Bedding the Boss Pt. 01

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'Yes . . . and no. Towards the end they were bouncing ideas to and fro like Serena and Venus.'

'That's their love/hate side,' Joanna said. 'If there is anything other than my imagination, that is.' She looked at her watch. 'It's nearly time for my meeting. Anything else I can tell you before I go?'

'Yes. What is it that Victoria does?'

'She's running Mortgages at present. Before that she was running a special team, like the one Chris is fronting up now, even though she can't have reached his grade yet. Or perhaps she has. That young lady been promoted faster than anyone I've ever known. And I have been here since we first opened in 1983.'

'Okay, last question. What's your nickname?'

Joanna tried to look affronted. 'What makes you think I've got a nickname?'

'Everyone else seems to have one. And you've been here all along.'

'Oh, all right then. This is from the old days, mind. But I overheard it being used last week, so I can't claim it's long-forgotten. It was, maybe still is, Hot Lips.'

'Hot Lips . . . Wow!' Heather was delighted. 'Never mind a night in with Playgirl, get yourself out with me after that rugby match on Saturday. Show me the sights of Bingley. There are loads of pubs; we'll pull in no time. Especially wearing badges with Snow White and Hot Lips on them.'

'I might take you up one day,' Joanna rose from her chair, 'but probably not so soon. Bingley's full of rascals and scoundrels. Pulling's not been the same since the teacher training college shut down.'

Chapter Three

There was no sign of the minutes when Heather finally returned to her desk.

'Not quite so efficient,' she murmured, before sighing deeply. Although she liked everything about her job she was disheartened. Up until now she hadn't seriously considered having sex with a workmate (except for the odd bedtime fantasy about the lovely Ms Jones that was). In fact she hadn't seriously been considering sexy relationships at all. Now, the first time she'd been tempted . . .

The first time she'd wet her knickers in anticipation . . .

Joanna hadn't mentioned the other office romances that were happening all around them, the ones that were presumably acceptable by grapevine standards, but she was obviously spot-on about spur-of-the-moment flings. In her short time at WYB Heather had already heard dozens of junior managers referred to as bimbo, airhead or both in the same sentence. That wasn't a mystery anymore: they had been caught in the bogs. And boggy mud at WYB must stick, because some of those juniors had to be pushing forty.

How unfair was that? "Promotion" was probably the last thing most of them had been thinking of at the time!

As for high-flying Victoria, well, she could forget it. Despite that warm, welcoming wink, she was the Ice Queen, possibly even the Virgin Queen. It wasn't easy to forget that incredible body but hey, she could always round up some of those temps.

Heather added a couple of lines to an email and sent it off into cyberspace . . . after officially starting her break, naturellement. She liked Steve but wouldn't have done him a whole email during working hours.

Well, maybe a very short one.

She couldn't help grinning. She had noticed that particular workmate straightaway. Steve had made it plain he'd noticed her too. Trouble was, as well as having a willy, he had one of those bits of metal on his hand: the sort that put him completely out of bounds.

His reply bounced back almost immediately.

"Hot Lips; like in MASH if you watch golden oldies. Rumour has it she used to be quite a babe. Still not bad if you ask me, although I would prefer a much younger woman with beautiful green eyes and long black hair. And she has to have matching initials. HH would be perfect. Any idea where I can find one?

My nickname is the very boring Stevo by the way. What's yours?

Cheers

Stevo"

Heather's response went back just as fast.

"Of course I've watched M*A*S*H. Hot Lips Houlihan played by Loretta Swit. Or was that the film? I've seen both.

Sorry, no idea where you might find the girl of your dreams. Maybe nobody's so perfect. Best stick to Hot Lips. She is a JJ after all.

I think my nickname should be Little Orphan Annie, but I'm told it may be Snow White. And before you ask . . . don't! I've already had lots of applications for all the roles as (very tall) dwarves, including one from Dopey, asking if he can make me feel Happy.

Cheers

Snow W"

Another message arrived as this went. Curious, Heather went into her in-box and found it was from VictoriaHanson@WYB.com. 'Ah,' she said, 'Miss Efficiency's minutes. That's cost me two quid.'

She therefore opened the message in all innocence to find:

"Hiya Heather.

I hope you didn't mind me butting in like that. You seemed to want to keep a low profile and I know what Chris can be like. You would have made his day if he'd found out The Manor is single-sex. If nothing else you'd have been quizzed about what went on with the big girls after Lights-out.

