Max had a choice. Feel satisfied and vindicated in the moment, then go to prison for murder, or muster up a little self-control, take the long view, and maybe have things turn out for the best... as hard as it was to believe that was a possibility right then.
Lord, did murder ever sound good, though.
As he sat at his desk, in the three-thousand dollar suit he couldn't actually afford, but had to buy to impress the CEO, he couldn't keep from staring at his boss's office. Specifically, at the two silhouettes beyond the drawn shades at the widow; Frank Beaumont and his wife Emmanuelle. Deciding his fate like gods of Olympus; capriciously and with finality. Truthfully though, he split his time between watching them, and rotating his head about forty-five degrees to stare at another office; one belonging to Melody Singer.
A stupid name for a stupid, stupid woman.
He shook his head. She got him though, with her endearing naiveté and big brown eyes, so who was really the stupid one? Max saw her briefly peek at him past her own shades, just glimpsing the dark-blonde hair and tanned skin. He also got an eyeful of the rounded curves of the top of her breasts peeking out from the abnormally-unbuttoned blouse that she always wore.
Man, I used to love seeing her when I came in in the morning. I thought...
He thought a lot of things. A lot of things that didn't matter now. Frank's door was opening.
"Max, come in please." Emmanuelle was doing the asking, like she had any official position there besides
boss's wife
. It was grating now in a way that it'd never been before, back when she and Frank had been welcoming and accommodating. Even friendly. She was her husband's right hand, and Max had to admit that it was clever, having her run the office without drawing a check, thereby saving a salary instead of paying one and ponying up that big chunk to Uncle Sam, but labels mattered and someone who, on paper, had no power over you but still held your life in her hands... it was frustrating.
Max walked in, trying to muster up a smile for Emmanuelle by remembering all the positives. She was gorgeous, that was number one. Her dark skin was like chocolate, and her silky hair bespoke a mixed heritage that bore some very ripe fruit. She was petite; standing at about 5'3'' and weighing no more than rumor, but balancing that slight frame with a pair of generous C-cups. Frank, when she wasn't around, called her his trophy, and not in the usual sense of rich man and pretty wife. He saw her as a prize for doing charitable work overseas; his exotic payment from a grateful little country.
Emmanuelle was kind too...
was
being the operative word. When Max had started with the company, she was warm and open, and he felt like she ran interference with Frank, who was very often a bastard if he felt that his time spent on you wasn't paying off immediately. Now, though...
"Max, we'll cut to the chase." Frank stayed sitting behind his desk as Emmanuelle closed the door and Max took a seat. His bulk shifted the chair, his massive frame threatening to crack the piece of office furniture from under him. Max wasn't a small man; over six feet and well-muscled from a lifetime of martial arts training, but Frank was a giant. He used his size to intimidate any time he needed to. Like he was doing now by leaning over his desk. Max responded by crossing his leg over his knee and leaning back, unconcerned.
"As you know, Melody has levelled charges against you. Not criminal... yet, but we can't ignore it. Emmanuelle has talked with her and has determined that there is merit to what she's saying."
Max looked at Emmanuelle, who looked away.
So that's how it is.
"I didn't touch her." It was probably futile, but he wasn't about to just let it go without stating the facts for the record. "We went on a couple of dates, and she had fun. That's it."
That
was
it, until Melody went to Frank with a story about him cornering her in the copy room and... well, it got fully ridiculous from there. So ridiculous, in fact, that he thought it was a joke. It made no sense, he and Melody weren't even rivals; she worked for H.R. and he was trying to climb the corporate ladder. It wasn't like she had anything to gain from his fall. Sitting in Frank's office, though, some things began to get... clarified.
"We don't want to let you go. You've been an amazing asset for this company, and the boys upstairs think you're salvageable." Frank finally leaned back when he saw that Max wasn't reacting to his looming presence like he'd wanted. "So here's the deal; you take a step down in pay, and get put on a year's probation." He watched Max like a hawk. "You'll stay in this office, at the same desk, doing the same job, and a year from now, things will be back to normal. Take the deal, Max."
Not a bit of that made a lick of sense... which told him all he needed to know. Max laced his fingers behind his head and turned to look at Emmanuelle, who shifted her gaze yet again. He looked back at Frank. "That's more than fair. I'll apologize to Melody first thing." He waited for confirmation, and, at Frank's relieved nod, got it.
