5 months ago

Double Dealing

Kevin We are at The

Kevin We are at The Exchange in Minneapolis, and it is busier than usual. There are some nights where everyone wants to let their hair down, and apparently, this is one of them. Scot and I sit on the upright beige stools at the bar, sipping whiskey and checking out the talent. Scantily clad women shimmy around, waiting for guys to ogle them, and we are more than happy to oblige. There’s nothing more beautiful than a sexy woman. Sure, okay – some men don’t know how to appreciate the fine things in life, but that’s not a description you can apply to me. I love the fine things in life, especially when their shape is a feminine one. The Exchange is the kind of place I like to go to wind down. It’s an upscale place with classy décor and people that get drunk enough to have fun, but not so drunk they get trashy. Music thumps over the speakers, loud enough on the dance floor to keep the writhing bodies happy, but far enough away from the bar so that Scott and I can talk comfortably. “How’s your search for a new secretary going?” Scott asks. I sip the last of my whiskey and wave to the bartender so he can get me a refill. I’m on my third glass and finally starting to buzz. The problem with drinking more often is how tolerant you become, but I have the time and money to get myself properly lubricated tonight. “I found someone,” I say. “Yeah? Hot?” I nod. “Fucking hot. She’s a full ten.” “That doesn’t exist,” Scott says. “You haven’t seen this one.” There aren’t a lot of women as hot as Carly Brown. I’d spent the week interviewing one woman after the other, looking for a personal assistant. They’d been mostly good looking in one way or another and more than capable of doing the job, but I hadn’t felt that connection I believe in when I hire someone to work with me on a full-time basis. When Carly walked into my office, I’d known before going over her qualifications with her that she was the one. She was banging hot, with curves that made my mouth water and plump, kissable lips.

Of course, her ability to assist me is really what I should be after, but if a woman walks into your office looking like a wet dream, you seriously consider hiring her. It was a total bonus that Carly has all the credentials I need. More than just that, she was overqualified. I should feel bad about it, but I’ve never been happier about the market pushing a smart young woman inside my office. “When is she starting?” Scott asks. “Monday.” My whiskey refill arrives, and I sip it. The more I drink of the stuff, the better it tastes. I never really like whiskey when I start out, but by the end of the night, I always love it. “So, I’m going to see her around, then?” Scott asks. “For sure,” I say. “You’ll see what I mean. Seriously, I would take her.” Scott chuckles and sips his own whiskey. His dark hair flops into his face, and his green eyes are hungry as he looks women up and down like he is trying to picture them naked. We work together. Scott is involved in my HR department, and thanks to him, a lot of things go right with Raven Publishers. My publishing company is doing well enough for investors to get on board and a lot of it has to do with Scott. Of course, the board has been acting rather mutinous as of late, but that has nothing to do with him. Hell, without him they’d just mutiny and chop my head off. Figuratively speaking. But Scott’s more than just my HR man. He is my best friend and my wingman since college. We had the same interests from the start: sports, alcohol, and women. The latter, we talk about shamelessly. When we come across a hot piece of ass, we are more than willing to share. It sounds bad, but hey, what are best friends for? “Does she look like the type that will let you fuck her?” Scott asks. I nod. “I can’t tell for sure. You know how uptight some of them are, but I think so. She caught me staring at her tits, and she arched her back instead of blushing.” Scott nods. “You know I’m gunning for her too, right?” he asks. I laugh. “Not if I get there first. But when has that ever stopped you?” Scott shrugs. “It’s my genetic makeup, man. I can’t help it,” he says, flashing me a grin. “But I read her files. What the hell is she doing as a secretary?” “Who knows?” I reply, and now’s my turn to shrug. “Stanford, graduated magna cum laude…She should be aiming for VP, not secretary. But, hey, it’s not like I’m complaining.”