Charmingly Ruthless

When the introductions were over Morrie thought, OK, now it's time for the great "Follow Me to Success" speech. But no, she simply walked to the main exit where she told Harold she'd meet him over at the pub shortly.

"Morrie is there somewhere we can have a quick private chat?"

"My office?"

"Great."

Oh shit, she was going to terminate her closest rival before he'd had a chance to look for a replacement position on another newspaper! Morrie's palms began to moisten.

"Please sit in my chair."

"That's kind of you, but unnecessary, Morrie," she said, as he closed the door. "Just sitting here on the visitor's chairs face-to-face will be fine."

Morrie saw her make a quick inspection of his office. Thank Christ it was tidy, although he didn't know why he was bothering to think that.

"I'm sorry that the board did not appoint you Morrie. I guess if you were on the board you'd gone for the strongest candidate with the greatest perceived potential?"

"Er, yes."

"I would too. We work in a competitive business world and at times it gives you a stick-up-the-ass when you're not looking, doesn't it?"

Morrie looked directly into the soft grey eyes that held his gaze unflinching, quite shocked at what he'd just heard, as it had been entirely unexpected and crude beyond belief -- especially from a bimbo.

Then she floored him again.

"Do you know Anthony Evans?"

Morrie nodded, saying Anthony was head-hunted two years ago by a newspaper up north.

"He was, but a month later came to us at the Morning Star by invitation and then three months later won the vacated position of chief reporter. He's just been appointed chief-of-staff.

"Phone him Morrie and ask him to tell you truthfully what he thinks of me and what else he can tell you about me. I don't wish to lose you right now -- this grand old newspaper needs you and I need you to throw out the anchor if I start losing my marbles and making a complete balls up of things. Just do it, Morrie -- here's Anthony's mobile phone number. I must get across the road. I'll see you upstairs at 4:00."

"I haven't been invited?"

"Why the fuck not; you're a department deputy?"

"Bill who writes editorials got handed the invitation instead -- he's related to the general manager's wife."

"Well, I'll sort that pecking order out on Monday when I take over. But just go up at 4:00 and tell anyone who challenges you that you're my personal guest. Bye for now."

Morrie rushed to open the door for her and almost bowed. He was flabbergasted at his reaction, Morrie Wrightson, the most cynical staffer on the paper. He knew of course that he hadn't wanted to shift on, as Trish with their youngest now at school was establishing her fashion shop and just loving it, so much that he was getting sex almost every night. Who the fuck gave Chase the label of bimbo? He grinned, slightly shame-faced.

Ten minutes later Morrie received a three-person deputation. Editorial staff wanted a quick meeting with him to discuss concern over the new appointee. Either he could agree to a quick unofficial meeting now or an official stop work meeting would be called tomorrow.

"Make it now, but lasting no longer than twenty minutes."

"Oh, about five minutes will be all we need," columnist Muriel Smithers said grimly.

The grizzles began and after four speakers Morrie put his hand up and said enough.

"Clearly you guys are fearful of having a woman as a boss and seem to have the impression that she's a bimbo."

"Hear, hear," came the calls.

"Look, believe me. I think she's talented and focuses and gutsy. And I think she'll kick the nuts of anyone who's not with her."

"What about us?" Muriel laughed.

"I didn't want to use that four-letter 'C' word in front of impressionable juniors," he grinned.

"Good God, Morrie," Muriel exclaimed. "You're the biggest cynic around here and she'd already got you in her pocket."

"Almost, but I've just got some checking to do. Let's have another quick meeting same time tomorrow afternoon and I'll report back. My feeling is she'd going to rock us and rev the whole show up."

"You've been looking too closely at her breasts Morrie," Muriel said jealously.

""Huh, what are those? I'm one of those dopey bastards who got married."

The meeting broke up and most walked away happily.

Muriel came up and spoke to him quietly.

"Is that what you really think Morrie? The meeting was to get you to lead a deputation to management to ask for her appointment to be annulled. What do you REALLY think?"

"Confidentially?"

"Yes, on my word."

"It's early days, but you know me and first impressions. My feeling is a genius has walked into our midst."

"Christ."

"My thought also."

Shelia the general manager's PA stopped Morrie at the doorway of the boardroom at 4:10.

