.

He had a flustered look on his face and his large hand was warmer than usual as Daniel shook it.

"It's okay," Daniel replied, closing the door behind him. "But you have me feeling like I'm in the Secret Service, Tom. Do we really need all this cloak and dagger stuff?"

"I'm not sure," the Old Man mysteriously said. "But I can't shake off the feeling that I can't be too careful."

Daniel stared quizzically at him but before he could ask the obvious question, Tom Watkins was putting the car into gear.

"All in good time," he sighed, heading for the ramp again. "Fasten your seatbelt; we can talk while I drive. Let's start with Emilio Silva."

Daniel gave a wry smile to himself. He knew the clandestine meeting had to be about the South American.

"He's very nervous," Watkins continued, pulling out into the traffic. "And I understand why. He's allocating a huge portion of his marketing budget to this campaign and he stands to earn millions when it succeeds. That's why he's being very hands on, and right now he's pressing for more involvement in the choice of Donna's replacement—"

"Already sorted," Daniel interrupted.

"What?"

The Old Man's head snapped towards him, before he quickly returned his attention back to the road.

"I found her last night," Daniel continued, twisting his body slightly in the passenger seat so that he could watch Watkins' reaction to his words. "It's a long story, Tom, but I'm pretty sure I've identified someone with all of the attributes I've been looking for. I just have to make sure that she and Susie gel on stage."

Watkins nodded as he took a left. He didn't need Daniel to explain further. They'd learned a long time ago to trust one another's judgment.

"Her name is Lydia," Daniel continued. "I'll make a final decision after I've put her and Susie through their paces at rehearsals tomorrow night. Assuming everything turns out as I expect, Silva should be satisfied with the choice. That'll mean you'll get your sign off, and I can get back to doing what I do best."

The Old Man nodded again, although his face turned to a grimace as he pulled up at a red light.

"Damn rheumatoid arthritis," he rasped, his voice cracking with emphasis, as he shuffled in his seat to make himself more comfortable.

He paused for a moment until the discomfort had subsided. Then he glanced thoughtfully at Daniel as the lights turned green and he smoothly pulled away.

"As it happens, Emilio was in a good mood when I spoke to this morning," he said. "He wants to take you and me out for dinner to celebrate their sales figures. All we've done so far is to link his new clothing range with the Wembley concert in a few tabloids and billboards, and the interest generated has already exceeded his expectations."

When Daniel pulled a face, the Old Man chuckled.

"Okay, and it also gives him the chance to talk further about his ideas for Donna's replacement."

"Well," Daniel slowly drawled through his teeth. "That's not necessary now, and as far as celebrating anything with Silva is concerned, no thank you. The man's a conceited asshole."

This time, Watkins' chuckle was heartier.

"The advertising industry is full of them," he quipped. "But then, he's the client, and he pays good money. He can be anything he wants to be."

"For you maybe," Daniel pointed out. "Not for me."

"He's the one who pays the bills," the Old Man wheezed, taking another left turn. "Let's not forget that, shall we? This campaign is going to earn him a lot of money, and it will make the agency's shareholders very happy. But it's going to be high profile for you and your band, too."

He paused to allow the implication of his words sink in.

"Humour him," he added. "And me. I doubt he'll give the final sign off until he's personally seen your new woman perform. Can you set something up?"

Daniel tried to contain the wave of exasperation that washed over him, but knew that Watkins could sense his irritation even if he couldn't see it. And he had to admit it, the Old Man was right. The television exposure associated with the Wembley gig alone would be huge. Humouring Silva was a small price to pay.

"I'll arrange it," he grudgingly agreed, turning away to glance out of the window.

The traffic was heavy, as always, but he had no idea where they were headed.

"Nowhere," Tom Watkins said, as if reading his mind. "I just don't want there to be any chance of the next part of our conversation overheard."

Daniel stared at him, suddenly wary. The Old Man always had a reason for everything he did, but this bordered on the paranoid.

"What?" he softly asked. "What's worrying you, Tom?"

"Remember we said we would get the band to dress in the new clothing line at Wembley, maybe adapted to their style?"

Daniel nodded. That was it? All this secrecy was about Silva's soon-to-be launched clothing range? But the Old Man continued.

"And that we'd consider getting them to dye their hair blonde for the concert, in line with the new craze."

He spoke slowly, carefully, as if he were thinking through every word.

"I've had Toby Bull, my Creative Director, looking at that aspect," he went on, staring straight ahead of him. "I wanted Toby to look at the craze in detail, to make sure we stayed up-to-date and identify other aspects we could incorporate. What he's found is disconcerting, to say the least."

Daniel took a deep breath as he waited for the Old Man to continue. He'd known something didn't add up, but hadn't been able to work out what that was.

"Disconcerting?" he asked.

Watkins just nodded. But his face had turned even more serious and he looked like he was biting his lower lip.

"Consider the facts," he eventually said, in a carefully measured tone. "We keep referring to dyed blonde hair, but have you noticed any dark roots? Tony has identified that there's no evidence whatsoever of people dying their hair. The change in colour to blonde is real. Go figure that one out."

Daniel shivered. He was beginning to get goosebumps.

