Chapter One

 

I have often been embarrassed by women. I don't mean to say that I've ever wished I wasn't one, but sometimes I could just wish I wasn't around when some woman fulfilled the cliché of being weak-willed and emotionally unstable. The sight of a woman whining to some man to help her with something pisses me off to no end. I despise weaklings. I value strength, in both men and women.

I don't hire weaklings. I can't, because frankly, I'm not nice to them. I'm not nice. Period. I don't choose to be nice. I can be civil. I can be polite. I'm not a socially inept person. I don't deliberately act unpleasant. Why would I put myself out like that? Why would I be dumb enough to deliberately make my employees' work lives unpleasant? That would be stupid. I am not a stupid person, and I didn't get where I am by doing stupid things.

But if you work for me my expectations are high, and my response when those expectations aren't met can be blunt, and not overly colored by a desire to spare someone's hurt feelings. I don't care about your hurt feelings. If you fuck up I'm going to tell you so, and depending on how big the fuck up my words can be... pungent.

If you can't take it, go work elsewhere. Besides, if you fuck up too much you will be working elsewhere. Guaranteed.

I make this clear when I hire people. Some of them heed my advice and don't come back. Some of them think I'm not being serious, and find out otherwise. And then there are those who are hungry enough, and strong-willed enough, and smart enough to get along with me and to please me with their skill and success.

Miranda Prentice was none of the above. I looked at Miranda Prentice with something approaching disbelief, and even had a thought someone was trying to play some sort of practical joke on me.

She was here for an interview, to replace a personal assistant who had left due to 'stress'.

I don't have a secretary. I don't need a secretary. I certainly don't need a Kewpie doll to sit outside my door and guard it and only let in those who have appointments. My employees know damned well they better not come by and bother me without good reason.

Miranda Prentice looked good on the surface. She was tall and fit. She stood up straight. Her face was oval, with a strong jaw and intelligent eyes, though it was a bit on the pretty side. She had nice hair, a deep mahogany, but it fell carelessly across her shoulders and forehead, as it had never known more than a brush to tame it. She had no makeup on, and I scented no pretty perfumes.

But she was wearing a very tight, very short red dress along with stiletto heels, and her pretty face was entirely too anxious. Her voice was a good, decent soprano, but everything she said was clearly calculated to be whatever answer she thought I wanted to hear. I didn't particularly like suckups, and Miranda Prentice struck me as a desperate suckup.

Or just desperate.

I had already decided not to hire her within sixty seconds of her coming into the office. But I started feeling this sense of curiosity, wondering what was driving her, and why she was so damned nervous and anxious.

And, I admit it, she was easy on the eyes. She wasn't the traditional eye candy, but she was certainly not someone I'd ever toss out of bed. Mind you, I prefer my lovers strong of both body and mind, be they men or women.

Her body was lithe and slim-hipped, but her belly seemed quite flat, and her breasts, while not huge, were high and firm and looked pretty full in that tight dress. Then again she was only twenty. It's not hard to look fit at twenty two. Being fit was something else again. I wondered just how firm that little round butt was.

I glanced down at the file again, checking her address. It wasn't familiar. I did a quick check on the computer and made a face. Not quite a slum but not far off.

Still, she cleaned up nice.

She was still babbling on about why she wanted to work there, a really basic question which usually catches out those who haven't bothered to do their homework about what my company is and what it does.

Miranda had done her homework. She'd done it so well she was regurgitating everything good about Sabot but that it had a nice cafeteria. And she'd probably left that out because it wasn't on our web site.

Miranda Prentice was a girl who desperately wanted to please. Okay, I've had eager interviewees before. I'd never been that eager, or at least, never let anyone see it, but I wasn't much over ten years her senior, so it wasn't like I couldn't remember being young. Still, her eagerness to please was so damned obvious it ticked me off.

Because it bespoke weakness. In fact, it almost provoked me into wanting to taunt her, to ridicule her, to mock her, to treat her badly as a punishment for her weakness. But that was a side of myself I had long ago learned to control. I didn't like bullies and didn't want to be one. Just because Miranda was a weakling that didn't mean I was free to abuse her.

Mind you, I kind of liked the idea of abusing her, just... not in quite the way you might think.

"So, let me suggest a hypothetical situation to you, Miranda," I said.

"Yes, ma'am!"

Ma'am? Yech. Made me feel old.

"Call me Ms. Gray."

"Yes, Ms. Gray!"

I looked at her sourly for all that eagerness.

"My deputy calls up to tell me there will be an emergency meeting in Zurich tomorrow morning. You can't immediately reach me. What do you do?"

"First, I'd leave a message in all the places you were expected to be," she said. "Then I'd make a reservation for you to fly to Zurich, and prepare contingency plans in case you didn't want to leave at that time, or take that particular route. I'd also inform him I hadn't been able to contact you and tell him what I'd done in case he had other suggestions."

I nodded grudgingly. The girl wasn't an idiot. And she had some initiative, though not much confidence. This was the fourth question she'd answered which mentioned alternative plans in case the first set weren't approved. She didn't want to disappoint, which was good, but it also showed she didn't have confidence that her first choice would be approved.

That wasn't so very bad. She'd learn my preferences if she was to work for me.

"Tell me about where you live," I said.

Her eyes blinked, clearly startled by the abrupt change in directly.

"Uhm, we live in an apartment on Central Street."

"Who is we?"

"My boyfriend Michael," she said.

"Describe Michael."

There was that eye widening and blink again. Was it a normal trait? Was she aware of it or was it an affectation?

"Uhm, he's big and strong and uhm, he uh..."

"What does he do for a living?"

"Uhm, he's searching for work now."

