Bob Giles sat at his desk, as he normally did on a Monday morning, staring at a spreadsheet. Month-end was coming, and he was going to have to explain to the VP of Operations why production had dropped 8% in the last few weeks. It seemed that no matter what data he accessed, though, he couldn't figure out why himself. There were no breakdowns, nobody quit or called in sick, it just seemed that people were working slower.
Standing up and straightening his tie, Bob walked around his desk to look out the window. This was one part of his job that he hated. He was going to have to lay someone off, give the "trimming the fat" talk, try to motivate with fear. He'd tried the carrot on the string approach, but either he wasn't communicating the incentives well enough, or the people who worked for him didn't get it. He was going to have to be the bad guy.
Beside his window was a picture of his family. He hadn't had the guts to take it down yet, but his eyes were drawn to it nonetheless. Most people at the office didn't know that he'd left his wife, Laura, and his kids, Eric and Lizzie, three months earlier. Well, "left" maybe wasn't the right word. "Fled" was more accurate. He'd been caught in an affair. Sure, it was just a one-night stand, but somehow his wife had found out. Words were screamed, dishes thrown. In the end he'd escaped with the clothes he'd been wearing and nothing else.
It didn't matter. He had plenty of money. Being middle management at Biggles and Pique didn't pay all that much, but he was born into money. His wife may have gotten the house, but Bob got the pleasure of shopping for a new wardrobe (the new silk suit he wore was one of his first purchases), a new apartment (overlooking the park), and maybe soon he'd have a new girlfriend (if Stacy, his new assistant would join him for dinner, that is).
A wave of dizziness hit Bob, then passed as quickly as it arrived.
He continued to stare out the window. His view was one of the best in the building. He absentmindedly fingered his pearl necklace as he stared out at the river-view. It was a warm, summer day, and an older couple was kayaking upstream. It brought a smile to Bob's painted lips. Maybe when he was older, he'd find someone to enjoy the smaller things like that with.
Bob sighed. He didn't have time to dream about the future. He had an efficiency problem to solve. He pivoted in his black flats and padded back to his desk, his long black skirt flowing with his movement. Sitting at his desk, he again stared at the spreadsheet. His mind wandered, though, as he crunched the data. His assistant Stacy had still not given him an answer about dinner on Friday. It had been risky for him to ask her, pushing the boundaries of professionalism, but he framed it in a manner that made it seem like he had work to go over with her. Maybe, after a few drinks, one thing would lead to another....
A wave of dizziness hit Bob, then passed as quickly as it arrived.
...What had he been thinking about? Bob shook his head, attempting to clear it, but only succeeding in making his long auburn locks fall into his eyes. Tucking his hair behind his ears, Bob again attempted to find any way that he could avoid being Mister Meanie-Pants and laying people off. Maybe the data was wrong. Maybe he was misinterpreting it.
Bob opened his top drawer and, as he often did when he felt stressed out, pulled out some polish and a file and began do to his nails. He'd been meaning to do them, anyway. Sure, it slowed his typing down to have such long nails, but he loved how beautiful they made him feel. Examining the myriad of colours at his disposal, Bob settled on purple. It matched his hoop earrings, after all.
He crossed his legs, enjoying the feel that his stockings gave over his large, hairy legs, when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he said...
A wave of dizziness hit Bob, then passed as quickly as it arrived.
"Hey Bobby," Stacy said, poking her grinning head into the room.
"Hey Stace," Bob replied with an equally impish grin. Bob was so glad that he'd been assigned such a rad assistant as Stacy. She was so smart and pretty. Not only had she been able to help him through the last quarterly report with no mistakes, but she'd helped him pick out the awesome low-cut sundress he was wearing. Sure, he'd been sad when his wife kicked him out, but Stacy had been so kind to him, letting him crash at her place, helping him shop, she was the best friend ever.
Secretly, Bob wished she could be more. So much so that he'd even asked her out for dinner multiple times, but she never saw him as anything other than a friend. They always seemed to end up giggling, gossiping, even watching chick flicks together. As he bounced his high-heeled shoe on the end of his toe, he wondered what it would take for her to see him as the kind of man she could go for.
"Find the problem yet?" she asked.
"Nothing," Bob replied with uncertainty in his voice, "It just seems that people are moving slower than usual. I hope I won't have to be a meanie and lay anyone off. I don't even know if I have it in me!"
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Stacy said, trying to boost him up, "We still on for Friday?"
"Sure!" Bob said, still holding on to hope of something more with her.
"Excellent. Maybe after dinner we can catch a late show. 'Magic Mike' is playing at the second-run theatre downtown." Then she turned and left.
Bob frowned. Sure, he'd enjoyed 'Magic Mike'... who hadn't? It was an excellent story. But did it mean she was starting to see him as a potential romantic partner? He was unsure. He pulled out his compact to check his make-up. Immaculate as usual. Maybe he just wasn't attractive enough...
A wave of dizziness hit Bob, then passed as quickly as it arrived.
Frustrated, Bob again pushed himself back from his desk. These spreadsheets were stupid. He was so totally no impressed with how everyone wasn't working hard enough, forcing him to work with numbers so much.
Brushing a long, blonde hair out of his eyes, he began to strategize. The end-of-the-month was approaching, so he was going to have to explain to the VP of Operations why production had dropped 8%. That would be easy. That old pervert was always looking down Bob's top, staring at his impressive cleavage. How could he not? With tops like the one Bob was wearing, there was nowhere else to look! The tight, white top that buttoned only high enough to reveal the top of his bra, was one of Bob's favourite. Once Bob's wife had kicked him out of the house for being such a slut, an assessment he fully embraced, Bob felt it was important to dress for the role.
Then there was the problem of production. He began to pace on his ultra-high black heels. His smooth, sexy, long legs felt wonderful encased in their black, lace-topped stockings. He loved his stockings so much that he made sure that his skirts were always short enough to show their tops off. It made him feel powerful to dress the way he did. Powerful and sexy. Sex was, after all, power.
Maybe that was the answer. Maybe all he'd have to do is find out who is working slowest, and offer them the right incentive. If they upped their production, he'd give them a weekend with him as their personal plaything. The idea made his pussy wet. Sure, he'd have to clear it with Stacy, his roommate, but he was sure she'd understand. Bob was always bringing boys home for the night. This was just a little longer.
And maybe a little louder.
