Sitting in my cubicle in the local manufacturing plant, I feel the familiar terror as the red light on my phone begins to blink. The boss wants to see me; again.
It's not that I've done anything wrong, you must understand. I'm a chemical engineer, and a damn good one. It's my boss, Misty Peaks. She's always looking for someone to blame, or do her work for her, or cover for one of her vapid boy-toys when they invariably screw something up on the floor of the perfume factory her father founded, and Misty now runs.
I've known her since grammar school, and she's always been the queen of the popular girls. Never mind the fact her family could buy and sell everyone in town a dozen times over; Misty was also unnaturally gorgeous. Her honey-blonde hair, big, blue eyes, pouty lips and a figure reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, (if ol' Marilyn had bigger tits, that is), served her well in high school. She was always homecoming queen and prom queen, and won several local and even statewide beauty contests. Always with a string of muscle bound jocks following her around, she was never without the date of her choice when the weekend rolled around.
As pathetic as it may seem, I pined for her attention, as well when I was a teen. Hell, I can't help but stare at her today as she glides through the office, her apple bottom ass rocking side to side and her breasts bouncing and jiggling beneath her expensive outfits. I am human, after all, even if I am something of a genius.
My name is Greg Roberts, and I am a cog in the machine of life.
When I walked into her office, there she was at her desk, tracing her fingers over the muscled arms of Tommy, the new warehouse kid. He was lean and athletic and at least ten years her junior.
"You wanted to see me, boss?" I asked, not looking directly at them. From his build and youth, to her lavishing all of her attention on him, all that could bring would be jealousy and hurt.
"Oh, Greg, she said, ushering Tommy off her desk. "I was hoping you could do me a little favour; you know for old times sake."
"Didn't I do you plenty of favours during the old times?" I asked, trying to be cute. "I don't think you would've passed geometry, calculus, chemistry or biology without me doing your homework."
"Oh, I know how much you loved doting on me," she said in her sing-song voice. "That's why I've always adored you. But, no, this time I really need this favour." Somehow she kept her authority through pouted lips.
"And, what would that be?"
"I want Tommy here to be my new personal driver," she said, her hands going back to caressing him. "But it seems he just ran one of our trucks into a parked car while making a delivery this morning. If he gets another point on his licence, he won't be able to take the job."
"So, what do you want me to do about it?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't say what she was about to.
"I want you to tell the authorities that you were driving, of course," she giggled. "I'll pay whatever fine is involved, and Tommy can start driving me tomorrow."
"Yeah, I don't know, Misty," I said, kicking my heel. "That will mess with my record, possibly screw up my insurance."
"Hey!" Tommy said, standing to his full 6'3" frame and towering over me. 'That's Ms. Peaks to you, geek boy. And she didn't ask what you wanted; your boss told you what to do."
"Appreciated," I said, trying to bring calm to the situation, and to my heart. "But I wasn't there. There's no proof I was there. If I don't want to lie, I certainly don't have to."
"Lying is a funny thing, Greg," Misty said, the childlike lilt gone from her voice. "Because, I have at least a dozen employees that can swear you took MY truck on a personal errand this morning. Half a dozen more saw you hit the car and speed off. It would be a shame if they were to tell their stories. You may go to jail. You'll definitely lose your job."
"Are you serious?" I asked, looking around Tommy. Misty rose from her desk and sauntered over to me, dismissing Tommy with a wave. Now her fingertips ran over my arms and chest as she slowly circled me like I was her prey.
"I'd hate that, don't get me wrong," she cooed. "I love how you dote on me. I always have. So please, Greggy...please do this for me?" She kissed the air maybe a millimetre from my cheek and I could smell her perfume and feel her heat. Dazed, I said:
"Mmm...o..okay." As soon as the word tumbled from my mouth, she was back in Tommy's arms, kissing him passionately in celebration.
"I'll have the papers sent to your desk by the end of the day," she said, smiling wide. "Thank you, Greggy. You are such a dear." With that, they ignored I was even in the room, and began a heavily serious make-out session on the couch in her office. I let myself out, infuriated that I fell for her again.
Once on the elevator, I decided to go down to my lab instead of my desk. If I arrived at my cubicle to find the forms to perjure myself so Tommy and Misty could fuck their days away, I think I would have lost it. Besides, it was time to see how my assistant, Jennifer was coming along on the new fragrance I was developing. She was a competent, young assistant; pretty, too. Red hair, pale skin and long legs, the only I, or any of the team could concentrate was because of the oversized lab coat she wore to work. When I arrived, she was the only one in the lab, and she was going over some calculations.
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
"Its lunchtime, boss," she said, with her killer smile. "I only stayed behind to finish a couple of formulas here." Misty, I'm sure, hired Jennifer because of her looks; she felt a kinship with her because they were both so stunning. It was just dumb luck the young woman was more lab-rat than fashion model.
"I may not be around much for the next couple of days," I told her, looking over the beakers and tubes bubbling on the lab table. "Have some legal issues to iron out."
"What do you mean, Boss?" she asked. I told her. I not only told her, I exploded with an autobiographical account of how I've allowed Misty to use and bully me like this my entire life. I must have ranted for ages, because by the time I stopped to breathe, she looked absolutely stunned, and I was sweating from the effort.
"I'm sorry," I said, meekly. She put a hand on my shoulder to calm me and said:
"Don't be silly, boss. You have every right to feel angry and used. You are a brilliant man, and she's nothing but an entitled princess with a goddess complex." As she rubbed my tense shoulders, I felt a spark between us. In all of this despair, I felt an iota of hope -- of love -- and I decided to reach out and grab it.
Slowly, I inched forward to kiss those perfect pink lips. As my eyes closed, I noticed hers go wide as she recoiled from my attempt. Embarrassed, I jerked back, crashing into my table, breaking a number of tubes and spilling a multitude of beakers. The resulting cloud of pink, sweet-smelling gas was sweet and thick.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I stammered, trying to blot up the mess.
"No," she said. "I didn't mean to give you the impression that..."