Maggie Climbs the Corporate Ladder

This was a, 'business casual' meeting. She was wearing, 'business shorts'. She looked damned good. She doubted that there were many women attending the meeting that looked better. She had already had to deflect some unwanted passes.

Steve was wearing a short sleeve polo shirt, and Khaki slacks. The shirt showed off his muscular arms and his tan. The slacks clearly indicated, unlike business suit trousers, that he had a tight little butt. He stood tall and proud, like the former Army officer he was. He greeted each person warmly, making a personal comment to each, as was his style.

He seemed genuinely pleased to see her; he held her hands in both of his a little longer than he had the others. God, he looked good. Those damned eyes just look right through me. That smile could melt ice. She was moist again.

The meeting was boring; it was an opportunity for the VP to pontificate. They gave out some awards. She was very surprised to hear her name called up to the front of the room. Steve presented her two awards, one for the program they had closed together and another called the, 'Shooting Star' for her rapid progress compared to her peers.

The VP stepped in close as the three of them put there arms around each others back for a photo. His arm felt so comfortable and strong on her back. She was definitely moist, very moist.

The meeting broke up, and they all went back to their rooms to get ready for the big dinner. Everyone shared a room at these events; her roommate was a mousy young woman of about her age with whom she had nothing in common, but she was nice and they got along together fine. I guess not much fucking goes on at these meetings, since everyone shares a room, she thought.

At dinner, they sat by offices in the same section of the ball room. She wished she could have sat next to Steve. There were name cards---assigned seating. He wasn't even at the same table, but did make the rounds and chat with each attendee. She wished she could have him to herself. Stop it, she told herself. That's your boss and he has a rather stunning young wife---who is also a lawyer.

She was getting positively obsessive about this damned man. She didn't chase men, they chased her. What the hell was wrong with her?

After the dinner, when all of the big wigs had given their meaningless speeches, everyone gravitated to one of the many bars within the hotel. She lost track of Steve. She saw him in one bar, obviously in deep conversation with the VP and some HQ folks; she decided not to interrupt.

Someone asked her to dance; she accepted, extracting herself from the guy, following the dance, because he obviously wanted to extend the relationship and she did not. The liquor was flowing and serious business talk had given way to bull shit. She made her rounds of the other bars; she chatted with people she knew and was introduced to new faces.

No Steve was to be found. Shit, she thought. He had definitely bailed; it was not even 9:00 PM yet. Where the hell was he? Maybe he had a, 'girl friend' here and they were off fucking, God knows where. Jesus, now you're getting jealous---of another woman's husband. You need help, she thought.

She contemplated her next move. She went to a house phone and asked to be connected to his room, not exactly sure what she was going to say to him. She just knew she had to talk to him---hear his voice.

"Steve Meyers." He answered.

"Steve, hi, it's Maggie." She hesitated. "I didn't get a chance to chat with, or dance with you, boss." She said. "Are you turning in for the night or are you coming back down?" She inquired, desperately hoping the answer was no, that he wasn't gone for the evening.

He paused, then spoke. "Once the liquor flows, I tend to sneak out; it's not my favorite part of the meeting. There's always a gaggle of sales reps looking for a manager to pick up their bar tab. I went to the hotel gym and worked out---fabulous, by the way---took a shower and changed into shorts." Then, after another brief pause, he continued. "I really missed talking to you."

"Maggie." He said, almost cautiously. "I'm not coming back down, but you're welcome to come up, I'd love to see you. This is more of a suite than a regular room so it's not like you'd have to sit on one of the beds, or anything."

"I'd like that." She said softly, trying to hide the hint in her voice that she would more than like that, tickled at his concern for her modesty.

"Well, I'm on a 'special' floor; it's restricted access. Unlike other hotels, you punch in a code on the elevator, rather than inserting a card. Have you got a pen and paper handy?"

He gave her the code and the room number and she wrote it on a receipt in her purse with eyebrow pencil.

"Feel free to change into, 'non-business casual' or, 'grubbies' if you like. I already have, as I told you. How long do you need? Does twenty minutes sound realistic?" He asked.

