“Good morning, Mr. Carver,” she said. “How was your trip?”
“The trip was fi-i-i… my god.”
“Something the matter, Mr. Carver?”
Far from it. Cashtushy was wearing the shortest skirt I’d ever seen her in, coupled with 6″ heels and a tight, button-up cardigan sweater that was open just enough to give a partial view of the exquisite heaven underneath. If she was trying to get my attention, it had worked.
“Uh, no. Problem? What?”
“Oh. You seem to be… disturbed about something,” she said, leaning over my desk while batting her eyelashes seductively. “Is there anything you want to say?”
“You’d better believe there is! I… wait a second.”
“You’re trying to get me to say something inappropriate so I’ll have to cut you another check to avoid any unpleasantness with HR, aren’t you?”
She straightened up, frowned, and buttoned her sweater.
“Darn it. Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“No, I suppose I can’t. Now stop wasting time and go get me a cup of coffee, Cashtushy! I have a lot of work to do today, and I’m not going to get it done if you keep standing around giving me erections.”
She smiled in triumph.
“Wait,” I said. “I mean…”
“Don’t forget — it’s ‘Cashtushy’ with a ‘y.’ And don’t forget the zeroes either, Mr. Carver. Sometimes that’s all that keeps me from remembering how to find HR’s offices.”
Goddamn that Cashtushy. It’s a good thing she’s so easy on the eyes, or I would’ve fired her long ago. Plus, it would be hypocritical of me to hate a fellow player. After all, I know better than most that the game itself is solely to blame.