Mature

Keywords: at, the, Ch., 01, Boss's, Saturday, House,

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"This story involves cheating, so if that subject offends or disgusts you, skip the story. But we've all had bosses like this haven't we? This is just the sort of revenge I'd like to have against one of them. I have a sequel roughed out and will complete it if this story generates some interest. "

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Frank my boss was one of those people who couldn't really do anything himself. He had achieved a station far beyond his abilities simply by being in the right place at the right time, I guess, and not getting fired. He had no idea how to get a job done. The only thing he knew about our field was his supposed "experience", which was usually simplistic, incomplete, and often downright wrong. His experience sometimes "changed" depending on the situation, I noticed. I could accept this easily if he appreciated the fact that I made up for his shortcomings. But he had two traits that made him unbearable; stupid I could handle, but he was also oblivious and egotistical. He believed that he actually deserved to be in charge of the projects he was given, and he actually believed that he was responsible for their success. And he didn't care in the least about the feelings or opinions of his subordinates; in fact, I honestly believe he wasn't even aware that recognition or appreciation was even important to us. He treated us like objects.

This particular Saturday brought my frustration to a whole new level. Frank had asked me to his house on short notice to work on a project, so I'd had to cancel my plans. I didn't so much resent the fact that he wanted me to work on a Saturday; that's professional life. But when I showed up, he was totally unprepared to do any real work. I think he was just stroking his own ego; I was there because he could ask me to be. You might have a trophy that you pull out once a year and put on the mantle for a day; then put it back in its box. I was like that – he didn't know where the project stood and I don't think he really wanted to know. He just wanted to tell someone on the East coast Monday that he had spent all day Saturday working on the project at his house with "one of his best people".

When I got to his house, Frank had just pointed at the couch and said, "Have a seat. I have a few very important calls to make and then I'll get to you. Can I get you some coffee? Jill, could you get Randy here some coffee?" Then he marched out of the room. That had been over an hour ago.

I seethed inside, thinking that this moron's success was more the result of the limited job market in our field than the result of any ability he had to either lead or perform. He could keep high quality staff because there really wasn't anywhere else to go. Meanwhile, I, the real talent of the department, was the one sitting here on the sofa, doing absolutely nothing on a Saturday. Except listening to NPR playing off in the kitchen, wondering when Frank would return, pretending to look through papers but secretly watching his wife.

I had been watching her for the last hour. How did Frank score such a cutie? She was wearing a crisp white blouse tucked into black cotton pants that fit her perfectly. She had been avoiding eye contact, yet seemed unable to distance herself from me. She repeatedly found ways to come into the living room, straightening things up.

Right now, she was standing at the counter in the kitchen where I could see her reading the paper in profile. She leaned over the counter, which thrust her behind out. Suspended on one straight arm, she brushed her short blonde hair with the other.

I thought to myself the same things you'd be thinking. "Wouldn't she be more comfortable sitting at the kitchen table to read? But that would be out of my view. Is she standing there for my benefit? I wonder if she knows I'm looking at her. I hope she doesn't leave."

But as soon as I thought that, she stood, stretched with her arms over her head, fingers interlaced, and yawned widely. This pose pushed out her pretty breasts and showed the gorgeous profile of her cute little buns. At the same time, it convinced me that she was oblivious to my presence; otherwise she would have covered her mouth when she yawned. To myself, I thought "You're dreaming, Randy. She's forgotten that you're here. Like Frank!" And then I started fuming to myself again. I sat and thought about working with Frank during the week; how he sat in his office and read the paper while we worked on "our" project. How he would say, "How's the project?" in the same way you or I might say "How's it going?" as we passed in the hall. The expected answer is "Fine." -- anything else means you have to stop and talk a while, and if Frank had to stop and talk a while he would scowl. Damn. The man was late for his own meetings!

Suddenly I was aware that I was frowning and looking very angry, and that my eyes had unfocused, but my gaze had not moved from Jill. I was glaring at her looking murderous, and she was looking back at me now, wide eyed and frightened.

