The one thing you've got to have to be successful in this business is timing.
I've got it.
Usually, it's a matter of watching the graphs, waiting patiently on the right slope, letting the tried and true paradigms tell you whether to go short or long. Those don't always work. Sometimes, it's like another sense—I feel it, smell it, taste it, just seem to know when the moment seems right. Other times, it's just plain, dumb luck, being at the right place at the right time. Regardless, extraordinary timing has been good to me.
Like today, for example. Things were slow, I glanced at my to-do list and saw that yesterday I was supposed to have called my buddy, Les, who works at Benner, Hale, and Crouch. We were going to get together for some b-ball this weekend.
Yesterday had been particularly rough, and I'd clean forgot about it. So I call him this morning, apologize, promise him my first-born, and he tells me about some stupid trade that dweeb Carlyle over at T-Q had made just this morning. He really screwed up the Patterson account.
Now, I've been beating on the funds director over at Patterson's for about a year, trying to get my foot in the door. I hang up with Les, then turn around and call Patterson's. They are in a real shitload of hurt. Their small cap fund dropped over eight points. I happened to hear about a bio stock that's supposed to take off, so I offer it to him. After I run through the financials, he pounces on it like a cat on a mouse. Their fund recovers and goes up nearly two points before lunch. By two o'clock, we had the whole Patterson's account.
Timing, like they say, is everything.
I hadn't expected to go home tonight—I had a hot date planned. The office was dark, everyone was gone, and I was just dropping the last few things out of my desk in a box before...
"Well, Josh, you ARE a hard worker, aren't you?"
I looked up. Standing in my doorway was Bella Groenig. THE Bella Groenig, of Demming and Groenig, the company I worked for. My boss of bosses. I didn't think she even knew my name.
I kinda liked it that way, too. Bella was known to be tough and ruthless, and worse, a little temperamental. Combine that with her power on "the street" and you had a dangerous combination. I'd heard horror stories of people who had crossed her without meaning to. They tended to have short tenures in this city. I'd always tried to keep a safe distance here at the office. Until yesterday, I had been worried that my personal life might have put me a little too close to her. I didn't have to worry about that now, though.
"Hello, Ms. Groenig. I'm just cleaning up a little," I tell her, quietly shuffling the box under my desk with my foot. "Hate to have a sloppy desk, y'know."
She sauntered through the door. Her eyes captured my attention. The way she stared at me, I felt a brief chill, and understood where her moniker, "Bella the Snake", had come from.
"They say a clean desk is a sign of a sick mind," she countered. Her voice was low and sultry, almost hypnotic, "But I keep mine spotless, too. What does that say about me and you?" She leaned back against the door slowly, closing it behind her.
It struck me odd that she wore a skirt, a flowing, dark brown print falling well past her knees. I'd passed her in the halls a few times, but didn't ever recall seeing her in anything but pants suits. A matching brown scarf was tucked into the deep V of her black knit cardigan.
For the first time ever I noticed how large her chest was, the curves accentuated by the tightness of her knit top. Small shadows betrayed pronounced peaks. My mind was clouded by a brief male fantasy before she called me back to the real world.
"Cat got your tongue, Josh?"
"Oh, uh, no, Ms. Groenig. I just think that it's the sick minds, not the timid ones who change the world."
She clapped and laughed heartily. "Well said, my young friend!" Keeping her eyes glued to mine, she strolled across the room with a steady, measured gait. "And you certainly aren't timid, are you, Josh?"
I smiled politely. The phrase about faint hearts and fair damsels would not be a good thing to bring up right then.
She reached behind her neck and pulled the scarf away, leaving a tight 'Y' between her plump breasts that sucked my gaze in like a magnet.
Her wide hips swayed as she came closer, "No, not timid at all. You're aggressive, ambitious. You have that killer instinct, that sense that tells you when to pounce. You know, Josh, if you're careful, and do as you're told, you could be immensely successful in this organization."
I cocked my head, interested. Maybe my plans could change.
