'Rachel, get in here, I don't give a shit about whatever excuse you're pinning on the traffic today!'
Her face sunk when those words reached her ears from down the hall.
Why is it always me?
She clenched her eyes shut and sighed. So much for being able to sneak in undetected.
But I was so quiet!
Rachel had made sure no one had a decent view of the office building's double-door entrance when she made her infiltration a half-hour past opening time.
How did anyone see me?
Her eyes, on the hunt for any would-be snitches scanned the cubicles in her immediate vicinity and followed the aisle separating two clusters of them. They fell on one in particular, the occupant, deep in whatever inane worksheet he was tasked with today, staring at his beige computer monitor.
It had to be that rat Nathan a few cubes down in Accounts Payable, he'd suck off the Devil himself if it meant a promotion.
'
Fucking snake.' Rachel muttered under her breath.
'Rachel!' This time it was louder and even more direct. There would not be a third time she opened her mouth.
'Coming, ma'am!'
Fuck it, I'll deal with him later.
She gathered her composure and strode into the hall after accidentally smacking her ass into the corner of her desk,. It was the third time she had been late this week, and the boss was a total bitch when it came to tardiness. Rachel drew a salary like everyone else in the office, what did it matter if she came in at 9:15 instead of 9? Especially in this district where some kid on a clapped-out ten-speed had a better chance to get to his destination sooner than any poor soul trapped in a car during morning rush hour. In any case, traffic was a far better scapegoat for chronic tardiness than her morning self-pleasure sessions. She'd be damned if she was going to cast those aside; if she couldn't get herself off on at least a daily basis she'd be almost as much of a bitch as her boss.
Just down the hall was the stereotypical manager's lair: a corner office with a name plaque emblazoned across the door with a potted fern next to it. It read ANGELA BRITT: VICE PRESIDENT OF OPERATIONS in black letters on gold-colored metal. Rachel's mood was brought down a notch every time she had to walk next to it. Ms. Britt ran her department with an iron fist. Everyone had to be on time, within the most conservative interpretation of the dress code and God help you if you missed a deadline. Her employees complained and filed grievances but, she got results, and that was all higher management cared about, so she was given leeway to run her little fiefdom in whatever productive manner she saw fit. How typical. But she seemed to be targeted the most. She never saw anyone else get pulled into the office for crap like that; Ms. Britt simply delivered a brutal tongue-lashing.
Rachel knocked twice, as per procedure. Procedure being a synonym for, of course, Ms. Britt's mandate. You certainly wouldn't find anything as meaningless and masturbatory like that in any official company SOP or Best Practices binder. The higher-ups were inane and nonsensical, sure, but they weren't her immediate supervisor.
'Enter' she barked. Rachel slowly pushed her door open and closed it behind her. The interior decoration of her office followed conventional management sense; her office chair was placed behind her desk with a couch against the wall adjacent to the door. Typical placement between office couches and desks was around five to six feet, but Ms. Britt preferred to keep just a tad more distance between her and her victim; Rachel estimated around another foot. Her desk had minimal accouterments, just her computer monitor, business VOIP phone and a couple of pens plus an important-looking document folder. Her office chair however, was another story. It appeared to be made of rich, dark leather with a deep blue dye, extending to just a few inches over the top of her head.
Ms. Britt herself sat in stark contrast to her furniture. Reaching about five foot eight inches, she was taller than the average woman. Her jet-black hair hung down in a perfectly straight wall that equally framed her head on each side, stopping just above her shoulders. She was dressed in a form-fitting single-breasted suit just as dark as her hair with the visual pop of a yellow tie underneath, laying on top of her white business shirt. Rachel couldn't see her outfit's bottom, but she imagined it would be a set of slacks or something similar to match the rest of her attire. Angela was the poster girl for corporate professionalism in both demeanor as well as dress.
That was just the outfit. Her body was slim and her face was severe, yet elegant. She was in every respect a beautiful woman. In fact, the only real detriment to her being the talk of the office was her attitude (and privately, Rachel mused, it was a significant contributor to her unmarried status as well).
Rachel wouldn't consider herself quite in the "chubby" department yet (although her bust was certainly there), but she had a few pounds on her boss.
What does she do for exercise? Probably a stationary bike or something,
she mused.
Probably wouldn't hurt to pick up a bit of that myself, as long as it doesn't take my tits away
. While not quite as slim or physically fit as Angela, Rachel would definitely be considered attractive. Her own mixed Hispanic/white heritage gave her a light caramel complexion with hair the color of burnt tree bark with similar streaks of color. A couple of passes with a straightener tamed natural curls into gentle wave patterns. Rachel's face was round and her lips were full. Her powder blue blouse tried its best to conceal her healthy bosom and her hourglass figure ended in a wide pair of hips contained by long black pants. She could feel a bit of sweat inside her bra between said tits as a result of her nervousness.
Ms. Britt's complexion was a typical Caucasian tone, with a surprisingly small amount of wrinkles and blemishes in the face department. Rachel had long envied whatever moisturizer regimen she used in the morning to keep her 40-something skin looking so good. If the owner wasn't such an ass and if every prolonged look didn't also contain a verbal thrashing, she might be able to stand looking at it any length of time. Rachel was bisexual and while she leaned towards men most of the time, it wasn't uncommon at all to have the sight of a pretty woman send a tingle between her legs.
If only she wasn't such a cunt
,
but that'll never change. Ever think about playing with yourself in the mornings? It'll probably help.
'Come closer.' Her voice was lower, but still retained every drop of stiff displeasure. 'This is the second time in as many weeks that you have failed to be at your place of work when required. I'm tired of it.'
'Ma'am, the traffic doesn't change from day to day...'
'If I wanted excuses, I'd ask for one.' Rachel clammed up immediately. It was evident that now was not the time to massage the conversation. 'Everyone else can manage to get in here at a decent hour, why can't you? And if I swear to God, if you say the word "traffic" as a justification again, I'll make the
janitor
the next account manager and you can mop the toilet instead.'
