CHAPTER ONE
The morning rush hour was past but still the traffic flowing from airport to town that Friday remained heavy. Not that our slow, stop-go-stop progress bothered me unduly since I was already late. However Paul Strafford, the corporation's Personnel Manager ("Vice-President for Human Resources" in new-speak) kept interrupting our conversation to complain bitterly over every minor delay.
It was, perhaps, a measure of their board's desperate need for my expertise that he had himself come to meet me off the aircraft; or perhaps he felt his personal intervention could somehow recover the two days I had lost being stranded by the air traffic controller's strike.
He sat beside me in the back of the corporation limousine - an overweight businessman with sandy hair and surprised eyebrows, soberly dressed in a dark grey suit with matching waistcoat and turn-ups on the trousers. A total contrast to my black cargo pants; beige, long sleeve knitted shirt, and brown, soft leather jacket - I've learned to dress for comfort when travelling.
'How long do you expect to take?' He asked.
'You can never be sure,' I said. 'It depends what I find. I had hoped to finish the initial survey by the weekend after next, but with this additional delay I guess it'll now be about the end of the month.'
'And how soon after that can we expect the rescue plan?'
'Not long. In these matters time is vital.'
He grimaced. 'Don't we know it. Much longer and the shareholders will start hearing rumbles. . . . Incidently, I've arranged for you to have the use of one of the apartments we keep for visiting VIPs. It'll give you greater freedom to plan your schedule.'
'Sure.'
In the circumstances I'd have thought that I rated VIP status. Perhaps I did and he couldn't express himself well.
'I expect you'll want to lunch in the director's dining room and eat out for your other meals, though there is a kitchen in the apartment and the housekeeper will stock the fridge for you - if you tell her what you want. Alternately we have a cook on call if you wish to entertain anyone.'
'Humph.'
'Talking of entertaining, if you feel the need for female company of an evening it can be arranged. Just let me know your preferences, I'm sure I can find a satisfactory lay for you on our list. Indeed there are several I can personally recommend.'
I was surprised. Not by the offer, that was pretty standard for an important client or consultant to big business, but by the admission that Strafford himself carried out quality checks on the girls they retained. I'd had him pegged as a Grundyite who accepted the propriety of a frigid spouse dutifully allowing him to penetrate her once a week; the result being the standard two point four offspring. It seemed I had underestimated him; that he was a closet libertine.
I was tempted, especially since I'd been pretty celibate for a while now, it being ages since I met a woman I really fancied. Maybe I was just getting older but I'd come to find that no matter how conventionally attractive a woman was, nor how well endowed - often the same thing - in itself that just wasn't enough; there had to be something else, something in her personality that clicked. I wanted to feel not only lust but also affection; this I was unlikely to do for a professional lay, so I decided to refuse.
'Thank you for the offer Paul, but these days I've become rather particular. I prefer to pick them myself. Perhaps later.'
'Up to you. Maybe you'll see something that suits you round the offices. If so, let me know. Assuming she's on the permanent staff then there's a good chance I'll be able to persude her to put out for you.'
I rather doubted that would happen, which just goes to show that even the most perspicacious of us can be wrong because it was barely a couple of hours later that I found Amy.
Strafford was giving me a brief familiarisation tour of the administrative department when I noticed this winsom pixie with oversize spectacles, black slacks, a white blouse that had the top three buttons open and a spiky hairdo that said more about domestic economies than a stylists craft.
She was standing bent over a desk, the effects of gravity giving any casual observer - me - a great cleavage display. I could see she was gloriously endowed, and her thighs good and slim as well, but it was a tingling and stirring of my cock that told me she possessed that rare something extra that I hadn't found for many a month.
She looked up, thoughtfully regarded me, then caught my eye and gave an impish grin. She had me hooked, though I might still wriggle off, since too often I have found a poor voice can subvert the finest shape.
Leaving Strafford discussing a point with the office manager I moved toward her and asked what she was doing, but paid little heed to the words of her answer; it was the soft, southern lilt that captivated me, together with the way her eyes locked onto mine. This was a hook I had no wish to escape from.
When I rejoined the other two the office manager looked at me and smiled, 'I see you've already noticed our main distraction.'
Quickly I dissembled to cover my interest. 'Sure, that's part of why I'm here, to check for anything that detracts from your operating efficiency.'
His grin said he'd heard that one before. 'Well checking her's as far as you'll get. We've all tried to get in her panties but she just ignores us.'
'Does she now.'
You can't succeed if you never try, so I turned to Strafford. 'Reference our discussion in the car, I was wrong. She could be just the one I'm looking for.'
'Like them young and skinny, do you?'
Young, yes - what man does not like them fresh and nubile - but not skinny. To me she was slim or slender, but then I've never been one for broad hips and fat arses. 'Yes, but well presented,' I told him, diplomatically.
'I didn't think it would be very long before you found one to suit. I'll look into it for you when I get back to my office.' He was cynical.
'If you would,' I returned to the task in hand hopeful of an interesting evening.
CHAPTER TWO
Toward the end of the afternoon I returned to the apartment I had been allocated to find that a note from Strafford had been slipped under the door. It reported that the girl's name was Adeke Stark and that she was not a permanent employee but a holiday substitute working through the summer to earn enough to fund her studies at university. Stafford wrote that he would suggest she might find it profitable to share my solitary leisure time though, as she was only a temporary employee, he was unable apply much pressure and so couldn't guarantee that she would be willing.
I hoped she would. Maybe it was only the change of scenery, but for once I felt I had found a woman I wanted. Not that there was much I could do until I heard from him, so I set about unpacking my cases and getting organised for the three weeks or so I anticipated my survey would take.
The door bell rang. It was the girl.
