It was another late night at the office. I had to get that damned report done and on the President’s desk by 8 am. He always had these last-minute jobs for me. But he had dangled the carrot – the promotion, the bigger office, the fat raise. The coffee was the way I liked it cup for cup. One cup of the finest grounds from my favorite coffee place, and one cup filtered water – black. Forget the sweeteners and the sickly sweet additives. Black coffee was for the serious coffee drinker.
I was finishing up the last touches of my fifty page report when my mind started slipping into a day dream (night dream to be exact.) I was reflecting back on how I got to this place and time. I could feel the impressive resume, on expensive vellum, in my hands. I could see the lettering bold and professional: MBA from Stanford University, the long list of internships at Fortune 500 companies… I debated between the black suit and the blue suit. In the end, the black suit with the blue silk blouse and the four-inch black pumps won out. I’d had plenty of practice with the perfect look courtesy my hair dresser not Stanford University. I wasn’t one of those prudes with the tightly pulled back hair.There is nothing wrong with looking pretty for an interview and I did. My hair and makeup spoke business but a little flirty and the perfect accents: diamond stud earrings, gold necklace, diamond tennis bracelet. At the last-minute, I unbuttoned another two buttons on my blouse. Why? I do not know.
The interview was perfect. When the VP of Ops asked me what my favorite wine was, I was taken aback (in my mind) but without the slightest hesitation answered “Merlot.” “Hmm he said that happens to be mine as well. If you get the job, you wouldn’t want to join me at The Park for dinner on Friday?” “That would be charming,” I smiled just a bit of a twinkle in my eye. No one told me about this part of the interview process at Stanford. Should a figured.
Dinner at The Park was classy; the Merlot was excellent. When he asked me back to his place, I politely said, “no!” I had to draw the line some where; after all sleeping with the boss was not part of business 101.
I shook my head wearily finishing the report. The report was neatly placed on my boss’ desk. As I drove back to my place, I tried to gather my thoughts and dream of the bigger office. I quietly shut the kitchen door behind me. As I climbed into bed, I slid my arms around him. “The report is on your desk.”
“Coffee maker and coffee is in your new office. Merlot for tomorrow night- pool side. Clothing optional,” he murmured with a sleepy kiss.
We had both agreed, early on in our relationship, not to mix business with pleasure. We never did.
Always great short stories at The 10th Daughter of Memory
Thanks for the wine photo: Yashima