"It's a date." She replied, immediately regretting her choice of words.

"See 'ya." He said, and the phone clicked off.

She dashed up to her room, glad that most people were still in the bars and she didn't have to wait for an elevator. What the hell was she going to wear? He was, she thought in sports stuff, not fancy resort casual. She chose a pair of nylon running shorts. Her ass looked good enough to eat in them; they were short, and showed off her magnificent legs. A tank top. A sleeveless tank top. No bra, she didn't need one. Underwear. Fuck it, she hated underwear. Nike's or open sport sandals. The sandals. Douche? Well maybe just a quick pussy refresh. Opium, or Channel? Channel, but not too much. Makeup? No, take the damned stuff off, she wasn't sure why the hell she wore it and had often been told she didn't need it. Shit and pee? Hell yes. The last thing she wanted to do is ask to use the bathroom and stink up the place the second she arrived. Final step: wash you ass like your mother always told you.

Looking in the full length mirror as she prepared to leave her room, she surveyed the result. She looked very hot. She looked very young. She looked damned fine. She also damned near called him back to tell her she, 'wasn't feeling well'.

Here you are girl, with your best assets hanging out, fully prepared to go upstairs and seduce your married boss. This is not you Maggie, this is not smart. What the hell has gotten in to you?

She dashed down the hall and hit the elevator button. Good. No other passengers. If there had been, she would have told anyone she recognized that she was going to the gym. She entered the secret code, and the elevator whisked her to the top of the building without stopping.

Arriving at Steve's door, she checked herself out in the hallway mirror one last time. The nylon shorts clung to her firm young cheeks provocatively, the seam just perfectly following the contours of her crack. She looked exactly the way a girl is supposed to look when she wants a man to fuck her. She was right on time. She knocked on the door, still not sure what was going to happen, but having high hopes. Hopes of what?

He jerked open the door; there he was. A lot of men use clothing to hide their flaws. The less Steve wore, the better he looked. He was wearing a tight, sleeveless athletic shirt. His biceps and forearms where perfectly sculpted. His shoulders and pecs were clearly well defined. Wash board abs were evident under the tight fitting shirt. The man had absolutely fantastic legs.

She was again moving from moist to wet, almost regretting not wearing underwear. What if she got, 'that' wet, and he noticed? Fuck it. The man turned her on anytime, but this time he looked good enough to eat and she was very experience in that department. That killer smile of his. Damn this man owned her---and didn't even know it.

"Hi, babe, good to see 'ya!" He exclaimed and led her into the room.

Was that just a friendly, 'babe' or something more? The room was exquisite. It was large, it had a separate sitting room, a balcony with a door that actually opened and a huge whirlpool tub in the bathroom which stepped up into a walk in shower.

"So this is how management lives?" she playfully inquired.

"Not really." He replied. "I paid for the upgrade out of my own pocket. I'm getting too old for roommates and it gives me a place to meet with members of our team---like you, for example."

They sat on the couch, not really a sofa, but bigger than a love seat. There were two wine glasses on the coffee table and a Red Zinfandel---a really good Zin, sitting beside them.

"You didn't find that in the liquor bar---or the lead crystal." She said, again, playfully.

"I hate drinking wine out of a bathroom glass and the screw top stuff in the liquor bar isn't worth the money. I brought the wine and picked up the glasses at one of the over priced shops in the lobby." He replied. "Can I pour you a glass?"

"By all means." She responded, realizing, as she spoke that she was sliding toward sultry.

War hero, martial artist, classical music aficionado, art connoisseur, wine expert and absolutely gorgeous hunk---could he be gay? She didn't think so. No way. What was he doing working for this shitty company? What was she doing in his room, getting ready to put her best moves on him?

The wine was amazing. She had never had it; it was out of her price range. She knew wine; her parents had introduced her to wine. This particular one was astounding.

"You are a man of many talents." She said, realizing that she was now being more than casually flirtatious, and hoping that his talents included bedroom skills. "Somehow, you just don't fit with this company, what the hell are you doing here?"

Steve did not reply immediately. He took a big sip of wine and rolled it around in his mouth. It seemed as if he was contemplating something---but his eyes never left her. Finally, he had made a decision and started to speak.