"I'm sorry Morrie, only Mr Keys' invitees."

"But I ...."

"I'm sorry, Morrie. I am under instructions to be firm."

Morrie was walking away looking for a big rock to kick when his phone went.

"Where are you?" he was asked.

"Who is it?"

"Chase."

"How do you get my phone number?"

"Does it matter, you're wasting drinking time. Where are you?"

"Going down the stairs -- I've been barred."

"Come back now, I'll be at the door."

Shelia looked angry: "Morrie, this is not one of your journo's piss-ups -- this is a cocktail hour for VIPs."

"Shelia, Morrie is a VIP."

"Yes Miss Lewis. Would you please enter with me Mr Wrightson."

As they walked in, Morrie asked how did Chase know Shelia.

"I was introduced to her when I arrived."

"But you've met a large number of people since then, haven't you?"

"Yes, but you also remember names, do you not?"

"Er, of course."

Chase asked him who was responsible for the invitations and was told Frank Keys -- 'who thinks he's God's gift to office women' Morrie said as an aside, but Chase heard him, though didn't let on.

"Frank," Chase called, going up to him with Morrie in tow.

Frank beamed at her over his glass.

"Morrie is my deputy and was humiliated outside this room this evening; I never want that to happen again. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my beauty, it's all filed ready for action."

Frank's attitude suddenly changed and he said demurely -- of course, Chase. I'll attend to that personally. A mix-up I'm sure.

Morrie was puzzled why Frank had changed horses midstream and turning caught the disappearing look on Chase's face -- she'd obviously been on the verge of kicking Frank in the nuts, or at least thinking about it, for addressing her like that.

"May I get you a drink, Chase," Morrie said enthusiastically, "and welcome to your new working home."

Next day Morrie reported back to a short meeting of people in editorial that he'd contacted Anthony Evans who now worked on the newspaper where Chase has recently left.

"Folk, I have to tell you the newspaper is in shock. In Anthony's words, "Everyone here is practically in mourning, unable to accept that they've lost a great journalist all because of her cunt-happy husband."

At the editorial department's farewell to the outgoing editor on Friday there was no sign of Chase. During his speech at the presentation the chairman said that Chase had chosen not to be present because this was Stewart's finale and he should be centrepiece of proceedings. She wished him a long and happy retirement.

Two days earlier a notice was posted:

A full staff meeting will be held in the editorial newsroom at 3:30 on Monday. A full attendance is required -- NO EXCEPTIONS. It was signed just 'Chase'.

This was rare; it meant some staff having to cancel work appointments and early starters especially the racing departments staying on after their usual much earlier finish to their working day.

Chase had been seen around the office during the day. First she had a meeting with the news editor and chief sub, who when they returned announced that nothing would be changed -- "just yet."

Then the personal assistant Chase had inherited had been seen crying at her desk.

Shelia from Mr Keys' department came and took her away, comforting her. Then during the next hour Shelia bought in three other office women who went into Chase's office separately, all returning to their desks looking disappointed.

Morrie saw Mr Keys go into Chase's office and then coming out waving his hands as if in surrender. Chase followed him into administration. An hour later Chase returned in triumph helping a young Indian woman carry her personal effects to Chase's personal assistant's desk outside the editor's office.

The woman, named Ashima, was a new immigrant and although she spoke beautifully, seemed to be ignored because she did not seem to care for herself well and wore very cheap dresses.

Ashima and Chase went out at lunchtime together and when they returned Ashima seemed transformed.

Enquiring what was up, Chase told Morrie that the PA she'd inherited was nothing more than a clerical assistant. She needed a capable livewire.

"But Ashima, she's been virtually an outcast and yet you picked her."

"Why not?"

"Er, it's not her colour."

"I should hope not. I'll tell you why. I demanded that Frank Keys let me talk to every person in administration. I was almost tempted to snare Peter Black a young computer trainee when I came to Ashima and was blown away. She was allowed by enter the country to work for her uncle because of her computer skills, but her uncle's business folded."

"She has computer skills?"

"Yes, but nobody thought to read her CV properly, only to put her on to a desk and get her processing accounts. She has a degree in computer science and a masters degree in English."

"This Indian woman does?"

"Her name is Ashima."

