Pauline 1

Just Plain Bob is one of the best and most popular writers on Literotica. He has been around forever, writing great stories and creating memorable characters. Pauline French is one of those great creations. She is someone we have grown to love, hate and just envy, as we have followed her character down through the years. This is my tribute to Just Plain Bob and his great character, Pauline French. He was gracious enough to give me permission to use her, and I thank him for that. Thanks to Randi for editing. Q.

"Man, don't even think about it."

"About what?"

"Her."

"Well since we're on the subject, who is 'her,' and what makes you say something like that?"

My new buddy Lucas just sat back and grinned. "Her name is Pauline French. You know, like the name of the company you're working for? Her Dad owns our company and three more."

"Why would that matter?"

He sighed. "Look, I went to school with her. Her boobs sprouted out in the seventh grade and when you add that to who her daddy is, every kid from middle school on fought like cats and dogs over her. The combination of being incredibly hot and her family being very rich kind of warped her attitude towards life. She became the poster girl for entitlement and strung guys along until she had gotten what she wanted or was tired of them, and moved on to someone else. My wife went to college with her and said she basically did the same thing there."

"Well then. Still a stone-cold fox."

His wife had joined us and caught the last of the conversation. "She is, indeed. She's single, too."

We were all about the same age: 28 to 30. If she had been single that long there had to be a reason. I said as much and Chloe grinned. "You remember meeting Bob, the Receiving Manager? She was engaged to him for a while, then right before the wedding she went on a trip to meet clients, found one that interested her a lot, came home and dumped him. Then she flew back to her lover, only to find he was married with kids. He offered her an apartment as a love nest and she told him to go to hell. He lost his job when his company lost her father's business over the whole mess. She was too ashamed to go home so she got a job and stayed for a couple of years. I hear her father went up and practically dragged her home. She's his only kid, so she gets the whole ball of wax when he goes. Even if she weighed 300 pounds and looked like a bucket of frogs, that alone would guarantee she won't lack for male companionship."

"How come Bob still works there?"

"Because he went to work for her father, not her, way before they started dating, and he does a good job. Word is he thought about moving on, but her father talked him into staying. Besides, he's married now and they seem very happy. Got one kid a couple of years old, and rumor has it there will be another in a few months."

I looked at her again. The woman was tall, even without heels. Despite her dark hair being up in a complicated bun, it was obvious it was a pretty healthy mane. She chose that time to turn, saw me, gave a little smirk, and turned back to her companion. From just that look I could tell she was beautiful and very well endowed. If I hadn't heard the things about her, it would have been hard to believe she was a bitch, but that smirk gave it away. I'd seen that exact same smirk many times.

I put her out of my mind and tried to remember all the names of the people I'd been introduced to and what their titles and relationships were within the company were. You can never have too much knowledge. After another hour I made my excuses and left.

*****

I found a local park and went for a run the next day. I used to hate running until I got used to it, and now I found it a pleasant pastime, just clear your head and pay attention to the terrain. Nothing else mattered, although lately, running had become second nature to me, and sometimes I found myself thinking about different things as I moved.

Although not a fanatic about it, I was in pretty good shape. Back home they had an event called the Three Mile Run, based on a military run that had something similar. It was three miles to the mountain, three miles up the mountain, three miles down the mountain and three miles back to the finish line. It was considered an accomplishment to just finish the course, much less be competitive. I didn't finish the first time I tried, conking out after I came back down the mountain. I was pretty good at setting goals and accomplishing them, and four years later I won by about three minutes and set a course record.

How did I do it? I looked up the original run on YouTube, and was astounded to find that not only did the soldiers run it, they ran it wearing a sixty pound pack and carrying their weapons, singing the whole way!

I ran until I could finish the course, then bought a backpack and started carrying weight. The first was ten pounds and I thought I was going to die. When I got used to that I added another five pounds at a time until I could do it wearing 25 pounds and singing the whole way. By the time I was done there was no spare weight on my body at all.