"You want the truth? I'll give it to you, but it never leaves this room, at least not until the meeting is over." He said.

"I'm all ears." She replied. "Your secrets are safe with me, I promise."

Okay, here goes. I'll give you the short version, but you are the only the second person in this company that will know this story." He said.

He began his story. "My mother was a math teacher, my dad taught college physics. I always had a knack for science and math---no small surprise considering my heritage. At the tender age of fourteen I dutifully completed my ninth grade science project, only mine was something new, something that a lot of companies were interested in. With the help of my folks and an attorney who was my dad's best friend, we arranged a licensing agreement and completed the patent work."

"The company paid a lot of money, for the time, to get the rights to the product. Then they cheated, tried to reverse engineer my product and cut me out completely."

He went on. "I caught them, just after my sixteenth birthday. We prepared to go to court. We got an injunction, halting their sales. Politically, it was at a time when corporate malfeasance was under a microscope, and stealing some poor kid's invention---and our evidence was solid---guaranteed a quick injunction. Their attorneys knew, from the judges comments, that they would probably lose, and lose big."

"Their CEO got involved. He was also the founder, a pretty decent guy, and realized that his executives had cheated. He fired them; he offered a financial package, mostly in company stock and stock options that was more generous than it needed to be; he felt guilty and ashamed. I ended up with stock and stock options that represented, over the years, almost 20% of the company." He took a break to pour another glass of wine for both of them.

Steve continued the saga. "I continued to develop new ideas, and the company profited handsomely. That was sort of the deal I made with the founder; I agreed to give them first crack at new concepts. At nineteen I gave them the piece that blew the market wide open for them, and they became a significant player. The founder wanted me to come to work for them; I wasn't interested, at the time. I completed my undergrad degree in a couple of years, then did the MBA."

He paused to sip the Zin, then continued. "By that time, I had a shelf full of ideas for them, a shit load of stock and close to 30% interest in the company---if I exercised all the options and retained the shares. I never touched the stock, held on to the options and reinvested the dividends. Over the years, particularly during the long, down market, I bought more stock in the company. It made sense for me to invest in the company that was a major conduit for the stuff I was coming up with. After the MBA, I was sick of school and didn't want to become the company's favorite lab rat."

"I had joined the reserves to stay out of the war, and ended up volunteering for the war. I shocked everyone by asking for active duty, going to flight school and requesting service in Vietnam. I did my duty, got some medals and gained early release on my return; I had more than enough reserve time to be released from active duty and was highly decorated; it was an easy decision for the Army."

Maggie was almost opened mouth in shock. Steve went on.

"After the Army, I started my own company with some of the royalties and licensing fees I had earned over the years. Not manufacturing, but R&D. I enjoyed it a great deal and the hours were flexible. We developed products and concepts for a number of companies and we've done very, very well." Steve paused.

"I need to digress; there is something else you need to know. I met Janet, my wife, when I was in grad school and she was an undergrad. We reunited a few years later---we'd sort of kept in touch. We got married. Her career took off. She decided she didn't want kids. I did. We're friends; we'll never be angry with each other, never have been. We're dotting the 'i's and crossing the 't's on a divorce agreement.

Her family has money, she has money in her own right; there aren't any kids and it's all very civilized. In any event, she didn't, 'accompany me on the move', because we aren't are no longer a 'couple', haven't been since I moved here and won't be legally married anymore in a matter of days." Steve paused again.

Oh, my God, Maggie thought; he's not married, or almost---within days---not married. He's still your boss, but he's not married. Why did he tell me that? Where are we going here? You're not sitting here on this couch damned near in your undies with a married man, well technically, but, oh fuck! She was on the edge of her seat as Steve continued.

Steve got rolling again. "Back to the original saga. Two years ago, the founder, and current chairman of the board, called me. We had become very close over the years; he was very much a second father to me after my dad died. He, once again, begged me to come to work for him and ultimately take over the company. It's publicly traded, but the majority stock is all privately held. At the time, I held a little less than 40%; he held a little more than 40%.

