Lisa was the best assistant I had ever had. She was smart, reliable and efficient. Beyond that, she always could be counted on to make a good impression on anyone she met outside the firm. She had a bubbly personality that put others at ease and she was strikingly attractive--beautiful, even.
However, Lisa did not want to recognized for her looks. She preferred to be taken seriously as a business woman. So she deliberately tried to downplay her physical assets. She wore horn rimmed glasses to give herself an intellectual look. Her shoulder length strawberry blonde hair was always neatly styled and parted in the middle. She always dressed conservatively in professional business attire. Her blouses were buttoned to the top and never revealed any cleavage. Her skirts always extended below her knees. Nevertheless, she was very aware of how men viewed her. On more than one occasion, when we were meeting a new or prospective client for the first time, she would notice him staring at her. She would look over at me with a smile and a quick wink.
I certainly had no qualms about taking her along on business trips. In addition to her understated sexuality, she could hold her on in any business discussion, Despite our close working relationship, we had both worked hard to keep matters on a professional level. Lisa, in her early thirties, was about fifteen years younger than me. Also, I really did not think personal relationships with work colleagues was a good idea. Most importantly, though, she was married. That made her strictly off limits to me. My own marriage had dissolved when my wife was unfaithful. I knew how painful that could be and I would never do that to someone else.
Lisa was with me on a trip, attempting to drum up some new business. After a long day of talking to prospects, we had a pleasant dinner. Afterwards, we returned to the hotel, intending to meet in my suite to review our schedule for the next day. After "freshening up," she joined me. I had fixed both of us a drink and we sat down on the couch. Putting down my drink, I arranged some papers in front of us on the coffee table.
I was startled by a click at the door. Someone had an extra key and was entering my room. Looking up, I saw a younger man stride into the suite carrying a duffel bag. Lisa gasped and exclaimed, "John, what are you doing here?"
Ignoring her, the intruder dropped the duffel bag and, slamming the door shut, shouted, "So this is the asshole you are fucking."
I was speechless. Lisa, trembling, tried to reason with him. "John, you have this all wrong. We just work together. There is noth--."
Cutting her off, he snapped, "Shut up. Both of you are going to pay for this." Producing a gun from his jacket pocket, he ordered both of us to stand up. By now, I understood that our intruder was Lisa's husband. She and I looked at each other. I could see that she was terrified. With my attention focused on the gun in his hand, I slowly rose. Calling him by name, I began, "John, this is just a misunderstanding. Let's all sit down and--."
