We check in ("Yes, upgrade for Mr Reynolds and Ms Mills please. Mr Longbottom? No, he's happy with basic") and I say to meet back in the lobby in half an hour.
"That long enough for you to get out of those tight jeans, Em?" I flirt.
"Have to be, Mark, won't it?" she giggles.
She's slightly late coming down, keeps Ken and I waiting a few minutes. Forget that, though, because she looks amazing. She's put her hair up -- very businesslike -- and she's wearing a form-fitting pencil skirt, cut on the knee. Matching jacket, white silk blouse with just a hint of cleavage, ultra-sheer tights and heels. Make-up is restrained, touch of red lipstick on her full lips, fingernails painted also red.
Longing stares from every guy in the lobby (including me and Ken) as Emma comes across to where we're sitting. She's aware of all the male attention, playing up to it with how she's walking. It's a teasing, 'I know you guys wanna fuck me but sorry, no chance, yeah I realise you're all lusting, and I love it, but you can't have me' ... kind of a walk. Course, there's one guy there who WILL be getting to fuck the hot little bitch, isn't there? Yeah!
Emma gets to us and puts her laptop down on the floor, treating Ken and I to a peep down her blouse. We get a glimpse of luscious breasts encased in a skimpy white lace bra. Oh god. "Okay, guys?" she grins. Doesn't even bother apologising for being late. Knows she's worth waiting for.
"Ms Mills, you look stunning," I tell her.
"Why thank you, kind sir!" Emma smiles and pouts and strikes a sexy pose. "Thought I ought to wear something nice for day one."
I happen to know she'll be wearing something even 'nicer' on days two, three, four and five. Where 'nice' here means 'designed to drive men wild!'
This look she has now, though, it's bang on target. Sexy and sophisticated, not easy for a 22 year old girl to pull off, but she's definitely done it. I give her the full ogle. "Yeah, nice, that's one way of putting it. But I'd more say totally fucking gorgeous!"
Em giggles. The girl just loves hearing stuff like that. And she's used to it.
"Isn't that right, Ken?" I say. "Doesn't Em look utterly gorgeous?" He's gone red. Embarrassed.
"Doesn't she, Ken?"
Kenny's really blushing now. "Um, yes," he manages.
"Yes what?" I snap.
"She looks g-g-gorgeous." Poor guy's started to stutter. Must be stress.
"No, Kenneth, not just plain g-g-gorgeous. She looks UTTERLY g-g-gorgeous is what we agreed, didn't we?" Ken nods. "Right, so tell her then. You want to hear it, Em, don't you?"
"Yes, I'd really love that," grins Emma. "A girl likes to get compliments. Especially from men who find her attractive."
"There you go, Ken, see? Emma knows you find her attractive and she wants to hear you say it. Tell her ... tell Em she's looking utterly gorgeous."
Poor guy has to do it. "Um, Emma, you're l-l-looking utterly g-g-gorgeous." He tries to look at Em's face while he's saying this but he can't - ends up looking at her feet. Stutter seems to have got worse too.
Em's giggling and looking at me with an expectant 'okay, what next?' expression. She wants to carry on tormenting him. So do I -- it IS funny -- but there isn't time right now. "Attaboy, Kenny!" I say. "There ... wasn't so difficult, was it? Anyway, c'mon, let's get going, they're expecting us."
It's only a short walk to the company where we're working. We have a laptop each, plus a bag with all our papers and stationary and stuff in, so we don't have that much to carry. Emma has nothing to carry, in fact, (except her little handbag) because I suggest that Ken acts 'the gentleman' and takes her computer. He also has the bag, so he is slightly overloaded, I guess, but he can just about manage.
We get there and I handle the whole start-up thing. I introduce Emma as 'my colleague' and Ken as 'our assistant'. Which raises eyebrows with them since Ken is so much older than me (even more older than Emma).
We get a quick guided tour of the premises (quite funny how Ken straggles along at the rear with two laptops plus bag ... really does look like 'the assistant') and then our contact, this middle-aged accountant guy called Phil, shows us where we'll be based for the week. It's great. We've got our own office with all the facilities.
The door has a lock and I explain to Phil that the nature of what we're doing means privacy is paramount. He already knows this, it seems, and he gives me the key, assuring me it's the only one. "Cheers, I'll give it back before we leave on Friday," I tell him.
Rules are that the door will be locked at all times whether we're in or out. Nobody goes in apart from us -- if we want to see or talk to anyone we'll either ring through or come out. Shouldn't be much of that, provided we have full computer access to the company's systems. "Sure thing, Mark," says Phil. "And we've also put all the relevant files in here for you guys ... you know, invoices, contracts, all that stuff."