Smiling to himself, Max left the boss's office and headed over to Melody's.
__________
Sam started at the office three weeks after Max's meeting with Frank. He noted the day because
everyone
noted the day. Samantha Walker came in like a tropical storm; intense, world-upending, but somehow beautiful in its awful glory. She was the new IT employee, taking everyone by surprise. The rumor around the office was that someone named Sam was going to be telling them to reboot their computers from then on, and they'd just assumed it was another awkward, nerdy dude who could probably get them pirated movies if they played nice with him.
They did not expect the fitness model with the Metallica T-shirt so tight that it showed her six-pack abs, the jet-black ponytail with the fringe of hair framing a face from a lingerie ad, the emerald-green eyes that danced with suppressed mirth, or the taut ass barely contained by her painted-on jeans that practically demanded to be worshipped. Sam wasn't overly tall, and her tits weren't going to win her a wet T-shirt contest, but she exuded a kind of dangerous sexuality right from the get go. A panther had come stalking through the cubicle jungle, and the chimps didn't know whether to run or give it a banana.
Immediately, on her first day, Frank and Emmanuelle brought her into their office to give her their welcome. Max knew just how it was going; assurances that they were all equal, offerings of any help in adjusting, suggestions as to what she could do to ingratiate herself with everyone... all very aboveboard. Right from the playbook.
When she was finally free to move about the cabin, the peacocks were free to spread their plumage. Max watched every swaggering dick with an ounce of feigned confidence set their orbits around her, trying to pull her in. To her credit, Sam was not a ball-buster. She was actually very deft at deflecting them without hurting anyone's pride. Plus, she really could get ahold of a whole library of pirated movies, and passed flash drives of the things out freely. That did a lot to earn her the esteem of the whole office.
Emmanuelle took a shine to her, and they often had lunch together; sometimes with Frank, sometimes alone. Long lunches, very often. Max was sure that the onset of Sam was coinciding with a downturn in productivity on Frank's part, but the company seemed to get by regardless.
For his part, Max didn't interact with Sam very often. Really, just a few morning greetings and a few cordial head nods. It wasn't like he had no interest in her though. He would watch her going about her day, noting just who it was she did seem to interact with the most. He saw Judy, a slightly-pudgy-but-cute receptionist, get very cozy with Sam... eventually. It took weeks of Sam hanging around the front desk, striking up conversations, laughing at anything coming out of the other woman's mouth, before Judy began... reciprocating. The normally dowdy thirty-year-old began paying more attention to her hair and makeup, and increasingly chose blouses and sweaters that accentuated her best feature; her massive, back-pain-inducing tits.
One Monday morning, Max came in early do get some work done he'd put off on the Friday before, and caught them. Coming out of the elevator, his first sight was of Judy leaning back in her nice chair, both feet up on her desk and legs spread. Her sweater was bunched up at her neck and her spectacular tits were freed from their bra, only to now be supported by a pair of hands. A pair of hands attached to a pair of arms. A pair of arms leading down to a torso. A torso that was connected to a black-haired head that was writhing gleefully around Judy's crotch.
Well how about that?
Max froze, watching the scene for a good minute. Judy's eyes were squeezed shut and her tongue was licking her lips as she shuddered in the chair. He had no idea how long this had been going on, but it was only seconds before the receptionist's climax caused her to kick a stack of papers off the desk in a full-body convulsion.
Deciding that was his cue to quietly exit the area, Max began softly moving away. Before he got far though, Judy's fun-time friend raised her head and looked right at him. Sam gave one of her cordial nods, then stood up.
"Probably time to get ourselves in order, gorgeous." Sam bent down to plant a light kiss on Judy's moist lips. Judy opened her eyes, trying to focus them, and attempted to fix up her garments with numb fingers. Sam gave her some help, smiling all the while. "Next time, we'll have to go to your place. Don't want to get caught by the boss. I can't lose this job just yet."
"Whatever you want, Sam." Judy, now mostly recovered, straightened her red hair out and started picking up papers. "Whenever. Just... tell me."
Max shook his head in wonder. He was positive that Judy was not a lesbian. She was a friend, and they talked often. He guessed that maybe there was something there, buried, but he'd never seen it. What was that saying? All women are two drinks away from a girl-on-girl adventure?
Two drinks... or one Sam gulp, apparently.
Max laughed at his own lame joke and sat at his desk.
