At the age of 23 I was in my second year of a graduate trainee scheme with one of the UK's more successful tech companies. It was a sought after position, with excellent remuneration and great prospects. But it came with a demanding, high pressure, workload.
The way the scheme worked was we rotated around a number of directorates, getting exposure to a variety of functions and ways of working. It also meant we were working with and for several different teams, typically in 6 month slots.
I'd been in my current directorate for a few months and was, unusually for a trainee, away in San Diego on a tech conference. Invites to these were typically reserved for more established employees. Partly as they were something of a junket and considered a "reward" for good performance. But also because there were almost invariably sessions at which we would ply our wares to prospective new customers. And trainees were not considered skilled or experienced enough to do this.
The directorate was headed up by Chrissy. The only woman director in the company and perhaps something of an anomaly across the whole, male dominated, tech industry. She was in her mid 40s, sharp as a scalpel and with the most fearsome reputation imaginable. Even the other directors seemed scared of her. To the junior employees, myself included, she was someone we tried our very hardest to stay on the good side of. Though, ideally, we'd try to avoid her completely.
Just on this trip alone she'd reduced one of the more senior product managers to a gibbering wreck as she berated him, publicly, for what she felt (in fact she was probably correct) had been an ill prepared, inaccurate, client pitch.
The other stand out feature (and forgive me for presenting a cliched, sexist, stereotype, but I'm afraid it's true) was that Chrissy was attractive. Extremely attractive in fact. And did not conform at all to the nerdy, tech, stereotype.
Immaculately sleek jet black hair, albeit cut in quite a severe bob. Flawless skin and a slim, tight, toned, figure. Whilst she never dressed to draw attention to it even her conservative business clothes did not hide the peachy arse and firm, still perky, tits. Some of this, I guess, was due to good genes. But much of it down to the fact that she trained hard, with a reputation for pushing herself as hard in the gym as she pushed the team she led.
So she stood out, in almost every way.
By the last day of the conference the majority of our company delegation had gone home. But a small team, led by Chrissy, had done a pitch for some new business to a huge US client. She'd specifically asked for my input and, surprisingly, had got me to present. Albeit just a small part. I wasn't the most technically gifted, but I knew I was good on my feet; more articulate and assured than some of my more techie colleagues.
The presentation had gone well and I'd felt comfortable in the part I'd played. Remarkably, even Chrissy had complemented me on my performance. The bulk of the team went straight to the airport, to pick up our flight home later that afternoon. But Chrissy and I drove back to the hotel, in a hire car we'd rented. We'd left some of our promotional materials there and also needed to settle the account for our week's stay. Chrissy was going to attend to the latter whilst I was there as the "muscle" to hump stands and boxes down to the car.
Pulling in to the underground garage of the hotel I found a parking spot in the far corner of the lower of two levels. It was early afternoon and surprisingly quiet. As we pulled our laptop bags from the boot (or trunk as I guess they called it in the States) I heard footsteps, echoing through the garage.
Turning round, with just idle curiosity to see the source of this, I was astonished to see two young guys come hurtling towards. They seemed slightly built, though one was over 6ft tall. With one of them brandishing a large knife, almost machete like in appearance.
Coming to a halt in front of us the taller of the two snarled at me, "give me those bags and hand over your wallets and watches," waving the knife just inches from my face.
His movements were judderey, he was licking his lips repeatedly, with dilated pupils. Clearly he was under the influence of something.
Initially I was more taken aback than scared. I didn't think San Diego was a particularly dangerous City. And the car park of one of the more up market hotels, especially in the middle of the day, certainly didn't seem like the sort of place where you'd expect to be waylaid by knife wielding junkies.
All of that said, I quickly appreciated the seriousness of the situation. I was just grateful that they had a knife (albeit a very large one) and not a gun. But, even without them brandishing a gun, from my time in some of the grubbier cities back in the UK, I knew better than to attempt any heroics.
The company would replace our computers, my Casio watch was worth less than £50 and I had just a few cards and about $100 in my wallet. Certainly nothing to risk my life over. I suspected Chrissy had much more expensive jewellery. But it would be insured. So discretion was certainly the better part of valour.
"Hey, no worries," I assured machete man, gingerly handing him my laptop bag and unfastening my wristwatch. "Just stay cool, I'll give you what you want and you can walk away."
Chrissy, on the other hand, was less compliant. She was either braver, or more reckless. I felt the latter.
"No way, we are not handing you anything," she spat out at them.
