The open message window mocked her. “What do I say? For that matter, what do I want?” She leaned back in her chair, thinking about her time with P...ul. He loved to stand behind her, his arms around her. He would kiss her on the neck. So softly. It always sent shivers through her and made her tummy quiver. Joan smiled at the thought, then realized she had felt those very feelings just now. Memory is powerful. She began typing: Hi Paul, this is Joan Petersen. Well you knew me as Joan Olson. I came. As I said, you can keep the belt, we don’t care. Just continue to sell your ore to us.”“We will continue to pay good money for it, in fact if you feel the need to raise the prize, we won’t object. Just, please not too high, or too fast. We’ll just pass the cost onto OUR customers and call it a tax or something. That is unless you irritate us. Then we’ll blame you. Collectively as the belt miners. Or you personally as the Demon of Mosley. Either way, we come out smelling like a rose. And you’ll. More

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