"Oh and the bathrooms are just around the corner," he adds. "Left out of the room, turn right for the gents, left for the ladies."
He gives Em another lingering look on 'ladies'. He's been trying not to make it too obvious that he's drooling but I can tell and so can Emma. Needless to say, all the guys at the company were ogling her like crazy during our tour. "Thank you, Phil," she pouts, giving the poor guy a little flirt. We know what old Phil's going to be thinking about for the rest of the week, don't we? Bet he's already racking his brains for ways he can maximise his sightings of the delectable Ms Mills. Sorry pal, I'm thinking, the interaction's gonna be strictly minimal.
"Okay, so see you later," says Phil, exiting.
"Yeah, thanks Phil," I say. I close the door and lock it. "Right, you two, let's get started!"
First things first -- lunch. I send Kenny out for sandwiches. Has he got enough cash, I ask. Yes he has, but it'll clean him out. Well that's okay then, isn't it? I tell him.
The order is simplicity itself, we all want a 'BLT' (bacon, lettuce and tomato).
When he's gone and I've locked the door, Em lets me kiss her. Nothing too raunchy, just a nice snog, but it still gives me quite a hard-on. I get about ten minutes of this until there's a knock and Kenny's back with the BLTs. We break off snogging -- which I don't find easy, believe me -- and I'm about to let him in when Emma points out I've got traces of lipstick on my face and neck. Ah right. I pull a tissue but she stops me, says it'll be fun to watch Ken's expression when he sees it and knows we've been kissing.
"Yeah, make him jealous, right?"
"Right," she grins.
It works a dream. I open the door and Ken's face when he sees me is a picture. He'd be green if he weren't white and pasty. So funny! I'm picturing a whole ton of this 'make Ken jealous' stuff during the rest of the week. Have loads of suggestions which I can't wait to run by Emma. Bet she's got a few of her own too -- 'MKJ' was her idea in the first place, after all.
She's pointing at my face now. "Mark, honey ... lipstick," she giggles. "Whatever will Ken here think of us?" She roots in her bag and passes me a mirror.
I grin at her, then at Ken. "Whoops," I say, mock-sheepishly. Now I do use a tissue and wipe it away. "Sorry, Kenny," I say, shrugging at him in a 'well, you know how it is' kind of way.
Course, he DOESN'T know how it is, does he? No. That's the point.
We sit round the table in the middle of the room to eat the sandwiches. "Hey, good boy, Kenny, these look great!" I say, unwrapping mine. Ken kind of nods. He's got his one out of the packet now. They really do look nice, these BLTs.
"God, I am hungry!" says Emma, unwrapping hers too.
"Probably because you didn't get your muffin this morning." I say, glint in my eye.
Yeah, that's it, I reckon." She throws Ken a mean look. "And we never really punished him properly, Mark, did we? You know, for not getting me one."
"Nope. We didn't."
Me and Em look at each other for a moment. Should we give the wretched guy a break and just eat lunch? Let me check with her. "Do you wanna punish him now, babe?" I ask.
If Ken had any doubt that me and Em are now an item, that 'babe' has removed it.
Emma ponders for a second. Ken's kind of fingering his BLT, wanting to start eating but sensing he'd better wait till she's pronounced. She finally does and it's bad news for Ken. "It's not that I WANT to punish him, honey, it's just I think we probably should. You know, so he learns."
The bitch is merciless!
"Okay, sure, baby. So how should we do that?" I'm intrigued as to what she'll come up with. It turns out to be pretty brilliant.
"Well, what I'm thinking, honey, is ... I missed breakfast 'cos of him, right?"
"Yeah, baby, no muffin. Scandal."
"Okay, so how about he misses lunch? That's fair, Mark, isn't it?"
"No, honey, today. Now."
I hold up my BLT. "But we've already got lunch, baby."
Emma grins. "Yeah ... but we haven't started eating it, have we?" True. We haven't.
"Ah, so we split Ken's between us, that what you mean, Em? Not sure I want another half a BLT. They're pretty big ones."
"No, me neither," says Emma. "What I mean is that Ken throws his away instead of eating it."
Ken's shaking his head. "Mark, I'm h-h-hungry. I haven't eaten all day."
I look at Em and she gives a little shrug -- 'tough titty' is what it's saying.
"Sorry, Ken, lunch is off," I tell him. "There's a bin over there."
"But M-M-Mark ..."
"Bin!" I snap, pointing at it. Ken lumbers up from the table and goes to ditch his sandwich. Poor bastard. "Kiss it goodbye first, if you like," I call over. Ken's not sure if I'm serious, so he takes no chances and he does -- he gives his BLT a wistful little kiss before dropping it in the bin.
