Simon looked longingly at the cigar waiting for him and then back at the pile of paperwork on his desk.
Nothing there was urgent, but he'd told himself that the cigar, cool fragrant smoke filling his mouth, the weight of it in his hand, the beloved ritual of preparation, all of it, would have to wait until he'd cleared his desk, and Simon Banks was a man of his word.
He reached out for the luscious pineapple Danish which was resting on the files.
No sense in letting it get stale and technically, it was first in the to-do pile…
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