Be warned! He is persistent. When he finds out he'll try again, starting with a seemingly innocent question before pouncing.

Other than that, welcome aboard. There are more graduates here than you can shake a stick at, but not many who went to a private school first. And hardly any who went to a half-decent private school, never mind a top drawer establishment like The Manor. I was lucky enough to go to St Helena's, so I know the difference better than most. It will be good to have someone like you to speak to. We can swap tales about how character-building it was: the loneliness and temptations; the frustrations and all those cold showers!

We must have lots in common.

I might even swap stories about Lights-out.

L

Vic"

Heather's heart fluttered. She pictured the high-flier as she turned from the water cooler, swapping one sensational view for another. And that wink . . .

When Heather was quite small her Uncle Adrian started to give her Tintin books for Christmas and birthdays, ignoring her mum when she said they were meant to be stories for Belgian boys. An image from one of those books came to her now. It was of a fairly drunk Captain Haddock; he was slumped at a table, staring wistfully at an unopened bottle of Loch Lomond whisky. He had a little white angel perched on his right shoulder, a grinning red devil on his left. The angel (with Tintin's head) was very earnestly giving a hundred sound reasons why the bottle should stay unopened. The devil (with the captain's head, beard trimmed to make him suitably diabolical) was gleefully giving a hundred much more interesting reasons why it should not.

Abruptly, the image changed and she was in Captain Haddock's position, staring wistfully at her PC. The angel (who now had Joanna's head) was saying: 'Think of your reputation . . . and your career. You'll get sideways-promoted to delivering the internal post. Then you'll spend all the rest of your life wishing you'd listened to me.'

The devil (now looking like Jack Nicholson) didn't waste time with words. Instead he clapped his hands and Heather saw again Victoria turning from the water cooler. Apart from her shoes and glasses she was naked. Smiling at her, naked and winking and . . .

Knickers, Heather thought decisively, there are always other jobs. And who's going to get caught in the act anyway?

*****

Heather carefully re-read Victoria's email, conscious it had taken precedence over the minutes, and wanting to be sure she wasn't mistaking the message.

L Vic, she wondered. What could that possibly mean but Love, Victoria?

Well, perhaps it meant "Lust Victoria?"

It had to be one or the other, and in the circumstances either would do.

Right, this called for a clever reply; one showing respect for the Ice Queen's lofty status, just in case she'd mixed her signals after all, while giving out clear signals of her own.

She began with:

"Hiya Vic"

Then, frowning, she changed it to:

"Hello Victoria (or Vic, if you prefer)

I certainly didn't mind you riding to my rescue; I welcomed you with all my heart. You were better than any knight on a white charger!

And thank you for the warning about Chris. If there is a next time I'll be ready with some witty (I hope!) retort that shuts him up as well as yours did. Shame I can't tell him what really did go on with the big girls after Lights-out! That would render him speechless!

I hope you enjoyed St Helena's as much as I enjoyed The Manor. I don't know about you, but I quickly got over the loneliness and frustrations and concentrated on the temptations! I've always been able to resist everything except temptations! And I don't think that will ever change!

I am sure we will have lots and lots in common and can't wait to swap stories. Maybe we should do it over a drink rather than here. Some of my stories might be a little much for anyone who is unfamiliar with single-sex schools! Particularly when I tell you about our Helena, who was anything but a saint!

I owe you a drink anyway, for being my knight.

Let's make it sooner rather than later.

L

Hev"

That's used up all my exclamation marks, she thought, but what the heck.

She fired it off before she could chicken out and again, as one message left another arrived, this time from Steve. She opened it and read as far as:

"Hi Snow White"

Then she realized there was someone standing behind her.

'Snow White,' Chris Woodhead said. 'Is that what they call you?'

Heather swivelled her chair so she faced him and at the same time blocked off her PC screen.

'It looks like a possibility,' she admitted. 'I suppose it could be worse.'

'Oh it could,' Chris agreed. 'There are some fairly offensive nicknames around. But what can you do? As the saying goes, Boys will be boys and girls will be worse.'

'That must be a new one. I've never heard it.' Heather smiled and tried her best to seem obliging. 'Is there anything I can do to help? Joanna's tied up in a meeting.'

'I know. I'm on my way to the same meeting. I just stopped off to apologize.'

'Apologize?'