Emma can't believe this. "Oh my god," she giggles, cracking up.
He comes back to the table and we make him sit there and watch us eat lunch. I wolf mine down, it's gone in no time, but Em eats hers very slowly, relishing each mouthful. "Mmm, this is so yummy," she keeps saying. She picks out bits of bacon and waves the food under Ken's nose, tantalises the poor guy, before popping it into her mouth. At one point, a small piece of tomato falls out of her sandwich onto the table. "Oops," she says, looking down. She leaves it there till she's finished ... "that was just delicious!" ... then she starts poking it around with her finger. "Would you like this tomato, Kenny?" Emma pushes it in his direction, making it crystal clear she wants a yes. Ken duly nods. Emma winks at me. "Ask me nicely then," she tells him.
Think she's realised (after that 'kissing his BLT goodbye' business) just how helpless Kenny is and she's decided to really enjoy herself. Such a bitch, she is!
"P-P-Please, Emma, m-m-may I have the tom-m-m-mato?" God, she's got the guy actually begging her for this tiny bit of tomato. Unbelievable.
"Pretty please?" she taunts.
"P-P-Pretty p-p-p-p-please." His stammer's getting worse and worse!
"Okay, here you go," she grins and she flicks the tomato in his direction. It goes on the floor, unfortunately. Ken stoops to pick it up. "No, use your mouth," orders Emma. "More efficient." So he gets down and he kind of licks this tomato mess off the floor. It's quite a sight. Emma's wetting her knickers and so am I. "Okay, good," snaps Em. "Now, back to the table!" She's talking to him like he's a dog now. Ken obeys. Has to, he knows, but I can tell from his shamed expression that he hates himself for letting me and Emma (and especially Emma) treat him like this. "Was that nice, Kenny, that tomato?" she inquires.
"Um ..." Poor guy doesn't know what to say.
I decide to chip in -- join the fun. "You're too good to him, baby, you know that?" I need to keep amusing and impressing Em with what a bastard I can be. More I do that, the more she likes me, I've noticed.
"Yes, I know," she nods. "He was meant to be missing lunch, Mark, wasn't he?"
"Could do with skipping a few meals too - fat bastard!" I smirk.
"Should we put him on a diet?" Em wonders.
We agree to discuss this later because there's a job to do and we need to get cracking!
We check our log-ons on one of the office PCs (no probs -- thanks, Phil) and generally sort ourselves out. It's a great set-up - they've done us proud. There's even a little kitchenette type area, kettle, coffee and tea, the works. As well as the table in the middle where we had lunch there are three nice big individual desks, one for each team member.
Or perhaps not, because (as I explain) we need one of the desks to put our stuff on -- papers, stationery, phone and laptop chargers, this sort of thing. That's a task for Ken, to unpack our bag and lay the contents on the desk. "Keep it neat," I tell him as he's doing it.
We get settled into our respective places. "Cool," Em says, firing up her laptop. "Can you bring me over a pad, Ken?" she says. "And a pen."
"Me too, Kenny, if you don't mind," I say.
He does this and now he's kind of stood there, not sure what to do next. Emma and I spend a few minutes familiarising ourselves with the company's systems, chatting inconsequentially about this and that. Finally, there's a noise. It's Ken coughing in a bid for my attention. Guy's still standing there like a loose thread. "Oh hi, Ken," I say. "Sorry, mate, what do you want?"
"Er, where am I sitting, Mark?"
"You'll be moving around depending on what you're doing, so you don't need anywhere permanent."
"Um, okay. But what about now?"
"Now? Why don't you sit back at the table over there? Just give me a second and we'll get together. I need to run you guys through the plan, how we're splitting the work etc."
Off he goes. Looking just slightly happier.
The 'second' ends up being more like two hours, during which time Emma and I carry on what we were doing - surfing around on our laptops and discussing various facets of the job. She's a very bright girl, Emma, no doubt about that. Ken? He's just sat there at the table. Keeps glancing over, trying to catch my eye, but I ignore him. So does Emma. It's like he isn't there.
Eventually, I look at my watch. "Shit, nearly five o'clock!"
Emma looks surprised too. "Hey, Mark, aren't we meant to be getting the plan agreed before we leave today?"
"Damn right," I say, "Ken, why didn't you remind me, for fuck's sake?"
"Yeah, so you're always saying. Good job Em's awake, isn't it? Hope I'm not gonna have to rely on her for everything this week." He looks down. Too ashamed to meet my steely gaze.
"C'mon then, Em," I say, going over to join Ken. She follows and we're finally ready to talk 'plan'.