"Of course, Ashima. Holy cow. And so at lunchtime you took her out and got her hair done and bought her shoes and a dress?"

"Yes. She'd not been paid for three months by her previous employer and her flat was burgled and most of her possessions stolen."

"Cripes, what a story."

"Yes, I'd thought about that too, but I think we should take a wider approach and do a whole series about new immigrants in this city overcoming their unlucky starts. It's probably never been done before."

"The dress and shoes look expensive."

"They are but I got them and the underwear at a twenty percent discount after Ashima told the woman in the store what I was doing for her. The store owner was your wife Trish."

"Oh shit."

"What's the matter, Morrie?" asked Case concealing a grin.

"Trish missed seeing the photograph when your appointment was announced in the paper because I'd already cut it out and sent it to Anthony on the Morning Star. Then the other day Trish asked me what you looked like and ... and...."

Morrie swept both hands over his hair in embarrassment.

"You said I look like the back of the bus and that's because you didn't want Trish to feel jealous."

"Er, yes, but how did you know that?"

"Because Trish told me."

"But I didn't mention that jealousy bit to her, that was only in my head."

"Men are so transparent to women Morrie. You're almost thirty-five, you should know that."

At the big staff meeting Chase showed her teeth like a boss, but a smile never left her face. She announced some big changes were coming -- that because major spending was involved she'd have to get her proposals approved by the board.

Morrie couldn't help but be impressed.

"Basically I want a brighter, racier newspaper for the current generation of mainstay readers -- not a newspaper modified on what has been presented to generations of readers. But we'll do this progressively and people who want no bar of it can leave as soon as they wish, while others who wish to be brought up to speed to cope through adjusting their writing style or getting the grips with modern editing and layout techniques will be given tutoring. In six months from now you will realise you are at the cutting edge of journalism and newspaper production. That's all -- I simply wish you to hear this from me because tomorrow I begin talking to Morrie about what we have to do and as I move to speak with other department heads outside of editorial the rumours will begin to fly. Are there any questions?"

"Does your concept include going fully computerised?

"Bugger, David. No one was supposed to ask that question. Answer yes, but I'll need to convince the board."

"No one among us fully understands newspaper production by computer and sorting out the problems."

"Our yes -- we do have one. Take a bow Ashima, she is also fully qualified as a computer programmer."

Ashima's face turned darker and she look proud.

"Yes, but that would have been in India."

"Ricky, please talk to Ashima. I'm computer literate and know that computers are unaware of international boundaries apart from software language and minor other things such as time zones."

"Are you planning to reduce staff?"

"Not immediately and probably only through attrition Julie."

"Well, that seems to be all. Look -- this is a oncer to engender goodwill. I'll be across the road in the bar within ten minutes ready to buy the drinks; even tea or coffee if you prefer."

When Morrie went home that evening Trish met him at the door.

"You've been drinking?"

"Yes."

"With that new boss of yours."

"Yes."

"With anyone else?"

"Yes, the entire staff."

"So, Miss Back-of-a-Bus is willing to socialise with her staff, and you will be staying at her side?"

"Huh?"

"When she was appointed, you had your nose so far out of joint that you were thinking about leaving."

"Since you mentioned it, yes. But how did you know?"

"She phoned me within hours of her appointment pleading with me to ensure that you would stay to help her through."

"Help her through?"

"Those were her words."

"So she phoned you a full day before she met me."

"Yes."

"I can't believe this Trish."

"Women have brains, Morrie."

"But how did she know of your existence and where to contact you?"

"Oh dear, Morrie. She was an investigative journalist, wasn't she? And wouldn't she have staff records with next of kin listed?"

CHAPTER 3

With injuries to his face from the pounding he'd received from irate husband Jackson McCullough almost healed, Chase's estranged Baxter Hudson heard the car go down his driveway and continue on to the back lawn where it would be out of sight from the street.

Baxter opened the back door and in came Aimee McCullough, pressing her breasts forward to get his motor running.

Baxter was a sucker for big tits and would do almost anything to get his big meaty hands around them. That's why, despite the beating received from Jackson, and he was still having it off with Jackson's wife.

He didn't bother making a dash for the bedroom. Instead he grabbed Aimee and sat her on the kitchen bench where she licked her lips and cooed, "Thrust it in, Baxter -- I'm not wearing panties.