"Add into that, this is everywhere. There isn't a single country standing apart. Whoever heard of a craze spreading that rapidly across the world? In every single part of the world? And across such a vast age range? It doesn't make sense."

No, it didn't. It made no sense at all.

"The average Joe has been affected," the Old Man went on, "but so have celebrities everywhere. That sort of thing is expected in the entertainment world, but not with business people and politicians."

He turned his head to emphatically stare at Daniel before continuing.

"Then there's the behavioural thing. It's not just a change in hair colour; it's as if these people have undergone a personality transplant. One week ago I had three junior members, all on different account teams, who had joined the craze. Now, I have eleven. From what I'm told, their work output has dropped dramatically. They're like walking zombies. Explain that to me."

Daniel felt another chill pass through his body as he recalled Donna's appearance when he'd gone to see her. She'd been a different woman.

"Drugs?" he asked.

Tom Watkins shrugged his shoulders as he drove along the side street that led to the Dorchester car park. They were almost back to where they'd started from.

"That's one possibility," he agreed, swinging the Bentley down the entry ramp. "But on such a large scale?"

"What else?" Daniel asked, trying but failing to come up with a more obvious rationale. "And if you and I have these concerns, Tom, why don't others? We can't be alone in thinking that something doesn't add up here. There hasn't been anything untoward in the media ... or in the corridors of Government."

"Not as far as we know," the Old Man responded, parking the Bentley next to Daniel's Lexus LFA. "But what's even more alarming is that I've made a couple of calls to some senior contacts in influential places after I spoke to Toby. Not one of them has gotten back to me."

Daniel stared at him. This was surreal. There had to be a rational explanation, surely?

"Tell me," Watkins continued, resting his arm on the steering wheel as he turned to look into Daniel's perplexed eyes. "Have you ever heard of a guy called Professor Steve Russo?"

Daniel shook his head. The name meant nothing.

"Russo is the Behavioural Science Professor at London Business School," the Old Man offered. "He's also widely regarded as the world's foremost practitioner in his field. The Government regularly include him in meetings when they need specialist advice. The good news is that he also happens to be a good friend of mine and I intend to have a long conversation with him later tonight. If anyone knows what's going on, he will."

He paused, as if letting that cold sense of finality sink in. Daniel just stared at him as he asked, "What would you like me to do?"

"Be careful, for one thing," Watkins told him, the expression on his face deadly earnest. "My Head of Accounts is among those who've converted to the craze, or whatever it is, and I've arranged a meeting with her as soon as I get back to the office. That could help me understand things better."

He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers again as he considered their next steps.

"Why don't you give me a call after tomorrow night's rehearsal, and let me know whether you intend to use this woman, Lydia. That way I can get Emilio Silva off our backs," he thoughtfully said. "But more importantly, I'll be able to update you on my conversation with Steve Russo. Yes?"

*

Carrie Stevens stared out of her small office window as she gyrated slowly in the youngster's lap. Lying back against his chest as he fondled her huge tits, the blonde's snug little pussy swallowed him whole. She only had a limited view out of the window, but wasn't looking at anything in particular. She was lost in her limited thoughts, her body focused on the task in hand.

She had been Head of Accounts for the Agency for the last couple of years, having worked her way up through the department for several years prior to that. At one time she had been ruthlessly ambitious, but that was before she had been 'converted' by the blonde stranger she'd met in a bar.

Now, her only raison d'être was to convert as many others as she could.

Tommy Watson would be the last of the guys in her department, and he wasn't going to last much longer. He was panting hard as she rotated her hips in tight little circles in his lap. Her hands covered his, holding them against her breasts as she took him ever closer to giving her what she wanted.

In less than an hour, she would be called into a meeting with Tom Watkins. She had no idea why he had asked to see her, but the opportunity to be alone with someone so powerful was too good to pass up. All she had to do was make sure that Dorothy, his secretary, stayed out of the way and the Old Man would be hers, too. After that, she and the other converts would systematically work their way through the rest of the senior staff in the Agency.

She could see her reflection staring back at her in the window as she eased her ass upwards and slammed it back down on Tommy again. Her sunken dark eyes were expressionless and her blonde hair was bouncing on her shoulders. Arching her back, she changed from her slamming, downward thrusts to circular rotations again. The youngster had no chance.

"I'm going to cum," he gasped, his body stiffening as the moment arrived.

Carrie didn't speak. Her vacant expression didn't change. She just tightened her pussy walls around his teenage cock and prepared to suck the life out of him.

1 DAY BEFORE THE MEETING WITH STEVE RUSSO

Although the predicted storm hadn't yet arrived, the far-off flashes of lightning and escalating rumbles of thunder suggested it wasn't far away. Not that the forecasted bad weather made any difference to Daniel. He had far too much on his mind to worry about the approaching rain.

His conversation with Tom Watkins had been on his mind ever since he'd left the Dorchester hotel's car park. Instinct told him one thing, but the cold light of reality suggested another. Were there dark forces at work? Or did those sort of inferences belong to the movies, not real life?

