IN THE FIFTH SEASON
Copyright 2010 Jonathan M Barrett
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From the fringes of the cocktail party, Rob Hamilton watched Owen Huntly track down an intern. Rob knew from the Discovery Channel not to interfere with Nature, but, when he saw how the giggly twenty year old in her first cocktail dress had been cornered by the wolf in Armani, thirty years her senior, thirty centimetres taller, and thirty sinewy kilos heavier, he stepped in.
"Owen Huntly! Don't tell me the Parole Board let you out early." Rob's pulse raced as he slapped the big man on the back, and grasped and shook his hand. "Only joking, mate. Seriously, well done, Salesman of the Year – yet again. Oh, Sarah, Bruce Buller from Claims needs to talk to you urgently." The intern slipped away. Huntly's eyes squinted and Rob closed his own as the big man drew back the wrecking ball of a fist that could knock you half way across the hotel ballroom. Rob opened one eye. Huntly laughed and feigned a punch to Rob's jaw. Gold flashed in vulpine teeth.