He offered voting rights to his stock if I would come on board. I offered to buy enough to get 50.1% control; he agreed. I told him I certainly knew the products, since I had invented most of them, but knew nothing about the retail side of the business. I told him I wanted to take an entry level position and work my way up the ladder for several years.

That plan has been accelerated, unfortunately, because his health is failing and I don't think he'll live more than another two years, or so." Steve paused again and sipped his wine. Maggie knew there was more.

"He hated what the company had become as his day to day influence waned. I had hoped to get to VP after three or four years before, 'taking over'; I would have liked to have gained that level of credibility with the employees. On the other hand, my R&D company is a half billion dollar venture; it's only a quarter the size of this company In total sales, but virtually equals them in profits. I'm not exactly a neophyte at running businesses."

Oh my God, Mandy thought. Along with everything else, he's rich---very rich. Billion with a 'B' kind of rich. As she looked at him sitting next to her, it didn't make her want this man more than she had wanted him when she knocked on his hotel room door. All the money in the world couldn't have increased her attraction to this very special man, couldn't have made her need and want him any more than she already did. She wanted him; she wanted his body; she wanted his cock, preferably inside her pussy. In her brain, she knew she wanted him now, physically; in her heart, she was pretty sure she wanted him for a long, long time.

Steve started to bring the story to a close. "The sad fact, sad because of the reason why, is that this company---your company---is about to receive a 35 year old President and COO, and within two years, probably a 37 year old CEO and chairman. It's the bomb shell the founder and Chairman will announce the last day of the meeting." He was done.

"You have got to be shitting me." Maggie exclaimed. "Did you concoct that cock and bull story just to get in my pants?"

"I like the way you think, young lady." He replied with a laugh, then got serious again. "You must know me well enough by now to know every word is God's own truth."

And then more quietly, she continued. "You didn't have to, you know. I was already pretty impressed. As they say in the movies, 'you had me at hello.'" And with that she moved in and kissed him softly on the lips.

Maggie spoke. "God, I've wanted to do that for a long time."

"I'll take that as a very good sign." He replied, softly, moving to her and taking her in his arms and kissing her, a wet, warm probing kisses that promised so much more, as his arms enveloped her.

They broke from the kiss, neither wishing to, but both knowing there was more to say.

"Steve, I'll be frank. I came up here to seduce you, to make love to you---to fuck you. That is so, not who I am that I'm almost ashamed. I can't stop thinking about you. You stir feelings in my little you-know-what that I could no longer deny. We're ten year apart in age; I don't give a damned about that, but others will. I guess I'm clinging to the one silly, insignificant obstacle between us, since you're neither going to be my boss, nor married, very shortly."

She took a quick sip of wine, and went on. "Bluntly, if you invited me up here just to fuck me, I'm okay with that. No I'm not, not really. I'm not interested in being some executive's concubine. I want more than that. I do want children, more than you could possibly know. There's always a, 'but' in these things. And before we get naked and screw our brains out---which I absolutely guarantee you we are going to do---where in hell do we go from there? Look, I'm not asking for a ring; I wouldn't accept a proposal at this juncture in our relationship if you offered it." It was his turn.

"First I haven't stopped thinking about you since that first day you walked into my office. At least once you must have felt the boner in my pants when we shared a 'friendly' hug. I will admit that I want to fuck you so much it hurts. And I'm glad that you are amenable to starting there. I like and respect you a lot. I'm certainly in, 'lust' with you. All I'm asking---suggesting---is that we explore it. I believe, in my heart, that you and I could fall in love, I'm not so sure we aren't already in love but just can't accept it. You're pretty mature for your age and I'm not exactly an old fart---fuck it, who cares about ten years anyway." He knew he was starting to ramble.

He got back on track. "I don't know, six months---a year? We live together, spend a lot of time together, find out if this is just hormones or something far more important? My gut and my heart tell me that the answer is obvious to both of us. If we're wrong, so be it. We will both have taken a scant few months out of our lives to find out if we should spend the rest of or lives together." He stopped, waiting for her to answer, "Then added, jokingly. "Unless the sex is shitty, and then I guess we know where we stand."