I was a young, ambitious woman when I entered a top MBA program in the 1980s. Being a woman in an MBA program was a rarity, but I worked hard and excelled. I was super excited to find out that I had been selected into a 2-year fully paid internship with the World Bank after my finishing my MBA. I guess it pays off to get accepted in a top 5 MBA program. It was a huge opportunity, we would be farmed out to various national central bank. I was even more excited when, during our week long orientation in DC, I found I was going to Paris. (This was pre-EU central bank.)
Paris was undergoing a housing crunch, and I considered myself lucky to have secured a tiny, shared apartment with a French girl. She picked me up at the airport, looking elegant, me looking like I had just spent 10 hours traveling on cramped airplanes. She whisked me to our apartment and helped me get settled. We shared a bedroom, but it was all I could afford that wasn't extremely bad. Fortunately, Ines was super nice, and we got along well. She had a boyfriend, but always came home at night.
Ines helped me get ready on Monday. I wore my best business suit, spent extra time putting my face on, but still felt overshadowed by the chic look Ines seemed to effortlessly don. It would soon become apparent the 'smart business fashion' in the states is nothing like fashion in Paris.
At the office I in processed with Louise. I again noticed how immaculately she was dressed. While in processing, I was introduced to my boss, Dominic Audran. He was an older, handsome, distinguished man, dressed in a stunning suit. I went to shake his hand, but he pulled me close to exchange cheek kisses. I froze, surprised at the close contact, and he told me I would have to work on that. He spoke English with the telltale French accent. My desk was in his office, a huge, sunlit room in an old mansion. French classical in every way.
The French Central Bank in Paris, wasn't a big organization. There were about 50 people in the entire building, but they controlled billions of francs. My first week consisted of largely of sitting in this enormous, lovely office and reading piles of papers. I slowly realized that my boss had written many of these papers himself. Dominic largely left me alone as he worked at his desk. Sometimes he was out of the office. I must admit, I was a bit in awe of him. Distinguished. Classic. French. Brilliant. All business. Being studious, I took even my reading home. I got to meet another division head of the French Central Bank and promptly flubbed the cheek kiss. Dominic practiced with me later in the office.
There was a group of younger women, secretaries, interns and the like, at the same location that met for lunch. They were from across the world, but English was still the lingua franca. I was invited to join them and once again was awed at their seemingly effortless fashion sense. I wonder if my time as one of the few women in the MBA program had spoiled me, male attention being effortless. I now felt positively dowdy among these women. Upgrading my wardrobe soared to the top of my priority list.
On Friday morning, Dominic told me that there was a dinner party that night with other members of the banking community, and he and his wife asked me to join them. I had hoped to maybe go out with Ines, but I happily accepted his proposal. He sent me home early. I kicked myself repeatedly at home as I never clarified what to wear. Thank God Ines came home and helped me pick out an outfit. I could tell she was not impressed with the clothes I had packed, but she helped me put together a nice outfit by combining some of her clothes with mine. A black skirt, slit to mid thigh, a white blouse with a deep vee, a black blazer and heels. I felt the outfit was a bit too risqué for a dinner party, but Ines assured me it was appropriate. I wasn't even too concerned about the blouse, as I am not well endowed and have no cleavage.
Dominic and his wife, Vivian, picked me up and drove me to the party. His wife was gorgeous, an older lady and radiating class. Her outfit was dazzling, a teal silk and lace dress that had to have cost more than I could possibly afford. Dominic was wearing a suit, like he always did, only somehow looking even more dapper. I figured the salary of a top central banker must be quite good. The other guests, around 60 in all, were all in very fashionable clothes. There were a few men and women my age, but most were older. Also, several women were wearing outfits that would have been totally inappropriate in the US but still looked elegant. High leg slits, lace tops displaying skin beneath, I no longer felt my outfit was too risqué. It felt like I was having dinner with celebrities and royalty. Professors back home acted like they were down to earth, here everyone was just so...classy. Paris was going to be an eye-opener for me on fashion. The building we were in, I hesitate to call it a house, may well have been a palace once. Even among all the guests, Dominic seemed to stand out to me. I felt so, so honored to be able to learn from someone so distinguished. Dominic approached me again.
"Have you seen Paris at night?" he smiled.
"Not really," I smiled, as the apartment I was in only had a view of the next building.
He took my hand and led me up a staircase, his hand slipping to my waist as he explained that the balcony offered a lovely view. He steered me to the railing near the wall, the lights of Paris, the Eiffel Tower on brilliant display on a cloudy night. We gazed at the city for a moment, his hand still on my waist, before he turned and leaned on the rail in front of me, legs spread.
"Come here, Heather," he said.
I shuffled forward to him. I didn't know what else to do. His other hand took mine and drew me closer, into the angle between his legs, before holding me in a loose embrace about my lower back. I tried to lean back but largely only accomplished being slightly off balance, teetering on my heels, bowed slightly away from his face. My hands ended up on his shoulders. I noticed how thick they were and had to stop myself from squeezing them.
"Have you had your first kiss in the city of love?" he asked.
"Uh, no...," I started.
He slowly leaned forward and to my surprise kissed me lightly. I let my lips soften into his. After a few moments he pulled back and appraised me in silence. I looked up at him, his demeanor authoritative, important. Mine was, well, not. More like accommodating. I looked over his shoulder to the city.
"We have a great view," I said, trying not to think about how I was pressing into the lower body of my married boss.
"Yes we do," he said, eyes never leaving my face. "So what are your plans when you go back home?"
One of his hands drifted down and cupped my bottom. It was behind me, so I ignored it. Out of sight, out of mind. He leaned forward again, and I guessed he wanted another kiss, so I kissed him. His other hand joined the first and squeezed my bottom. I tried to arch my back but only succeeded in forcing myself deeper between his legs. He pulled back and looked at me, his face millimeters away. He said nothing and I suddenly remembered his question.
"I...um...get a job, I guess." Which sounded idiotic, given that I would be working in France for the next two years.
"In banking?" he asked, giving a slight nod, his eyes darting down.
I figured that his nod meant I should kiss him again, so I did. This time I leaned into him, my hands moving to his neck. His lips parted and his tongue touched my lips, looking for an open. On the balcony, the city illuminated before me, I let my lips open to let him in. His neck seemed solid too, an odd thought to have when you are kissing your very married boss on a very public balcony while his wife was in the next room.
One of his hands had wandered from my butt and had found the slit in my skirt, sliding inside. He quickly discovered that I was wearing a thong underneath, giving his hand full access to my bottom. Our kiss ended and I leaned back a bit. I caught my breath and managed to focus back on him, ignoring what was going on behind me under my skirt. My body, however, was acutely aware of his hand on my bottom.
