Mixing Business and Pleasure: Stripper Heels and Sex on the Beach
My boss, Richard Hardwell, rushed past my desk looking busy and serious with his personal assistant Terri following closely behind, her tiny skirt barely covering her pert bum I was sure was plumped up with implants. She never wore skirts longer than mid-thigh, or shirts that covered the line of her definitely fake, squeezed together boobs. Our office suddenly became active, with women fanning their faces, blushing, swooning and reapplying lippy. It was no secret that Terri, with most of the women in our office, wanted to get into Richard’s pants, but no one on the planet apart from Helen knew that I did too.
“Morning, Anna.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling attractively. I felt jealousy flare up in my stomach and it took me a few seconds before I realised he was talking to me.