Baxter feverishly undid his belt and pulled down his pants and underpants and grasped his sizeable penis in one hand, lifting Aimee's skirt up with the other while she finished removing her shirt and bra, knowing where Baxter would want to fondle her while slamming into her from this position.

They went at it like two animals, covering each other in mess.

"How was that my little peach?" he asked.

"Just great -- you seem to be getting thicker and longer each time we do this."

"It's all for you sweet."

Aimee leant against his arms smiling happily until the gentle announcement came.

"I know where Chase had gone to ground -- Walton City where she's been appointed editor of the city's evening newspaper."

"So she's not coming back to you?" asked Aimee, with a surge of relief and squeezing her left breast pushed it at Baxter's mouth to get him off this subject. But he was having nothing of it.

"I've got to go to where she's living and have it out with her. Got to end this uncertainty. She's reverted to her maiden name, which doesn't look good for me."

Aimee thought that made sense; she'd love them to reunite, have a fearful row and end it for good, thereby giving her unrestricted access to Baxter. Yet, on the other hand, she'd like to get back with Chase -- she'd never had a friend to equal her.

"I know a guy in Walton who administers a fleet of self-owned taxis. I'll try him to see if he has on his records a fare called either Chase Hudson or Chase Lewis. If he does chances are he'll have her home address."

At lunchtime two days later Baxter was sprawled over Aimee over the front bucket seats of her car under a big tree on a very quiet street. Aimee had his rod in her mouth, making throaty noises while she sucked. Meanwhile Baxter was massaging her tits, thinking he was doing this for his own pleasure, unaware that he was driving Aimee into a series of orgasms. Passion was causing them to take greater risks of exposure.

The next day was Saturday, and Baxter phoned Aimee's home hoping to catch her alone which meant he could hurry over and nail her. But Jackson answered the phone.

Rather that slam down the phone and risking bringing suspicion on Aimee, Baxter spoke nasally and asked to speak to Doctor Mains.

"There's no Doctor Mains at this number Dickhead. Get glasses so you can read phone numbers correctly," snarled Jackson, slamming the phone down. Irritating Jackson like that was almost as good as titty-fucking Jackson's wife, chuckled Baxter.

He tried the phone number again four hours later and got Aimee.

"You came through for me my darling with the big tits. Malvin Rich of White Star Taxis has found the address for me. I need to buy you an expensive present to reward you."

"Diamonds?" queried Aimee, unsure whether Baxter heard that before the call disconnected.

CHAPTER 4

Mayor Alum's PA phoned to invite Chase to a meeting in his office at 5:00.

Mansfield greeted Chase like an old friend, kissing her on the lips, though not intrusively and she felt a hand out of sight from his PA slide down her flank -- so softly it could almost be regarded as affectionately.

Chase was not surprised she had no objection -- it was nearing a month since she'd had sex, possibly the longest break since her late teens. She might not resist if Mansfield, who she knew was married, decided to go further.

"That's all Mary," Mansfield said to his PA, moving round to the chair behind his desk.

"Chase -- I've got two other people coming in to be with us, but want to ask you a couple of things. Will you become a member of my small background team to advise on my re-election campaign?"

"Yes."

"You decided that in a hurry."

"I had lunch the other day with Harold and he painted your opponent as a black-heart."

"Good on Harold. Is he...?"

Chase said curtly, "Harold fucking me, of course not! So is your opponent a blackguard?"

"Yes and I'll be attacking his motives during the campaign."

"Good, good."

Mansfield thanked Chase for her willingness to contribute. "The second question is would you use your newspaper to push my re-election barrow?"

"I'm sorry, Mansfield. I cannot do that because it is unethical unless the city were in peril from election misconduct or a candidate turns out to be not what he or she claims to be."

"That's what Harold said you would say."

"Harold -- he knows about this?

"Yes, I took him to lunch to discuss it and he'll back you if you say yes."

"Harold and you. Are you...?"

Mansfield flushed and looked as if he'd been stabbed. "For Christ sake Chase. We are both as straight sexually as beanpoles."

"I was only asking, Mansfield," soothed Chase, her eyes grinning hugely.

"I can say this, I will come to my conclusion when I write or co-write the letter to voters on the eve of the election to be published on the front page."