That fall the organizers brought in a squad of the soldiers who ran their course for a demonstration. They were a bunch of hardbodies who had the attitude they were invincible and bragged running the course without a backpack was like a walk in the park.

We started out in the same group, but by the time we were to the mountain they had a two-hundred-yard lead. I gave a little push and passed them about two thirds of the way up. There was a lot of yelling and kidding as I did, but one guy took it personally and tried to push me.

I saw it coming and when he made his move I stopped as fast as I could. His momentum took him to the ground and he tumbled about ten feet down the side of the trail. I noted no one stopped to help him.

If people imagine running up a steep hill is hard, they should try running at the same pace back down. By the time I hit the bottom, I was so far ahead of them there was no way they could catch up. Like I said, it was three minutes before the next runner crossed the finish line, one of the soldiers. By then I had my breath back and I handed him a water.

"Thanks, man." Then he looked up and saw who I was. "Sorry about the mountain. Jimmy's always been an asshole. The Lieutenant who runs with us isn't happy about his behavior."

"He missed, so I'm not worried about it." We continued to talk and the upshot was I showed them some of the local sites, mostly bars where it was easy to hook up. Jimmy didn't get to come.

*****

I thought I'd do about ten miles before I stopped and I was two miles in, running along at a moderate pace when I heard someone coming. Many people ran with headphones on, but I'd always found it prudent to be aware of my surroundings. I had a friend who got caught in a thunderstorm he didn't know was coming because of his earphones, and was trying to find a place to shelter when lightning hit a tree right as he passed it. Though he wasn't hit directly, the secondary shock of electricity gave him a concussion and put him into a coma for 36 hours.

I automatically moved to my left and she passed me, running at a pretty good clip. As she passed, I saw her smirk and recognized her. She didn't acknowledge me, something that didn't bother me. We hadn't been introduced, so she had no reason to know who I was. Pauline was in a sports bra and tight leggings and I didn't mind the view as we ran. Unconsciously I had picked up my own pace and stayed about twenty feet behind her.

She must have thought she left me in the dust and seemed really surprised to look back and see me. Picking up the pace she moved a little farther ahead so I did as well, staying about forty feet behind this time. She glanced behind, saw me again, and stopped, blocking the path.

"Are you following me, asshole?"

I don't think she expected the grin. "Of course I am."

That startled her and she snarled. "Stop!"

"Not gonna happen in this part of the park. This is the only trail on this side, so if you're running and I'm running and I'm behind you, I'm following you. If you don't like it run faster or let me pass."

"Like you could keep up with me."

"Coffee says I can run as fast and as far as you can. First one to stop loses."

I heard her yell at me as I ran past her. I was keeping a moderate pace and about five hundred yards later she passed me. I fell in behind her again and it probably didn't take her long to realize she'd fallen in her own trap and I was looking at her ass as she ran. She slowed and I sprinted by her, kicking it up a notch. She was game but after two miles she started flagging and after another mile she just stopped at the parking lot. I kept right on going.

I made another lap and she was on the trail waiting. "You won. Starbucks on Tenth and Madison."

"Sorry, got three more miles to do. Maybe next time."

I got my end of race second wind and kept a blistering pace, finally stopping as sweat poured off me and I bent over to catch my breath. A hand holding a towel hovered just under my face and I looked up.

"Do you this every time you run?"

"Most days. Sometimes I do my long runs."

I could tell by her eyes she didn't know if she believed me or not. "Still on for coffee?"

Well, I did make the bet. "Sure."

I wiped off, cleaned up as much as I could, pulled a fresh shirt out of my bag and was ready to go.

"Where did you park? You can follow me."

"I didn't. My apartment isn't that far away and I ran here."

"Of course you did. Okay, I'll drive."

It was only six blocks. She ordered some kind of drink that looked like a quart of sugar, with whipped cream and sprinkles, and it made me wonder how she stayed so slim. She saw the look and grinned. "I work out a lot, and I've always had a high metabolism."

She looked at my beverage of choice. A medium coffee with just a hint of creamer. Grinning back, I told her I didn't.

