Aisle two is a couples' trap. You have to pass through it to get to the stuff you really came into Harbinger's for, such as the washing machine or the freezers, or all the way down the back of the store to the husband magnets: the huge flat-screen TVs endlessly rolling through sumptuous pictures of cornfields or butterfly wings. The brains at head office have structured the store to put this stuff in your way, a while-you're-here distraction before you get down to the business of the big purchase. I could see a couple standing in front of the coffee machines, deep in conversation. Works every time.
"Anything I can help you with?" I said as I approached.
The man shook his head, saying, "I think we're fine."
"No, Henry, we're not," said the woman. "You only drink tea anyway."
She was shorter but stunningly attractive, long dark hair framing a delicate face with eyes the colour of dark chocolate. Even in sweatpants and a hoodie, there were hints of the curves of an exquisite body beneath. It was clear that she was the decision maker in this purchase.
I moved into my standard spiel about the benefits of the various models, watching her face as I gave her the pros and cons of each in turn. Henry stood to one side, clearly abdicating responsibility. The woman eventually picked one, a mid-range model, and turned to her partner.
"Whatever you think, Anya," he said.
"Is the correct answer," she smiled.
I directed them to Tilly at the front checkout to complete the purchase. Only then did I see a woman standing to the side, obviously waiting for me to finish with the couple. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, bright green eyes and stunning copper hair tied neatly into a braid that reached down to her shoulders. Immediately, I knew what she was going to ask, a part of my brain already wondering how to best get that braid into a hood.
"My boss suggested I come here. I heard you do click and collect," she said.
---
We were in the manager's office, planning. Hayley frowned, waving a finger over the diagram I'd drawn on the order sheet.
"This is pretty adventurous, Tom, even for you," she said, "It's gonna be a tough one anyway and then you add all this." She tapped the page.
"How did she find us anyway?"
"Word of mouth," I replied.
"Been getting a lot of that lately. What if word gets out too much?"
"Word of mouth at the Lost and Found. We're pretty safe. Unless one of the Harbinger execs has access to the private members section. Then we're either fucked, or promoted."
"I've heard of it. I've never been."
A picture formed in my head of Hayley's gorgeous figure augmented by a tight leather hobble-skirt and bustier in the members section down the back of the club. With me. I picked up the order sheet and changed topics, dwelling on those thoughts would be unprofessional. I was her boss, after all.
"Look," I began, "We have that steel coffee table with the glass top smashed. It's already a return, so there's plenty of margin in it."
"But the hinges, and the locks?"
"It needs a bit of spot welding, but I can do that."
"Then we need latex sheeting, and adhesive. I don't know how good a seal we're gonna get on that. Oh, and a board tall long enough for a person."
"That's just wood. The latex we'll have to order. It needs to be right."
"What about breathing?"
"I'll get a plastic dust mask and some tubing. I'm sure it'll work."
Hayley still seemed to have reservations. "We're not just delivering, though. It's for a party, it's more than an hour."
"I think we offer a call-out service hotline. That covers off the safety aspect. Happy?"
Hayley looked at me, studying my face, trying to decide. The slight flush in her cheeks gave her away: I could tell how aroused the prospect of this was making her.
"Okay, Tom," she conceded, "You're the boss. When?"
"Friday week after next. You good for that?"
"I had a shift at the café but I can juggle that."
I smiled and put my hands on her shoulders. I could feel the warmth of her body through her blue and white store uniform. She eventually returned my smile.
"Don't you think this is all, uh...," she indicated my drawings, "A little over-engineered? We're not trying to land a person on the moon, we're just turning a woman into a coffee table."
"Yep," I replied.
---
Friday dragged. Hayley had already swept the floors and I'd tidied the aisles by five thirty. We were now in maintenance mode, waiting for the moment we could lock the doors and start. I'd made sure to roster Tilly on to close out. It was obvious from her previous remarks that she knew we had a thing going and I'd played along with her assumptions; it was easier to let Tilly think that Hayley and I were getting down to our own private business than bringing Tilly into the click and collect after-hours service. Even though I was ten years older than Hayley, interestingly I'd noticed that she was also happy to play along with the assumption that she was screwing the boss in the warehouse.
The front doors opened and a pair of women entered. In front was a striking figure: slim, black hair in a shoulder-length bob framing a narrow face with high cheekbones and honey-brown eyes. She was about my age, dressed in a light-grey business suit with a pencil skirt that came down to mid-calf; bare legs slipped into low stiletto heels. The way she walked was all swagger, the pencil skirt tight around her beautifully firm bottom. She bustled up to me directly.
"Tom, I assume," she said.
"No need to assume," I replied, tapping my name badge. "You must be Clara?"
The woman extended her hand and I shook it.
"Pleased to meet you Tom," she said, then turned to the woman behind her, "And my executive assistant Isobel, you've already met."
I looked from the tall, elegant woman to her companion. The burnished copper hair and piercing green eyes were unforgettable. Isobel nodded and smiled demurely.
"I understand you've been keeping her across the details?"
