This was it. After the promise of quick dollars had led Jonathan to leave a half-assed consulting career for a sales position at this dot-com, less than 8 months later and no sales, Jonathan was staring at the HR director handing him his COBRA form. At 6 PM, he was the last that day and the HR director looked like she was barely holding up. Fridays were supposedly the best day to lay people off, since you had a weekend to cool down and reorganize.
Jonathan looked over at the 30-something director and felt a tinge of pity for her. Sheila was a very attractive woman and smart to boot. She had joined when hopes where high and the NASDAQ higher. It was a good career move for her back then - she was able to run an entire department and hire all sorts of people at a rapid pace. Her Kashmir Indian good looks (blue eyes, light brown skin, and sumptuous curves), as well as her ways with the H-1 visas soon had the development team staffed with some of the best programmers around. No one had anticipated that there would be no demand for the technology, or that the company would be laying off at an even faster rate a year later. Sheila had given the walking papers to 40 people today, her staff working overtime to get all of the documents in order. This experience had her thinking about getting out of Human Resources altogether, and definitely ready to get rip-roaring drunk this evening.
And there stood Jonathan, one of the nicer guys in the sales department, and definitely handsome. Perhaps it was due to the sales profession's demands, or an unfounded stereotype, but something about surviving on making your quota made for athletic, good-looking staff.
Jonathan looked across the desk as his hand signed off on a last sheet. In the last months, he had given up on closing a deal, and began working out 2 hours per day. Running in the park and lifting weights kept his mind off the turmoil at work. He was lean muscle, with a close shorn crop of blond hair and a white-toothed, boyish grin. He had half a mind to try his luck at modeling, now that the sales gig had ended.
-This, I think, is the last of the papers. Now we can both get on to happy hour, or what is left of it. I feel relieved, actually, now that this is over.
Sheila stared into this carefree bachelor's smiling eyes, and for an instant wished that she was sitting on the other side of the table - in his lap. She crossed her legs awkwardly, feeling a distinct tingle between her thighs, as the humidity crept up.
-Jonathan, I hope you know that this is in no way a reflection on you. We had to do some very painful layoffs today, and I do not think we have seen the last of it.
Jonathan smiled, and for a minute it seemed as though he was winking at her.
-I totally understand. And to show that I am a good sport, how about joining me for a drink. I'm sure you could use one.
Sheila smiled a rather girlish smirk, her full lips creasing sensuously, her lipstick gloss catching the desk light momentarily.
-Actually, I have a bottle of Scotch in my desk. Everyone has pretty much left for today, and I have been thinking about this bottle since noon.
Jonathan needed no prompting.
-I'll go get some cups and ice.
Sheila's first glass went down smoothly. The single-malt was definitely worth the wait. She laid back luxuriously in the probably soon-to-be repossessed leather sofa out in common-area. Jonathan had poured them a second glass and was busy racking up the pool balls. The pool table had been "let go" today, but the movers would not arrive until Monday.
-This scotch is excellent. Care for a game of pool?
Sheila was momentarily engrossed in watching Jonathan's powerful hands gently arranging the eight ball. Her eyes wandered to his jeans-clad, obviously toned buttocks. She took a strong sip and managed:
-Sounds like a reasonable idea.
