The story is strictly fiction. Any correlation with real people is entirely happenstance. I hope you enjoy this story. I do not outline my writing, and therefore it goes where raw imagination takes it. Then massive editing ensues, but it is what it turns out to be, nothing more.
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Young, shy Katrina Phillips guardedly ambled towards her supervisor's office. It was a dreary and foggy Tuesday afternoon in late February and just minutes before quitting time at Hedwig and Sons, a dull textile firm, a longtime elite player in American corporate commerce. The San Francisco highrise windows obscured in fog; the mist glowed ominously from the lower red-orange sun's winter angle. Condensation dripped slowly down the dark tinted glass as she walked by the long facade of windows looking west up Market Street. The cable cars appeared ghostly as they disappeared into the haze.
"Are you going to see the boss?" Adam nosily asked as he approached Katrina walking the other way.
"Yes, and I don't know what he wants," Katrina replied curtly, having no time for chatting, especially with nosey and annoying gossipy people.
Adam turned and watched Katrina's behind shamelessly as she walked past him. His constant wolfiness with females could easily find Adam charged with sexual harassment, but he was handsome, and he probably never would be subject to such.
Katrina walked by the scowling oil painting portrait of company founder Jedediah S. Hedwig who began the company by mechanizing weaving cotton into a luxuriously soft cloth, using a water-powered mill in upstate New York. It was quite risky to move his operation from England as a private venture. It saved him a fortune on shipping costs over getting the raw materials across the Atlantic and easily undercut the competitor's prices. A wise, pioneering act in that he both immigrated and invested in a new land at the same time. And Jedediah was the last innovator in his line.
Katrina's young face was tense as she continued across the grey carpet fearfully, traversing the final yards filled with nervous tension, her mind indexing through many dread infused scenarios, none of which came to a positive conclusion. Martin, the floor supervisor, had never called Katrina into his office before. She still brooded over the potential calamities as she walked.
Does he know what I have done? Katrina wondered.
As she walked through the last of the outer office space, some other workers looked her way from their drably uniform cubicle workstations. They were surprised to see Katrina, not fastidiously working in her tiny interior office. Katrina had been an exemplary worker. A terrific fit for Martin's floor. The department was the most fiscally productive in the Pacific coast division of the Corporation. The bean counters to triumph over all other bean counters, the betters considered Martin highly.
Martin leading by example had gained well-deserved respect from the entire floor of accountants. His keen numbers insight had enabled good profit for the firm, and his last four Holiday bonus checks reflected that as did those of the whole department. Martin prospered more than an average worker for the floor's success; of course, the Betters increased bonuses incrementally due to one's station. "Mr. Wellington is expecting you," Shea, the bosses stylishly dressed PA, said.
Katrina pushing her glasses back up her nose and looked at Shea's striking thirty-five-year-old face for clues as to what to expect. Shea was privy to everything on the floor. Shea's face was stoic, and Katrina could deduce nothing. Shea's friendly nature somewhat hid her extreme intelligence. Shea had survived several floor managers' terminations, and some considered her a stealth informant to the higher-ups. Katrina knew better than actually to ask Shea anything, hoping not to stir any more trouble up. The less said, the better in the hive-like office setting.
"Okay, I will just knock then," Katrina said meekly.
Her long, lean legs trembled as she knocked on the foreboding dark woodgrain door. Katrina, though gorgeous, had no idea how attractive she was. She was bookish, academic type, and as intelligent as shy. Now she was the head of her small department, due to her excellent head for numbers. There were only two employees, one male and one female, under her, and they too were undeniably socially awkward, perhaps even more so than her. Her two subordinates had recently begun dating one another, and Katrina was happy for them, though ashamed by her jealousy of their budding romance. Loneliness is a hard pill to swallow.
Many of the other workers had labeled her 'head nerd.' The three of her cost-effective department collectively were referred to as the 'little nerd herd,' and to be called out for such by the floor of account analysts stingingly attested how socially stunted her crew was. The sector's purpose was to crunch the numbers, and the upper floor executives acted on them.
Katrina had focused on school over social college life, finding more comfort with numbers and books than people. She had excelled at college and graduated near the top of her prestigious University of California class. She had done the same thing with work for the last two-plus years and recently earned the promotion to lead her small group.
"You may enter," a male voice called through the door.
Katrina adjusted her clothes nervously as she entered Martin Wellington's office. Martin's attractive face looked stern.
Martin had put his entire life into work. He was a bit of a bore, not willfully dull but sadly lacking the ability to be any other way. Martin had graduated from the rival private school of CAL Berkely across the bay at the Farm. Martin had an unknown benefactor who gifted him the Palo Alto premium education. Martin, still single, and now approaching thirty-five was lonely. He, too, wore specs and was almost as awkward as lovely young Katrina. H. and S. recruited Martin for reasons unknown in his junior year at Stanford; he was an excellent student, but he far from stellar at communicating.
"You wanted to see me, Boss?" the sexy librarian looking twenty-five-year-old Katrina asked.
"There seems to be ten thousand missing from the reserve account you manage?" Martin's blue eyes looked at her sternly. He always went right on a topic without pleasantries, undeniable evidence of his lack of conversational skill.
Martin, being a company man, took management responsibility for his duties seriously. Work was the only thing that in life went right for him. Martin was motivated to continue his success in at least one arena of life.
"There must be some mistake," Katrina stammered, trying to buy time.
Katrina's mind wondered how the dinosaur corporation had found her out so quickly?
She hoped to land another job before the discovery.
Katrina was not socially apt enough to hide the terror she was feeling; her attempted poker face was not convincing. Martin knew he had her now. Martin could read people well.
"I have checked the numbers several times. There is no mistake," Martin's handsome face was unflinching.
"How do you know it was me?" Katrina asked she could not make eye contact with him.
"I traced the money to your bank account," Martin said. Martin was much more apt at communicating with computers than people.
"I confess I took it, but I needed the money for my mother's medical expenses. I was desperate. Please do not turn me in," Katrina said remorsefully.
Her glasses were sliding down her small cute perspiration-dampened nose, and she used her finger to push the black plastic framed spectacles back in place. Katrina was getting warm, and she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her white blouse. Withering away from Martin's scorn filled gaze, Katrina nervously toyed with her natural honey-colored hair. She grew so warm that she used the top of her shirt to fan herself. She felt faint, and her face looked flush.
"I have to meet the audit required by corporate in two weeks. I have no choice but to call the police," Martin said.
"Do not call them; I will do anything," Katrina pleaded.
"If you pay the money back, I will just accept your resignation without police involvement," Martin said. He looked longingly at his sexy young employee. Even in her distress, Katrina's lovely pale face looked radiant to Martin.
"I don't have the money. I told you I spent it paying for my mother's expenses," Katrina said.
"What do you mean by you will do anything?" Martin asked, trying not grin.
"I will do anything you want. Just anything," Katrina said.
"Lock the door, Katrina," Martin said as his heart raced with excitement.
Katrina's legs trembled as she walked over to lock the door. She turned and returned, standing in front of Martin.
"Bend over my desk, Katrina. I will have to spank you for this," He said. Martin had been fantasizing about spanking her for weeks, ever since he found the money missing. He spent all the time tracking the money trail, ensuring the theft was not by an outside agent was now worth it.
"Spank me, Mr. Wellington?" Katrina asked.