Initially this seemingly unexpected response surprised our two muggers and, momentarily, I though we may have got away with it. But, predictably, drugged up as it appeared they were, it just inflamed them.
"Shut up bitch, you'll do as you're told," the taller of the two slurred. "Let me give you some encouragement."
Moving towards Chrissy he gripped her tightly by the arms and tried to tear the watch off her wrist and the necklace from around her throat. At the same time his friend moved behind her and grabbed her breasts, tearing open her blouse and then groping her groin over her business suit trousers.
"What a piece of meat," he sneered, "let's get ourselves some of this," he suggested to his co-assailant. His accomplice then tried to kiss her roughly, whilst also pawing at her tits, managing to free one of them from the cup of her bra.
I'd been quite prepared to hand over our valuables. But there was no way I was going to stand by and see a woman assaulted, particularly sexually.
Flinging myself at the two of them the first thing I did was to try and wrestle the weapon out of their hands. Taken by surprise as they were I managed to loosen their grip, though one of them was able to use the handle of the machete to strike a firm blow to my head. Fortunately, in the act of doing this they dropped it to the ground. Showing admirable presence of mind, Chrissy kicked it out of reach, under the car. Though that caused one of them to fling Chrissy head first against the car bonnet, momentarily stunning her.
The two of them then turned on me. Slight as they were I was outnumbered and whatever drugs they were on seemed to be making them especially manic. One of them leapt on my back whilst the other tried to pummel me. They got in some good blows but, at the time, the adrenaline coursing through my veins meant I didn't feel them.
I'd done a few years of boxing as a kid. So, whilst I was not some accomplished pugilist, I had some idea how to handle myself. Shrugging off the fellow on my back I got in a few lusty blows of my own. Before the two of them stopped in their efforts.
Looking up, I saw hotel security come hurtling down the car park. They'd been alerted by another driver. Seeing them our assailants turned rail and ran, leaving us - and our valuables - behind.
Checking we were OK, the security staff took our bags, ensured the car was locked and ushered us up to reception. The hotel staff were extremely attentive, clearly embarrassed and concerned that an assault had taken place on their premises. They organized medical attention for us, though this was interrupted by interviews we gave to the police. Frustratingly the upshot of this was that we had missed our flights back to the UK. In fact, the medics were insistent that, given we'd both taken blows to the head, we shouldn't fly for a day or two. On the upside, the hotel advised that they would put us up in a suite and look after us as best they could. Chrissy had alerted the MD of our company and he was also adamant that we took it easy for a day or two and listened to the advice of the doctors.
Other than anticipating a break from the rigours of work I had nothing and no-one to rush back to. But I wasn't much looking forward to three days in the company of Chrissy who, as I said previously, was in some ways scarier than the junkies who'd attacked us. Though the vision, brief as it had been, of her tit spilling out of her bra had reminded me what an appealing (though sometime appalling) woman she was.
After we'd finally finished our police interviews and medical care, we unpacked in the adjacent rooms of our palatial suite, before meeting for a quiet dinner in the bar of the hotel. I'm bound to say that Chrissy was extremely mellow, in fact very subdued. Though she kept reiterating her gratitude to me for the part I'd played in looking after her. We barely spoke about work, but discovered a few mutual interests outside of it. Particularly tennis, which we'd both played at a reasonable level.
We had a light dinner with a few glasses of wine, before retiring to bed shortly after 10pm, both of us exhausted as the adrenaline wore off. I'd stripped off and was just about to fire up some porn on my iPad for a relaxing wank, before getting some much needed kip.
But just a few minutes after we'd said goodnight there was a knock on the adjoining door between the two rooms of our suite. Pulling on my boxer trunks, but nothing else, I opened the door with a degree of irritation.
That irritation dissipated somewhat as I took in what Chrissy had changed into. She had on a pair of sleeping shorts and a matching vest. The shorts were skimpy, showcasing her excellent, toned, athletic, legs. The vest was similarly brief, cut quite low with spaghetti straps and tight enough to suggest from the gentle sag of her breasts and the faint outline of her nipples that she was braless.
Whilst it wasn't some slutty negligee it was certainly sexy, showing more of Chrissy than I'd ever seen before - and had probably ever expected to see.
I took all of this in in an instance and was certainly not leering at one of most senior - and definitely scariest - directors in our company. Or at least I hoped I wasn't. But I'm sure Chrissy had recognized the look of approval I'd made as I gave her the once over, as brief as it was.