'Yes; to apologize in person.'

'What are you apologizing for?'

'I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. I didn't know you'd been to an exclusive school. I wasn't trying to embarrass you.'

Heather didn't scoff. Instead she told herself he was doing this off his own bat and didn't really have to grovel.

And he was a handsome so-and-so.

If I ever . . .

'Apology accepted,' she said, smiling even wider, hoping she looked as good for it as Joanna did. 'I can't think why I got flustered anyway. I'm proud I went to The Manor.'

'Well it's certainly turned you into a fine, athletic young woman.' Chris grinned as he applied flannel with a trowel. 'Or were you finished off at uni?'

'Bit of both,' she said modestly, 'aided and abetted by intensive karate. Hajime is my middle name. Unless I'm playing hockey, of course; then it's Bully Off.'

'Karate probably came in handy for hockey.' Chris grinned at her. 'It's a dangerous game, hockey, especially when girls are involved. I stick to golf myself.'

'I know you do, Tiger. You play off four, don't you?'

'I'm due to be pulled to three,' he said, 'possibly two after last weekend. But how did you know I'm off four? Have you been checking me out?'

'About as much as you've been checking me out.'

This time they both laughed, holding each other's gaze, comfortable, almost. Heather could see how easily a girl might slip into a relationship with Chris, even knowing he'd ultimately be bad news.

If not diverting along the way.

'Do you play?'

'Golf,' Heather shook her head. 'Sorry, not anymore. I knew a guy who had a plus handicap. He put me off good and proper.'

'That's a shame; I was going to ask you if you'd like to play around.'

'Do you mean play-a-round? Or play around?'

'Both. But if you're not a golfer, maybe . . .'

'Cards on the table,' she said, pointing to his wedding ring. 'If it wasn't for that, I'd play a seventy-two holes tournament. But I don't do married.'

'What if I said it's an old one I forgot to take off?'

'I'm afraid I'd have to class it with: The cheque's in the post. And that other one; the one I'm too polite to mention.'

'How about: I'm looking after it for a friend?'

'No good. How about: You're flogging a dead horse? Or: Aren't you late for that meeting?'

'Stone me; you are Snow White, aren't you?'

'Pure as the freshly driven stuff,' said Heather, laughing again.

'I meant the Fairest of Them All, actually.' Chris started towards the meeting room. He gave her a final grin. 'By the way, I like a challenge. It's going to be fun working with you.'

At least he didn't try to bribe me with promotion. Heather admired the view as he went. As long as it stays that way, it really could be fun. And I've never played hard-to-get before; that could be fun too.

If I ever get back round to blokes, that is.

*****

Heather went back to her PC, finding two new messages. Leaving Steve's part-read, she hurried into her in-box to discover one of the new ones was from Victoria. The other was yet another from Steve. No contest. Victoria's got opened first.

"Hiya Heather

At WYB I am always Victoria, and I'm afraid I'm so sad I'm nearly always at WYB! Only my very close friends outside work ever call me Vic. If I'm really your white knight, you'd better call me Vic right from the beginning.

Beginning . . . sounds like an adventure, doesn't it?

Anyway (and by the way) I hate being called Vick, Vicky or Vikki, so if you ever want to wind me up, now you know!

My, my, Heather! If you enjoyed giving in to the same temptations as I did we really are going to be friends! Lights-out always was my favourite time of day!

I'm ready for that drink whenever you are. Just say the word.

L

Vic"

Wow! Heather immediately replied to sender with:

"Hiya Vic. Tonight?

L

Hev"

She then went back and read Steve's middle email.

"Hi Snow White

Are you all right? You're not your usual self and I don't get the bit about Little Orphan Annie. If there's anything I can do please let me know.

And I hope I'm not Dopey, because you'll always be my Fairest of Them All.

Cheers

Stevo"

Her mind whirled. Fairest of Them All, could Chris have possibly read that with me smack in the way of the screen? Surely he couldn't. And so what if he did? All it tells him is I have another admirer. . . . No, make that yet another married admirer.

She sent her reply.

"Hi Stevo

I was a little bit Grumpy but I'm Happy again now. You've never been Dopey so don't be Bashful, be Happy like me.

Cheers

Snow W"

Victoria's latest reply landed before Heather could open Steve's third email.

"Hiya Heather

I'm up for tonight but am stuck here until 6:30. Is that wildly inconvenient? If it is okay we could meet outside the main entrance and walk across to The Ferrands.