Oh, no! I shook myself out of it. I immediately smiled complacently, which must have looked like a foolish grin. Something had to be said. "Oh, I'm sorry! I really am! I wasn't looking at you... I mean... I was just thinking... I wasn't thinking about you. I mean, not just this second. I was thinking about something else while I was looking at you. I mean, facing your direction. You know what I mean?", I added, lamely.

To my immense relief, she smiled. "Well that's a relief. I was trying to guess if I could run faster than you." I grinned widely and chuckled. She had a delightful trace of the south in her voice. And something about the thought of running after her...

I grinned. "I don't hide what I'm feeling very well."

"You look a lot better when you smile." she said. "Bet your wife tells you that all the time."

"We're getting divorced."

"Oh, sorry to hear that." She blinked, looking for something to say. Yeah, that was always a conversation stopper. Then she looked up, lifting one eyebrow. "Say, you didn't go and kill her, now did you?"

I grinned again. "No."

"Well, the way you were looking at me there, I sorta wondered!" As we were talking, she had approached me, and was now sitting comfortably on the armrest of the sofa.

She continued. "Now what the hell is Frank up to, I wonder." The way she spat out "Frank" said it all. Of course. If he ignored his employees like this, how much worse must he treat his wife?

I cast out some bait. "Something important, I suppose." I was careful not to emphasize the word "important."

"'Important' my ass." Mmm. Her ass.

As if on cue, I heard water running through the pipes. The bastard was taking a shower. We both glanced in the direction of the stairs that led toward the bathroom. "Well, maybe that's important for him." I said sarcastically, and we both chuckled.

"Sometimes that man drives me crazy! I could cut him up in itty bitty pieces and feed him to the dog!"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I really know what you mean."

She looked into the distance, biting a lip. Tentatively, in a conspiratorial whisper she said, "Would you like to get back at him?"

I nodded.

"I'm gonna do something, and you've got to promise not to tell." She stared intently at my eyes.

I put one hand on her knee, and raised the other as if taking an oath.

"This would drive him absolutely ape-shit. Watch." She quickly unbuttoned her blouse, pulled it wide, and before I could gulp she had pulled up her bra to reveal the most beautiful little pair of tits. Dark brown half dollars on a perfectly white hill. She grinned widely with sparkling eyes and wiggled her shoulders so they wobbled.

I silently mouthed "Wow!" Then, almost as quickly as she had exposed herself, she tucked herself back in and buttoned her shirt.

She seemed satisfied with my expression, and smiled at me for a moment. I realized that she was extraordinarily pretty. In my experience, almost all women are twice as pretty once you've had a look at their tits; I don't know why – something about possibilities. Without saying a word, she bounced up and marched back into the kitchen, giving her ass a little wiggle.

I'll say one thing, she made me forget all about my anger at Frank. A few minutes later Frank wandered in. "So show me your progress."

"Progress at what?" He hadn't asked me to do anything yet.

"Yeah. OK. Well, what can you tell me about the project." He sat on the sofa next to me, a little closer than I would have liked. He had a goofy expression, like someone who had too much free time. Like he belonged in a fraternity, maybe, or like someone who had no idea how to work on Saturday, I couldn't quite place it.

"Well," I said, "why don't we start with the timeline. Did you get the timeline off the server? I update it every Monday."

He looked as if I had asked him the square root of seven. "Yeah, sure, but I'm not sure I remember all the details. Why don't you talk me through it."

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. A timeline for a big project has a lot of uses, I guess, but among them is this: it's a way for someone to feel involved without really being involved. It's a great tool for someone who's connected, but for a guy like Frank, it's like a tube radio without a case. Too easy to tinker with, and almost anything you change will make things worse unless you know what you're doing. I inwardly crossed my fingers that somewhere along the way he had discovered this; that he knew this limitation about himself.

I monologued through the timeline, really just reading the items out to him and explaining what they were, who was responsible, and which ones were on the critical path. Frank asked very few questions. About two-thirds through the timeline, Jill bounced into the room. She had changed into sneakers, white shorts and a loose top that came just under her breasts and tied at the back and at the neck, exposing her bronze back. "I'll be out in the garden."

"Sure, honey." He looked at me. "Go on.

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Keywords: at, the, Ch., 01, Boss's, Saturday, House,