Kingsman: Statesman Meets Challenger

Chapter 1

* * *

Jack brooded over his whiskey and soda, restless, sullen -and if he was being honest- spoiling for a fight. He'd been stuck at Statesman HQ in New York City for a month now, handling corporate overflow for Champagne, and he was bored, stale and morose. Funding the revival of Kingsman and dealing with the inevitable red tape of routing such huge sums of money around the world ate up every minute he had to give, and plenty of time he didn't have to spare.

But Jack rebelled tonight. The Speakeasy Three were doing a one-night-only concert with his favorite old-school big band, the Swing Ninjas, and he used Statesman's clout without a second thought to wrangle himself a ticket to the sold-out show. He thought about getting two tickets and securing himself a date, but the idea of keeping a date amused and intrigued for the night just made him irritable, so he came alone.

The venue did catch his attention though, a huge old deconsecrated cathedral converted to a high-end nightclub. Whoever bought the building sank a lot of money in renovating the place with taste and style, the dominant theme a swing-era effect that looked sensational, but obviously cost the moon and a couple of asteroid belts to achieve. Custom oiled woodwork everywhere, pillars, wall trim, stairways, railings and balconies all gleaming with hand-rubbed lemon polish that smelled heavenly; on the marble floor below round tables with big, comfortable chairs and plenty of room between each table boasted monogrammed linen tablecloths, Baccarat crystal stemware and Tiffany candle lamps; and the big horseshoe booths lining the side walls featured heavy wood tables and overstuffed leather cushions that looked enticingly comfortable.

This place was damn big, but so was the crowd. Every table was filled, there wasn't a place to sit at the bar anywhere, and he wanted to be comfortable. Dammit, he wanted to sprawl out and listen to the music, and as it was he was fighting for elbow room just to set his drink down.

An odd little alcove on the upper level caught his eye. A set-apart corner that must have been a choir loft when this renovated building was still a church had been converted in to a cozy nook that reminded him vaguely of Kingsman's HQ. The interior was wallpapered in a tasteful dark gold fleur-de-lis pattern on a deep forest-green background, velvet drapes of more deep green partially curtained off the alcove, two enormous old wing chairs faced each other across a carved wood pedestal table, and two Tiffany lamps, a carved Chinese cabinet and matching sideboard and hat rack filled up the remainder of the space neatly. Cozy, comfortable, and positively dripping class... but nothing compared to the woman sitting in the farthest wing chair. Now that was class...

His Statesman professionalism kicked in and Jack assessed her, genuinely intrigued now. The wool coat hanging neatly beside her was a Burberry bespoke job, the gloves lying carelessly on the sideboard were Florentine kid, the watch on her wrist was a vintage Cartier, and the necklace around her throat -his eyes widened- was a century-old Fabergé. Her periwinkle blue wraparound blouse was silk so heavy it shimmered lustrously in the dim light, the sash ends floating softly in the air, and the jeweled pin nestled in her hair was a Mucha Art Nouveau peacock that threw glittering jewel-toned highlights onto the waterfall of long, lazy blond locks spiraling over her shoulders and down her back.

Copper-rimmed glasses framed her eyes, but the light wasn't enough to tell him what color they were. And unless he was way off, those were familiar old Levi's jeans and Reebok high-tops she was wearing. What an intriguing little bundle of contradictions... and Jack judged he would fit quite nicely in that empty wing chair across the table from her. He might as well see if she liked cowboys, and if she did, the long slim legs those Levi's were outlining would feel pretty damn good wrapped around his waist... something stirred in his gut that wasn't the need for a fight, and feeling a bit less grouchy, Jack threaded his way through the crowd towards the stairs leading up.