We talked in generalities for a few minutes before she asked if I knew who she was, surprised I did.

"How did you know?"

"I was at your father's event last night. You were pointed out to me. In case you haven't figured it out, I work for your father."

The smirk was back. "Good. You'll probably be working for me in five years when Dad retires."

"Five years is a long time, Miss French. I've been a nomad since college and I don't know if I have a settling down gene in my body."

"Why did you take your job then?"

"Because your father can be very persuasive when he wants something, and he wanted me."

"It's a trait I share," she said, and the smirk was back.

I kept a neutral face as I answered. "A good trait to have in business, I'm sure. Thank you for the coffee, Miss French. Maybe I'll see you at work."

I don't think she wanted the conversation to end, but didn't have a choice. It hit me I'd kind of issued a challenge and I hoped she didn't take me up on it.

When she dropped me off, she looked at my building. I'd said apartment but it was actually condos. Very expensive condos. "Dad must pay you pretty good."

I didn't tell her I was using a unit that belonged to friends who were going to be out of town for a few months, for free. They said it did the place good to be lived in and I don't think they trusted the neighbors all that much.

"He does, Miss French. You have a good afternoon."

She waited until I hit the code to enter the building, more to see if I actually lived there than courtesy, and drove away. I really liked her car, an F style Jaguar. I had one a lot like it.

*****

A couple of weeks went by and I settled into my work. It was soon evident there wasn't a lot of challenges to the job and I usually got everything done in half a day, which left me four or five hours to bounce off the walls. I stood it as long as I could before I asked to see Mr. French.

He scheduled me in that afternoon and seemed surprised to see me. We got the pleasantries out of the way and he asked if I was enjoying my job.

"No."

It seemed the man didn't get surprised often. "Why? Did I put too much on you? I can delegate a few things if you want. I went to a lot of trouble to find you."

"Quite the opposite, sir. The work only keeps me busy half a day. Have you got anything else I can help with?"

He looked at me kind of stunned for a minute before laughing and holding up his hand. "Give me a second. You're the first person since I've started the business who has come to me complaining he doesn't have enough work. Let me savor that for a bit."

He thought for a minute and grinned. "I may have something for you, something new I've been wanting to get into. Give me a few days and get back to me. And Jason, I think I was right to hire you. You're going to add a lot to our team."

"Thank you, Mr. French. You have a good day."

My new assistant had an anxious look on her face when I returned. She was really happy when I picked her over the other eleven candidates they had sent me. She wasn't chosen for looks, although she was very attractive in a kind of exotic way; she was chosen for her imitative and drive. Of all the candidates, she was the only one who had researched me, asked the right questions about my methods and understood. A few of them complained privately I'd chosen her for her looks, but when I asked a few technical questions about what the department was trying to accomplish, Marta was the only one who answered them correctly.

I smiled at her. "Relax, Marta, our lives are about to be much more complicated."

"Good show, sir. When do we begin?"

"I'm afraid we're going to have to fight boredom for a few more days yet. Have you got those charts I asked for?"

"Sorted, correlated and annotated on the key issues."

"You madam, are looking at an increase in salary when we get our new assignments."

She glowed under the praise and turned back to her work.

Four days later I got an email from the boss. "Come by my office when you can spare a minute."

I'd been in the corporate culture long enough to know when it said when you get a minute, the minute better be damn soon, so I went on up. He was grinning when I walked in.

"Have a seat, Jason. I think I have just what you need to keep boredom away." He paused until I was comfortable.

"For a long time now, we've contributed to various charities as we could. The results have been mixed. A few turned out really well. We investigated another and found out 85 cents out of every dollar was going to 'administration' and we dropped them like a rock. Another we supported, the Go Deep Children's' Fund, was really doing well until last year. The player that founded it and was the public face got into a scandal over an affair with a married woman. It came to light he was a serial seducer, and preferred married ladies. He got by with it for years before he chose the wrong woman, or more importantly the wrong husband. The husband waged a war that pretty much destroyed his career and cost him millions. He's out west with some team or another now and is absolutely radioactive. No one wants a thing to do with him. The Charity tried to carry on, but the negative exposure just got to be too much and they folded. Shame, really."