Her voice shifted lower, quieter, no longer laughing. "But no... That's not you, is it, Josh?" When I gave her a perplexed look, she continued, "You're not one to do as you're told. You have to have a reason, a good reason. There's got to be something in it for you, doesn't there?"
I gave a sly grin, but chose the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut. From the corner of my eye I noticed that she'd left a trail of shoes behind her.
"Yes, I thought so. My father was the same way. He built this company with one thing in mind—what's in it for me? I'm exactly the same way, Josh. And so is my daughter, Samantha."
I flinched at the sound of that name. Bella had caught me off guard. What did she know?
Standing beside my desk, she couldn't have missed my flash of anxiety. "Yes, that's right. 'Samantha'. I know all about the two of you, bouncing around in here like a couple of rabbits," she sneered, glancing around my office. "Since her father died, I've made it my number one priority to know all about what she's doing and who she's doing it with."
Sonofabitch.
I'd tried so hard to keep it a secret. When Samantha and I met at that bar, I honestly didn't know who she was.
My mind raced, considering options, permutations. What had Samantha told her mother? Was she that vindictive? Shit, what was I thinking? This was Samantha—of course she was a bitch.
But how much did Bella know about us, about what happened yesterday? More important, what did she plan to do to me? Considering all the potential actions she could take, I figured I was pretty well fucked.
She wedged herself between me and the desk, rolling my chair back with her black stockinged foot, then sat on the edge of the desk.
"You should watch out for Samantha," she advised, with a sideways glance, "It's in her genes. She's taking care of number one, and only number one."
How well I knew that.
"Ms. Groenig, I didn't..."
"Bella," she interrupted. When she raised her silk-covered toe to my crotch and rubbed it, I jumped, wide-eyed. "Tonight, it's just Bella, okay?" she whispered, provocatively.
"Yeah, sure, Ms....uh, I mean, Bella." I gulped, not sure where this was heading. This scene was becoming more than a little weird, and potential grounds for a sex discrimination suit. That is, if I could ever prove it, which seemed unlikely.
Her brown eyes took on a softer form, but she maintained her intense gaze as she began unfastening the oversize buttons of her cardigan, one by one, slow and seductive.
"Josh, did I congratulate you for your good work on the Patterson account?" The ball of her foot pressed more firmly against my swelling cock, "You made a lot of money today for us. For me."
I was tongue-tied, absorbed in the agonizing strip tease she was performing. When the last button came free, she opened the cardigan wide, slipping it off her shoulders and down her arms.
My mouth dropped open. She wore a black French bustier—similar to one of Samantha's white ones—that pushed her generous breasts up from underneath, yet left her large brown nipples exposed. I was entranced by the sight of her great, luscious tits. My mouth watered.
"Yes, Josh, I am quite grateful for your 'hard' work." She wiggled my rigid erection with her toes. "And those who do what I ask them to do are well rewarded." She winked.
She cupped both bosoms in her hands and lifted them, then licked one of the nipples. A weak, raspy groan escaped me.
Keeping her head down, she looked up at me with a sly grin, "You like these, don't you, Josh?"
"They are gorgeous, Bella," I admitted, "but are you sure we should be—"
She didn't let me finish. "You want to touch them?" she invited, holding out both hands to me, "Come on up here, big boy."
I took her hands and she pulled me up out of my chair. Holding my wrists, she guided my hands squarely onto her huge mamas. I squeezed and caressed them, rubbing the nubs against my dry palms and pinching the nipples gently, then turning them. Her head rolled to the side, eyelids fluttering.
I felt a hand on my crotch, keeping me good and hard while the other busied itself unfastening my pants. As they fell to the floor, I was peeling back the flap underneath her breast and sucking on the large, brown aureole. Bella gurgled and panted, struggling to pull down my underwear. Finally, she shoved against my chest, and I fell back into the chair.
With a single flick of the clasp, her skirt fell away, revealing erotic, thigh-high black leggings suspended from her bustier by garters. A perfectly manicured triangle of black hair pointed at her reddened, puffy lips. She leaned back against the desk, her fingers opening her pussy, exposing the wet, scarlet inner flesh. Without thinking, I licked my lips in anticipation.