Try as he might, he hadn't been able to come up with any sort of reasonable answer, and it had frustrated him that he couldn't share his apprehension with any one of his friends. He'd have given a lot to talk his fears over with someone he could trust. But the Old Man was right. They couldn't be too careful and for the time being their conversation had to remain confidential.

He'd spent the night with Susie again, trying to work out some of the concentrated arousal that still remained in his system. Even that worried him. He'd always been highly sexed, but the sheer intensity of his need since he'd spoken to Lydia was out of the ordinary. And anything out of the norm right now was a cause for concern.

He had eventually told himself to park his thoughts in the back of his mind until he spoke to Tom Watkins again. By then, the Old Man would have spoken to Steve Russo and they could be a lot closer to a rational explanation for the unusual behaviour than they were now.

Besides, tonight's rehearsals needed all his focus. He couldn't allow his attraction to Lydia to colour his judgment and she had a lot to prove before he was willing to seriously consider her for his band. There was a lot hanging on the next few hours.

*

The storm had well and truly arrived when the different members of the band finally made it to the studio. The heavy rains that were lashing the building had played havoc with traffic all night, and it was close to nine o'clock by the time they were in a position to get underway.

Once he'd introduced everyone to Lydia and explained what was expected of them, Daniel had taken up position in a seat at the back of the small auditorium, out of the way. It was his way of remaining impartial. The blonde had been her usual cool and collected self, and yet the guys had instantly gravitated towards her like moths around a flame.

That had to be a good omen, didn't it?

As he knew full well, she had this way of giving off sexual signals without appearing to make any effort. They way he looked at it was that if her persona worked on the other band members—Susie included, judging by the attention she was giving Lydia—it would do the same with their fans.

But the proof of the pudding was in the music, and in this case, in the interaction between the two women. Was that chemistry there?

At first, he hadn't been sure. The first hour had been okay, but was more of a case of them finding their way with one another than anything else. And yet, two things about Lydia had impressed him.

On stage, she had this ability to instantly shed her cool exterior and come to life. It was as if she was playing the part, except that no one could play a part that well. She was also a quick learner. She had this instinct that allowed her to continually modify her performance to fit in with Susie.

The second hour had been much more impressive. The two women finally had it together and even the guys were raising their game. Frankie was hitting the keyboard like the magician he was, Patrick and Tony's solos with the women, on sax and guitar respectively, were brilliant and Harry was every bit his usual crazy self on the drums.

It couldn't be that Lydia was inspiring them, could it?

The final hour couldn't have been any better, and Daniel couldn't remember them ever putting on a live performance with the same intensity. Forget Donna. These two hot women were complementing each other effortlessly now, a perfect fusion of sexuality.

To cap it all, their final song was a jazzy-bluesy number entitled 'A Kiss to Remember'. Lydia had slipped her arm around Susie's shoulder as they reached the final notes, pulling her into her body before her red lips descended on the redhead's. The spark of electricity Daniel felt at watching the unexpected and uninhibited girl-girl kiss was the final confirmation he needed that the band's future was secure.

The band knew it, too, cheering and applauding themselves as the session finished. Daniel had never seen them this full of themselves at a rehearsal. Wembley would be rocking with a performance like this one.

He left them to it as they headed to the dressing room. It was close to midnight but that wouldn't stop the guys from getting into their usual after-rehearsal drinking session. He would join them soon, but first he had a phone call to make. Tom Watkins didn't retire for the night until the early hours and he'd be expecting Daniel's call.

The Old Man would be delighted to hear how successful the rehearsal had been. Although it had only been a couple of days since he'd dropped Donna from the band, Emilio Silva's attempts at interference had made it feel as if that decision had been hanging over them for a lot longer.

*

Daniel knew that something was wrong even before the Old Man's wife put her husband on the line. Molly always flirted with him whenever they spoke, but this time it was as if she didn't know who he was. Tom Watkins had never mentioned any problems with her health, and yet he couldn't think of any other reason for her distance.

Her tone was disinterested and she spoke to him as if he were a stranger. It couldn't be because of the lateness of the hour, could it? Maybe he should have left the call until the morning?

But when the Old Man came on the line, alarm bells instantly went off in Daniel's head. The usual growl to his voice had gone. Like his wife's tone, it was replaced by a flat monotone, devoid of any variety or expression.

"Yes?"

"Tom. It's me. Daniel," he said, instantly concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"What is it? We agreed that I would call you tonight."

"We did?"

The hairs on the back of Daniel's neck instantly stood on end as a sense of foreboding flooded through his body. A sudden feeling hit him that he was being observed and a surge of nervous energy shot through his lean frame as his eyes surveyed the space around him. It was empty.

"I'm at the rehearsals," he hesitantly explained, aware that he was breathing more heavily as his senses went on alert. "You wanted an update."

The silence at the other end of the line reinforced his unease. What the fuck was going on? This wasn't the man he knew so well, the same person he had spoken to in his Bentley yesterday, the sharp and alert mind who had so clearly enunciated his concerns to him.

"Why don't you come here now," the lifeless voice on the other end of the phone suddenly said.

Daniel froze. Every nerve end in his body went on alert. Instinct told him that the Old Man's house was the very last place he should visit right now.