He paused, gathering his thoughts with a disgusted look on his face. "All that being said, I have been thinking about consolidating all of my companies' contributions through one outlet. You're the outlet. Think you can do it?"

I answered carefully. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind and it's a little outside my comfort zone, but I'd really like to try. If I think I'm not doing it the justice it deserves, you'll be the first to know."

He smiled and filled me in on a few more details and just before he left, he gave me news that almost broke the deal.

"I hear you've met my daughter. The reason I bring her up is she's asked about you and any event attended will require both of you. I want her to be the new face of this company and any exposure she can get will help. Will that be a problem?"

"Not that I know of. I've only spoken to her once and it was outside the office. I'm sure we can get along."

He stood and shook my hand, wrestling with what he was going to say next. "I need to tell you, Jason, that Pauline can be a little... intense, and she's very single-minded when she sees something she thinks she wants. The woman has been engaged twice, to good men both times, and the relationships fell apart over her actions, not theirs. You have been warned."

"I have no ambitions toward your daughter, Mr. French. I'm sure we'll get along famously."

He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he ushered me out.

*****

I went back to my office, calling Marta to follow me. She had a small office just outside of mine, kind of like a gatekeeper. No one went in unless she was sure I wanted to see them. She trailed along behind me with her ever-present tablet.

"We've been given a new opportunity, Marta. It will require a few more hours and some of it will be past normal office hours, so effective immediately, your salary has been increased by 10% and you will be comped for any time over and above. Satisfactory?"

She was still trying to wrap her head around the 10%, so I gave her a minute. She grinned. "What do we do?"

"We research. Set up on the conference table. We don't need to be running back and forth to share information or yell questions. I'm making coffee. Want some?"

It was a foolish question. Marta was as big a coffee junky as I was. I belonged to several clubs and hardly a week went by that a bag didn't show up. We had a regular percolator, a drip machine, a pour through and a French press, used according to our moods. There was also a selection of teas, sent by friends in England.

When I first brought up coffee, Marta seemed surprised. "I thought being British, you'd rather have tea."

"Who says I'm British?"

"Your accent."

"Honeychile, I don't have an accent."

She stared at me wide eyed and I laughed. "You're half right. I was born and raised in North Carolina. I was fifteen when my father died and Mom moved us back to England. I discovered life was a lot easier if you sound like those around you, so I practiced. I have dual citizenship, American and British."

She laughed and said, "Well cheerio, ya'll."

We went to work. I'd look over every once in a while, and see her head bobbing, her riot of short curls bouncing everywhere. It made me smile.

Marta Martinique was Haitian. Her mother was a local, her father was a tourist, German she suspected. It was a drunken, one night hookup that didn't involve protection, and nine months later Marta was born. Marta's mother had a husband. A very dark husband. Her mother was half white and that made Marta three quarters white. There was no denying it and when she confessed, he left her. Her mother wound up in several long-term relationships but never remarried. Her last relationship was still going and he liked Marta, a lot. He was an ex-pat who went there looking for marijuana and found Gezelle, instead. He was also a degreed expert in plant propagation. He and a few select growers became friends and they set him up with a small lab.

Others were working with the plant around the world, and one came out with a strain that had such a high content of THC it could and did kill people. Her 'stepfather' did research and came to the conclusion that anything that had a higher content than 11% could have long term health issues, and since many drug companies were experimenting with the plant as a possible revenue source, he developed a strain of Sativa that maxed out at 9.5%.

His friends sold it on the open market and they went to a country where it was legal, got international patents and sold the seeds to a lot of places. He used part of the money to give Marta a good education. There was a picture of him and her mother on her desk, as well as one of her with each individually. Sadly, they were flying back from an investor's meeting when the small plane crashed. They were killed on impact.