The small financial services company I worked for was bought up by a large multinational holding company three years ago, and since then, every ten or twelve months, head office has sent a psychologist to interview all of the staff, from the district manager on down. They don't tell us why, or even that the individual we see is a psychologist, but everyone knows. I suspect they're trying to cover their corporate asses by making sure that we aren't thinking about making off with our clients' savings or about to go on a shooting rampage at the local office.
Until now, the same goofy looking guy had shown up each time to do the interviews. He wore shirts that looked like pajama tops and the same dirty tie, one that looked like it had been cut from my mom's old sitting room drapes. Everyone was taken by surprise when a tall and very attractive Asian woman arrived one morning and announced that she was there to conduct the interviews. I had been out of the office seeing one of my clients and returned to find an e-mailed interview schedule on the screen of my desktop computer. It was only a few minutes from my appointed time when one of my co-workers returned from her own interview and filled me in on Dr. Wu. "What a bitch! It was more like a 'blame me for the troubles of the company' session than a psychological interview," she complained. That really made me feel uncomfortable.
I entered the board room where the interviews were being conducted and sat myself in the chair that was obviously intended for the interviewee. Dr. Wu entered the room shortly afterwards, "I'm Cynthia Wu." was all she said, and began the interview. I wasn't expecting her to be so pleasant after hearing about Susan's (my co-worker) interview, but she was gracious and polite and funny. I didn't have a clue as to what Susan had done to rate the Doctor's wrath.
During the half hour session she paced the length of the room as she asked me questions and pondered my answers. Where the goofball in the ugly tie had reams of paper in binders, graphs and forms, Dr. Wu had only a single sheet of paper on which she jotted the odd note.
It was pretty dry stuff, and part way through the meeting, my mind began to wander. I don't know if I was ever really aware that I was fantasizing about her, but there was certainly a lot to spur on a man's imagination. Her long, tapered legs were nicely displayed by the slit skirt she wore, and her full, firm breasts sat high on her chest, encased in a lacy bra which was visible through a sheer blouse. Her hair was shiny, very black, and stylishly cut and her artfully done makeup highlighted her cheekbones. All of this combined to give her a haughty yet exotic appearance.
I was imagining her slipping that lacy bra off to show me her breasts, when her voice, which had been low and comforting, jolted me out of my daydream like a verbal slap in the face. "Mr. MacIvor! Can I have your attention for a few more minutes, please?" I blushed like a school girl and snapped upright in my seat. She was staring at the bulge in my slacks. I stuttered something about mentally reviewing my morning meeting with my client, but I knew I had been caught. There was an angry tone to her voice when she dismissed me. "This interview is over, Mr. MacIvor."
I returned to my office, sure that she would submit a negative report to her corporate bosses and I'd be in trouble. That would be terrible. I loved my job. It was challenging, it was interesting and best of all, it paid very well. I hoped like hell I would have some kind of opportunity to speak to her and apologize before she wrapped up the interviews.
I spent the rest of the day trying to work up proposals for various clients, but I didn't accomplish much. I just couldn't concentrate. Most of the staff had left for the day when an e-mail message popped up on my screen, telling me to report to the board room at quarter past the hour. I had ten minutes. I made a quick trip to the washroom and splashed some water on my face and then headed to my meeting with Dr. Wu.
She was waiting for me, sitting on the table, with one foot on the floor, the slit in her skirt gaping to expose her leg well up onto her thigh. It was an extremely sexy pose, but the look on her face was anything but. "Sit down, Mr. MacIvor." She ordered. I quickly sat and immediately launched into my rehearsed apology, but she interrupted. "There is nothing for you to say, so you will keep your mouth shut unless I tell you to speak." She paused. "After our discussions today, I did some checking on you. For the most part, your colleagues have positive things to say about you. However, one of your female co-workers thinks you are a male pig of the worst sort and that you think of nothing but sex. Fortunately for you, I was able to determine that she'd say that about any of the men in the office. Another of your female co-workers complained that you always look at her breasts, and that she felt humiliated when you did."
"Humiliated, my ass," I thought. She was talking about Janet, the boss's personal assistant. Janet had a great figure and liked to show it off. She always made a point of leaving a couple of buttons undone so that her blouse would gape when she bent forward. She was always showing me her cleavage. When she caught me looking, which was often, she certainly didn't display any signs of displeasure, as a matter of fact, she often gave me a little smile. And Jan, that prudish man-hater, she's the one who classified me as a pig. I rarely spoke to her, she was so standoffish. What a bitch!