"What was the last job he had?"

She looked at me helplessly.

"He's never held a job?"

"Michael has had some problems," she said anxiously. "I mean, he went to college, but he had trouble with his professor and changed his major, and then he had some health issues."

"What kind of health issues/"

'He has a bad back. He's applied for disability."

"How old is he?"

"Uhm, twenty five."

"That's a little young for disability. What does he do all day?"

She gave me that helpless look again. She clearly didn't like this line of questioning. In fact, I was pushing it in part because I wanted her to tell me to mind my own damn business.

"I uhm, he ahm, looks on the internet for jobs," she said slowly, clearly inventing things as she went along, "And he networks with people he know looking for work and - ."

"Surfs the internet for porn and has beer with his friends," I said. "What's his favorite video game?"

She blinked again. "Call of War," she said with hardly any hesitation.

"How often does he play it?"

"Uhm, well, almost every day but - ."

I repressed a bit of a grin as a question occurred to me. It was whether he wore boxers or briefs. I was still wondering how much I could ask before she asked me why the hell I wanted to know.

Where were this girl's limits? She didn't strike me as the simpering type. She was intelligent, but lacked any confidence, constantly temporizing all her answers.

A line in a Springsteen song came to me. ".. till you end up like a dog who's been beat too much."

Miranda didn't show any bruises, but then, they didn't have to be physical.

"What does your father do?"

Another blink. "He's uh, in the army."

"What rank?"

"He's a sergeant. A drill sergeant."

Yech.

"For how long?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I mean, a while."

In my personal experience, having spent a few years in the army, as an officer when I was young and stupid, most of those who stayed drill sergeants liked yelling and screaming in people's faces and pushing them around. A good NCO wanted to get back into a line unit.

"Your mother?"

"My mother is a housewife. I mean, my father never wanted her to work."

Loudmouthed conservative type who thinks his woman ought to be there to serve him, I thought cynically.

"Siblings?"

My brother works in construction."

What kind of underwear are you wearing, honey?

Another cynical question I wondered how she'd respond to. Though admittedly I had more interest in it than her boyfriend's underwear.

She was sitting very upright on the chair before my desk with her lovely legs crossed. The skirt, already short to begin with, had slid higher as she'd sat, of course. Her legs looked... firm.

"Do you play sports, Miranda?"

I play softball sometimes..."

"Do you smoke?"

"No, ma'am!" she said, shaking her head rapidly.

"Ms. Gray," I corrected her.

"I'm sorry! No, Ms. Gray!"

"Stand up."

There was that surprised blink again, but she obeyed quickly.

"Turn," I said, circling my finger.

Another blink, but she obeyed, doing a full turn.

"You have excellent posture," I said. "I like that in a girl."

"Thank you, Ms. Gray!"

Great looking ass too.

I started to feel two almost contradictory emotions about the girl. The first, more altruistic one, was that I could help her build up some confidence which her father, and likely her useless excuse for a boyfriend had probably been responsible for destroying. The second emotion was far less noble, and wondered just how easily I could take advantage of her weakness.

Taking advantage of weaknesses, after all, is kind of what I do for a living. So it's sort of a part of my personality.

I stood up and walked around the desk to her. She was a couple of inches shorter than me, which was pretty good because I'm six feet tall. I reached out and gripped her wrist, lifting it up, bending her arm back. She just gave me that double blink again, but didn't resist as I raised my other hand and squeezed her bicep.

"Make a fist," I said.

She did so, and I grunted. She had some strength there, at least, though nothing to write home about.

"Well, you seem to be a little fit," I said.

"Oh I am! The elevator in our building has been broken for months and I carry all the groceries up four flights of stairs no problem!" she said.

And not her non-working husband? Typical.

"Do you have a driver's license?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

I narrowed my eyes. "Ma'am makes me feel like a school matron dealing with a little girl. If you call me ma'am again I'll spank you," I said.

"Sorry, Ms. Gray!" she gulped.

"Do you have a license?"

"Yes, Ms. Gray!"

"Insurance?"

She hesitated. "I uhm, if I was - .

"Yes or no?"

"No, Ms. Gray."

"Passport?"

Her eyes widened. "No, Ms. Gray."

"Criminal record?"

"No, Ms. Gray!"

"Have I mentioned to you that I'm not a nice person, Miranda?"

She stiffened but didn't hesitate a moment. "Yes, Ms. Gray."

"And that doesn't bother you? I warn you I am highly intolerant of weepy girls."

"No, Ms. Gray! I mean, I don't cry easy, Ms. Gray!"

"How are you at obeying orders?"

"I'm really good at it, Ms. Gray!"

"I'm very intolerant of employees who don't do as they're told, Miranda."

"I can do whatever I'm told, Ms. Gray!" she exclaimed earnestly.

"Do you do drugs?"

"No, Ma'am! I mean - !"

"Go and stand in the corner."

Double blink. "P-pardon?"

"As an alternative to spanking sometimes you put young girls in the corner for being bad. Go stand in the corner, facing the corner."

She stared at me, open-mouthed, then jerked her head around to stare at the corner, then back at me again.

"Yes, I'm serious. Want this job? Learn to do as you're told."

"Yes, Ms. Gray!" she gulped.

She turned and scurried to the corner, and I felt a little thrum of energy down low. I would have told someone to go fuck themselves myself. And I seriously wouldn't have minded if she'd had the same response. But it was... interesting she hadn't...

"Hands behind your neck, fingers interlaced," I barked.

From the way she moved she seemed confused by the order, but obeyed it.

"Nose to the wall, girl."

With her elbows out that made her lean in a bit, which gave me a gorgeous view of her ass. It was even better than I'd thought.