L

Vic"

Heather's response went back seconds later.

"Hiya Vic

6:30 is fine. I'll be there, wearing a white carnation.

L

Hev"

She saw the clock as she returned to Steve's last message and grimaced; it was close to two already. The day was as good as gone and nothing productive had been done. Forget home for a short, sharp shower, she'd work until twenty past six and then stroll down to the cash point.

"Heather

What's Woodhead up to? If he has been upsetting you I'll brain him with his 5 iron before I bury him in the bunker on the Thirteenth.

Steve"

Married men! She sighed inwardly. They're worse than teenage boys.

"Hi Stevo

NOTHING! Chris Woodhead couldn't bother me if I wanted him to. And I DO NOT WANT HIM TO.

The idea of seeing him with just his head sticking out of the sand is quite appealing but seriously, he hasn't done anything to offend me, never mind anything to deserve that.

Just so you know: YOU are top of my married men list. If I ever slide in that direction, YOU will find out long before Chris Woodhead.

Be Happy

Snow W"

She sat back and waited until she was sure the flurry of mail had stopped.

Okay, she finally concluded, that's the personal stuff sorted out, let's see how much real work I can clear before carnation time.

Chapter Four

Heather waited for a valued WYB account-holder to finish at the cash point before she moved in to check her balance. Quite healthy she noted, without any sense of relief. She was long accustomed to seeing healthy balances and had never used the overdraft that had moved with her from NatWest.

After preparing a request for a hundred pounds she hesitated, then altered it to two hundred. It came out as nine twenties and two tens. She folded one of the twenties and tucked it in her breast pocket, put the rest of the cash and her card safely into her designer wallet and, her heart suddenly pounding, turned back to the main entrance.

Good grief, I'm excited. Must be Joanna's dire warnings! I do hope she doesn't find out!

Then, forgetting all about Joanna, she grinned: Oops, I just failed another knickers inspection!

It was six twenty-seven on a cool autumn evening. There were not many people or vehicles around. The floods of homebound bank workers had ebbed an hour ago and, thanks to the Relief Road, rush hour traffic was by now virtually done. A way beyond the entrance, up the hill, a handful of miserable-looking people stood waiting for the next Keighley bus. Across Main Street the lights in Wetherspoons were warm and inviting.

Six thirty. The automatic doors slid open and Victoria came out, followed by a man in an expensive overcoat. Victoria was dressed as before, with the addition of the top half of her mannish black suit. She was carrying a small travel bag in her left hand and had already turned her wonderful, blinding smile in Heather's direction.

'Hi,' she cried. 'Where's the carnation?'

'I've only just left the office. And all the flower shops are shut. You'll have to use your imagination.'

The man in the overcoat had stopped behind Victoria, watching their exchange. He looked vaguely familiar. Heather realized why when Victoria, following her gaze, turned and addressed him.

'Good evening, Mr Carmichael. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there.'

'Good evening, Victoria. I just wanted to congratulate you on your presentation. It went down very well.'

'Thank you very much.'

'Don't thank me, I'm thanking you. You covered points we hadn't considered, as is usually the case with your presentations. Ah, are you two together?'

Caught, Heather thought.

By a director!

Without even a kiss!!

How unfair is that!!

'Yes,' Victoria said calmly. 'We're on our way to evening service. In fact we'd better hurry or we'll be late.'

'That's a shame,' Mr Carmichael said. 'I was going to ask you to step across for a drink in The Myrtle Grove.'

'I'm sorry. We would love to, but we really must fly.'

'Can't keep God waiting,' said the director. 'Off you fly, and goodnight to you both.'

He set off down the steps, leaving Heather to say in mock horror, 'Victoria! You just turned down a board member . . . and you fibbed to him!'

'The Bank's already had eleven hours of my heart and soul today,' Victoria countered. 'And I did not fib.'

'What about evening service?'

'Look around. It's obviously evening. We're off for the service bit in The Ferrands . . . unless you fancy trying somewhere else.'

'No,' Heather chuckled. 'You lead the way.'

Keeping her bag in her left hand, Victoria linked her free arm with Heather's and they descended the steps, reaching street level in time to see Mr Carmichael complete his trip across the pelican crossing and into Wetherspoons.

'So, you worked through,' Victoria said as the enticing smell of Shama curry wafted around them. 'Are you hungry?'