Twenty minutes later we arrived at Drake International's headquarters, a fifty story building on the Brooklyn side of the bridge. Some claimed Drake chose the location to take advantage of the burgeoning Brooklyn real estate market. Others say he just liked the view of Manhattan.
The driver escorted me through the still bustling lobby. Drake's various enterprises didn't keep to any traditional schedule.
We walked to a private elevator. The driver entered a key-code and stepped back.
"This will take you directly to Mr. Drake's private offices. I'll be waiting down here to drive you home."
My mind raced as I rode up to the fiftieth floor. Drake's private offices were legendary… in that so few had ever seen them. I've heard rumors that even heads of state were denied access.
The door opened, and I stepped into Drake's private domain. I'm not an art lover, but I instantly recognized works by Dali and Picasso decorating the foyer. Handmade bookshelves lined the walls. I studied the shelves as I passed, surprised to find priceless first editions alongside battered Raymond Chandler paperbacks. Obviously Mr. Drake's books weren't just window dressing.
The view through the full-length windows was stunning, showcasing the priceless beauty of the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset. Beyond it lay Manhattan in all its glory. I wondered how often Drake stood here looking out… master of all he surveyed.
"Weaker men meditate on the complexities of terms like moral, ethical and legal. But the true conqueror whether in business or government does not allow these terms to impede his actions. To him these are issues to be sorted out later."
I turned; shocked to hear my own words being quoted. Peter Drake stood fifteen feet away, hands folded behind his back, his blue eyes studying me.
"Your own words I believe?" He added, "I hope I didn't misquote them."
"No," I replied, trying to sound calm, "I think you got it exactly right, actually."
"Very insightful for such a young woman," He said, approaching me, "And quite unfashionable in the politically correct world of academia. Most people frown on my tactics, but you understand and embrace them."
Up close his eyes were even more clear and penetrating. There were flecks of gray creeping into his tousled brown hair, but from his strong features it would be impossible to guess his exact age. His suit was immaculate, carefully tailored to his lean body.
"Sadly I haven't had the chance to act on them given my job," I said. I instantly regretted mentioning my mere peasant status.
"True, your talents are being wasted in your current position."
I was nervous, not only was I meeting someone I idolized professionally, but I also found Drake incredibly attractive. I'm not ashamed to admit that after long days of researching him I had occasionally let my libido take charge after dark.
"You stated that to succeed in the world of business a person had to make moral sacrifices, and that the ends justified whatever means were required. Do you truly believe that?" His gaze never wavered as he spoke.
"Yes I do," I replied, "The corporations of today are on the scale of ancient empires, and all empires were built aggressively. Any short term damage done is overshadowed by the growth and prosperity that rises in its wake."
"I've studied you very carefully," He said, turning to the full-length window, "You're a fascinating, intelligent and very attractive young woman."
The attractive part struck me. Was this about sex? I didn't mind because truth be told, I'm a power groupie. For me Peter Drake was pretty much Jagger, Bowie and Morrison rolled into one.
"Thank you Mr. Drake,"
"Please, call me Peter. Rebecca are you uncomfortable about my mentioning how attractive you are?"
"No, not really," God, was he psychic or was I just too easy to read? "But I'd assume a man like you has his choice of hundreds of eager women."
"Yes, that's true, many women approach me offering sex or sex dressed up as love. Of course they all want something in return. They are willing, but have very clear boundaries. And where's the fun in that? It's only challenging when a woman doesn't know how far she's willing to go and is ready to test her limits."
If he wanted to shock me, it wasn't working. The more he spoke of limits, the more fascinated I became.
"Rebecca I've mentored many young women who have gone on to great careers. But to do that I must ensure that they share my passion and willingness. Once they prove that to me, I know they can succeed in the business arena." He turned and approached me again, his face inches from mine. "Do you want to succeed?"
"Yes I do," I replied with absolute certainty. He was so close I could have kissed him, but I suspected that would be too simple. The tension was palatable on both our parts. He leaned forward.
"I want you to take your panties off," He whispered, his lips brushing against my ear.
It may surprise some, but I barely hesitated. I was enthralled. Of course I was still human, and so nervously I raised my skirt up a bit, and lowered my panties to the floor, wishing I'd worn a nicer pair. I stepped out of them, but he showed no interest in picking them up.
He picked something up off a nearby shelf and placed it in my hand. It was a specimen cup.
"I need you to fill the cup, but please don't spill any on the floor. Persian rugs are difficult to clean," He said in a matter of fact tone.
He took a step back. I glanced around hoping he would point me towards a bathroom. No such luck. If this was a test I didn't intend to fail. I slipped the cup under my skirt, and took a few breaths. I felt a trickle start and was careful not to let it escalate. My hand shook a little. Imagine if my biggest opportunity in life vanished because I peed on the carpet like a scared puppy. After a few seconds I deftly removed the cup without spilling a drop. He held out his hand.
"Don't worry, I have no sexual interest in urine, but you have to be careful about diseases," He said, screwing the cap back on, "I'll have this checked for STD's tonight. Meet me here tomorrow at noon for our first lesson. We will have three lessons before you… graduate."
"I'll call my boss and tell him I'm sick."
Drake pulled a cell phone from his pocket, scrolled through the contacts and pressed dial. I stood there, wondering who he was calling.
"Mr. Becker, this is Peter Drake. Yes, it is actually me."
Becker was the CEO of the firm I worked for. The man didn't even know I existed.
Drake continued, "We met two years ago at the G8 Conference, you had just purchased a fifty foot Viking Yacht and were planning a world cruise. So you do remember? Good. I have one of your employees with me, Ms. Rebecca Stewart. I'll be requiring her consultation services for the next two weeks and would appreciate your cooperation. Does that work for you? Great, thank you very much… and I hope you realize what a tremendous asset she is to your firm. Goodbye." He hung up the phone and smiled, "You are officially excused from work. Even if our agreement doesn't pan out you'll certainly be getting a promotion."
He turned and walked off towards his private living area. " Tomorrow at noon. My driver will pick you up."
He vanished behind a pair of double doors, and, as if on cue, the elevator opened behind me.