The work divides naturally into two types. There's the interesting, career-helping stuff (deciding on techniques and methods etc etc) and then there's what you'd call the 'grunt work', this being things like rooting out and checking invoices, filing, photocopying, all those sorts of menial but still necessary bits and pieces. With Ken being far and away more experienced than Emma, you'd expect that he'd be doing a lot of the category one work and she'd be stuck with the crap. Imagine the surprise, therefore, when this gets flipped around so that Emma gets all the good stuff and Ken the rest. Shouldn't be such a massive shock -- he's already been tagged as 'the assistant', let's face it -- but from their reactions it does seem to be.
Ken's looking crestfallen. Even thinking about protesting. "But M-M-Mark ..." he starts up, preparing to whinge.
"Yeah yeah, I know," I cut him off. "Doesn't seem fair. But Emma's one of the brightest trainees we have. It's important to develop her. Whereas you, well ..." I leave the thought unfinished. There's no need to say what he and I both know. The guy's a plank and he's been all but written off at the firm. In fact, Vickers has made it clear to Ken (and I got told this too) that if he doesn't get a decent appraisal report from me for this job he'll be out on his ear. So he needs to really try and impress. Maybe that's why he thinks twice about complaining and goes quiet.
And Emma? She's absolutely delighted! So much so that she blows me a big kiss. This, plus the very cute way she's looking at me, tells me I'll be getting my reward later on. Oh god, can't wait!
I decide to make things even better for her. Looking at Ken, I say, "And also -- just thinking on my feet here -- maybe what we do is adjust the team structure, make it so I'm still in charge overall but Emma runs things as regards the actual work. Be good to give her some supervisory experience."
I pause to let this sink in.
Emma gets it straightaway, of course. Like I say, brainy girl. She's even more chuffed with the arrangement now. "Okay, Mark, so just to be clear - plan is that Ken works for me. I'm, like, his boss for the week," she grins.
"Spot on, babe. I'll be keeping overall tabs on things - the superboss, if you like -- but as far as Kenny goes you're his direct superior. Entirely up to you, Em, how you wanna play that."
"Understood?" I snap, turning to Ken. He nods.
I haven't quite finished. "Oh and your appraisal ..."
This gets his attention.
"... be logical if Em does it. I'll sign it, obviously, so it's all official, but she'll be deciding your grade. Need at least a 3, don't you?" He nods again. This is what Vickers has said. We have five grades (running from 1 'excellent' to 3 'average' down to 5 'very poor') and Ken has to get a 3 on this job, else he's for the chop. Guy's under serious pressure.
I glance at Emma. She's loving this! A sly smile spreads across her lovely face. "Hey, you'll still be doing MY appraisal, honey, won't you? ... you're still MY boss, right?"
"Yeah, baby, I'll be doing yours. No worries." Think we know what grade the gorgeous Emma Mills will be getting, don't we? SHE certainly knows.
"And what's that 'Kenny needs a 3' all about?" Emma's not been privy to this. It's meant to be confidential between me, Ken and Vickers.
I fill her in and you should see the look in her beautiful big brown eyes as she processes this new information -- it's positively fiendish. Is she thinking what I'm thinking? You bet she is! She turns to Ken with a very wicked grin. "So ... Kenny ... looks like you'd better try your absolute best to please me, eh?"
"Yes, Emma," he mumbles. He's in for a bad time and I guess he realises this. Absolutely nothing he can do about it either, poor bastard.
It's time to leave now. No way I want to be working late on the first day. We can leave all our stuff since the room is secure, so just a matter of me and Em logging out and we're good to go. Only thing that delays us slightly is Emma spots a speck of dust on one of her shoes - the left one. Neither I nor Ken can see it but she can -- it's definitely there, she says.
"Would you mind dealing with it?" she asks Ken, pointing down at her shoe.
Ken's bright enough to know it's not a question. It's an order from his 'boss' and so he'd better fucking do it or else.
He fishes a tissue from his jacket pocket. "No need for that, Kenny," says Em. "I'd rather you used your tongue. Come on, I want it spotless when you've finished." Oh god, the girl is gonna make him grovel at her feet and lick her shoe!
And she does. Poor fucker has to get down on the floor, hands and knees, and lick this 'dust' off Emma's left shoe.
"And no looking up my skirt," she giggles.
She keeps him at it for maybe five minutes and meanwhile Em just stands and chats to me about a few things she's finding interesting about how the company's records are set up. Sharp girl, she is. Not the reason I've arranged things this way, course not, but it probably makes sense that she's doing all the interesting and mentally challenging bits of the job. She's miles cleverer than old Ken.