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A calloused professional corporate trouble-shooter seems to meet his match. |
| The Rock Meets a Hard Place-02 (2,384) * * * * She had placed a large envelope on the table between us, and as she pushed it to the center of the table, I asked her to point out the issues of contention in the enclosed paperwork. As she began to speak, I told her, “Shhh…, just point them out.” Fiercely glaring at me, she brought out one of the stapled pads of paper, and angrily began flipping through them, stopping only long enough to highlight a paragraph or two, then continuing on. When she finally finished, she shoved the document over to me and impatiently waited for my response. I had a good idea what she was still concealing in the envelope, and figured that she was trying to catch me in some kind of lie, or scam. The kind of bullshit that I detested, I thought. I put out my hand and asked Chelsea for the original copy of the document that her company had been presented, before this ‘final,’ signed copy had shown up. She’d pulled the envelope to her while I was inspecting the highlighted copy, but after considering what I was asking her for, and the fact that my hand was still extended to her, she finally pushed the envelope back to me. Sure enough, it was the original, and I quickly identified the alterations that had probably been made by Will and his group. The changes were definitely NOT what any self-respecting client would have included in any deal with our company, but were very cleverly inserted and difficult to find, and would have resulted in a minor cash bleed from them to us, that could have been substantial over time. Will would be seeing me after I finished up here this morning. “Ms. Jackson, do you have signing authority for your company?” I asked her. Looking at me a little strangely, she replied, “Uhm… yes. Why?” “Well it seems that you and I have a chance to make history with this contract, then,” I told her. Walking over to Will’s desk, I paged the secretary into the office, and tore the signed contract in half, dropping the pieces on the tabletop. As the secretary entered the office, she fearfully walked over to the table where Ms. Jackson and I were seated. Turning to her, I told her that she was here in two capacities; one, to be a signatory witness to the contract that we were about to sign and two, I needed her to make three copies of the completed document and to present the original to Ms. Jackson, along with one copy, and to make sure that the other two copies were safely filed with our company. I took the original copy of the contract and put it in front of Chelsea, asking her if there was anything objectionable in it, to the best of her knowledge. She shook her head no, so I brought it in front of me, and signed in every spot designated for our company representative. Then pushing it in front of her, I indicated that she should do the same. With a bit of confusion showing on her face, she found those areas that required a signature for her company representative, signed and pushed the document back to me. Turning to the secretary, who by now was trembling in terror, I instructed her to sign the lines requiring a witness, and to see that all copies were properly distributed. Picking up the halves of the bogus contract, I got up to leave the office and looking down at Chelsea, I told her, “It was a pleasure, Ms. Jackson, truly it was,” and walked towards the door. As I reached the door, I turned once more, and said, “Raspberry, I think…” As she looked at me in confusion, I said. “Your lipstick,” and walked out. As I exited the office, I ran into a full office audience, hanging around to witness yet another bloodletting by the “Iceman.” They’d be disappointed this time, I thought. More likely, they’d witness another episode of the “Kiss of Death” before the day was over. Dispersing the crowd, I overheard the secretary in Will’s office answering a question for Chelsea, and her response. “THAT was the Iceman?” she shouted. “You guys SET me up with the ‘Iceman?’” She sounded really pissed, and I was sure glad that I was already on my way out of the area, even though our brief experience together worked in her favor. Smiling to myself, I knew that her reputation and mine would ensure more confrontations, and I was actually hoping for more opportunities to learn more about this remarkable woman. For the first time in years, I began looking forward to my corporate ‘curse.’ As I walked on to the VP’s office, I passed a very worried Will Bradshaw, making his way back to his office. I hoped for his sake that the ladies had finished their business before he got there, because his anguish might have only been delayed if they hadn’t. Presenting my evidence before the VP, I offered my services if he needed them, but he professionally declined, telling me that he’d take care of the incident himself. That left me to return to the work that I’d been doing before this mission—equally unpleasant, but necessary to the health of the organization. * * * * As I slipped back beneath the radar of corporate lore and legend, I soon discovered that I’d been smitten by the single encounter that I’d had with Ms. Chelsea Jackson. What I didn’t find out until much later, was that Ms. Jackson had been somewhat smitten by me as well. Neither of us understood at the time that our paths would cross in more ways than one, and our lives, and our company’s would never be quite the same thereafter. Once the bubble of knowledge had been broken however, I began to notice her name popping up in more and more conversations in our little marketing world. Her presence had probably been there all along, but my actual encounter put her firmly in my sights, and from that point on, I absorbed any information I was able to pull from my little world regarding her and her exploits. Most amusing however, was the nickname that she’d earned in the industry—almost as bad as mine—“The Slasher.” Socially, she had a bit of a reputation as a man-eater, refusing to be brought under the control of any man who tried to contain her. Professionally, her reputation for ruthlessness was tempered by an equally recognized sense of fair play, and absolute fearlessness. I’d seen that myself, but I also knew from our brief encounter that she could be taken by surprise, a characteristic that I knew would lessen over time, as she gained more experience in this business. All too soon though, my business life caught up with me, and my rather erotic thoughts of Ms. Jackson began to be displaced by the thrill of the hunt—the hunt for severe irregularities in the business machine that makes up my consulting firm. This time, I’d been sent to our Minneapolis branch, one of the largest in our company to weed out a few corrupt executives, or so I was led to believe. * * * * The credentials I’ve been given by the corporate bigwigs was the company equivalent of the ‘00’ in front of James Bond’s number—a license to re-arrange staff or contracts at any level as I saw fit; including employment terminations at all levels. But in this particular case, I had fewer details than usual, so I holed up at a Motel 8 near the headquarters building to figure out my strategy coming up. Once I’d settled in, I wandered across the street to a nearby sports bar, to grab a brew or two and relax a bit. Sitting there in the bar, idly watching basketball reruns on the TV screens, I suddenly got the feeling that I was being watched. Now I’ve never believed in the psychic or whatever, but I’ve learned over the years that my episodes of paranoia invariably proved out to have value; solid value. Glancing around the bar, I couldn’t identify anyone that I might’ve known, but then the bar was quite full, this being Friday night. I was only into my second beer, but the feeling was getting stronger, and I knew that I wouldn’t be relaxing here tonight. Getting up, I made my way back to the motel, hoping to at least grab a good night’s sleep. Approaching my motel door, I stopped and inserted the key. I froze—something was wrong—the hair was creeping up the back of my neck, and my martial arts training put me in standby mode. Then I heard her—“Iceman, I’m glad to see that you finally made it.” Turning slowly, I saw Chelsea glide gracefully from the shadows towards me. “The Slasher, “ I replied. “What a surprise.” Watching her flinch at the sound of her nickname, I continued, “Are you alone or are you with company?” That wasn’t an idle question by the way; I didn’t need to be caught in an empty hallway with a group of determined assassins. Ok, just kidding, I really didn’t think that Ms. Jackson was here to assassinate me, but old habits, remember? She stopped about a foot in front of me, and brazenly eyed me from head to toe, her gaze lingering on my crotch longer than should be comfortable under other circumstances. I sorta knew why I was supposed to be there—I had no idea why she was—so I simply waited for her to make the first move. My door was still locked, since I wanted to keep any problems that may erupt in the hallway, not in the confines of my room. I was curious though—she was really a looker. Even now, she was dressed for a banquet—as the main course. Despite my resistance to professional vamps, this lady definitely had a thumb on my interest button, but my defensive systems were alerted to the max. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail—it looked really good on her. A black button down blouse, showing cleavage that could have been outlawed in public, and a denim mini-skirt that threatened to cause me blindness, if I did what I was compelled to do at that moment. A scarlet sash completed her ensemble, accentuating everything that hadn’t been already brought to my attention—her beautiful breasts—her long, seductive legs, and those full, sensuous lips that I’d tasted once before. I was tempted, but I wasn’t a fool. “What do you want, Chelsea?” I asked her. In reply, she quickly leaned into me, slipped her right hand behind my head, and pulled me into her lips—hard. Her left hand slipped down to brush across my crotch, managing in the process to caress my cock and balls in passing. With her tongue spearing deeply into my mouth, I tried to pull away without breaking anything, but she kept pressing her chest into mine, growling into my mouth. Finally, I repeated the same maneuver she’d pulled on me that day so long ago—I pushed her shoulder, hard, breaking her contact with me. Instead of being surprised, she looked as though she’d expected that move from me. Stepping back, she said, “You were right—raspberry—but it looks as though not everything on the Iceman is made of ice,” as she stared at my groin. “I owed you that.” Sure enough, she’d discovered that I was still made of flesh and bone, as my growing erection attested to. I was not willing to concede her little conquest however, so I firmly held her away at arm’s length and asked once more, “Chelsea . . .what . . .do . . . you . . .want?” Relaxing, she asked me, “Iceman, has your company given you your instructions for this job yet?” Irritated, I promptly corrected her, “My name is Gil, if you don’t mind—and no—I haven’t gotten any specific instructions yet. Now, why are you here asking me this?” She was a little too smug for my tastes right now, and having her in front of me, dressed like a high-class hooker, was bending the boundaries of reality a bit too much. Lowering her voice, she said, “Gil, then . . . , let’s take this show into your room before we DO have witnesses. Hopefully, If anyone has seen anything so far, they’ll think nothing more than another motel resident hiring a hooker for the night. I can’t stay in this shit much longer without having to explain stuff to my daddy.” Again, she surprised me, and I hesitantly unlocked the door, and allowed her to enter my new digs. Locking the door behind her, I turned to see what she’d do next. For the first time in years, I had no fucking idea what was happening, and I needed to get to the crux of it in a hurry—I wasn’t known for being particularly patient. As I turned to her, she quickly asked me if I had something that she could wrap herself up in, as she felt that she was a bit too under dressed in what she had on. Looking at the confused expression on my face, she said. “What? You don’t think that I dress this way all the time, do you?” Now I’m not particularly known for being a great diplomat in the company, but even I knew that the best answer to that question was silence. I hadn’t unpacked much of anything yet, so the best I could do is remove my shirt and wrap it around her. Still waiting for answers, I watched her reach behind herself, and pull out an envelope that she’d apparently had tucked into the back of her skirt. As she handed it to me, I noticed right away that it was one of my company’s stock envelopes, and my name was on it. As she walked towards the bathroom, I opened the envelope and began reading. Fucking Franklin! * * * * H -  |
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