Closed for TinyDuchess
My phone trilled, so I slapped it to speakerphone mode. “Yes?”
"Your 5 o'clock is here, Mr. Trask."
"Thank you, Colleen. Show her back, please."
I leaned back into my well-worn leather chair. A few moments later, my secretary’s standard three knocks rattled against at the door. When they came, I knock at my door. After a moment, the door opened just wide enough for Colleen's brunette curls and big doe eyes to glance in. "Mr. Trask?"
I motioned for her to come in. She swung the door wide and stepped aside to let my guest inside. At my height, most women outside the WNBA seem short, but even Colleen’s 5’6” frame seemed tall next to her diminutive companion.
"Mrs. Coulter, do come in," I said with a broad smile. "Colleen, it's after 5 and I don't expect I'll need anything else today. You can leave."
Colleen's curls bobbed. "Yes, Mr. Trask." The door shut behind her.
Sophia Coulter gave a polite smile and strode towards one of the comfortable chairs in front of my oak desk. Mrs. Coulter wore a pale grey dress that was clearly picked because it matched her eyes. Her makeup and dark black hair showed similar care and attention. Mrs. Coulter was clearly no novice at presenting herself well.
Her dress fell just below the knee and was clearly tailored for her figure. Its demeanor was strictly professional, but fit just well enough to hint at the slenderness of waist, curve of hip, and firmness of thigh beneath. "I'm serious, but I'm still attractive" was the clear message.
Her upper body departed somewhat from this by incorporating a suit jacket. However, this was clearly to somewhat disguise her impressive chest. Even with the additional concealment, Mrs. Coulter unequivocally possessed a rack that would be the envy of a woman half again her height, let alone her petite stature. If Richard - her husband and fellow coworker - could be relied upon, the true size of her bosom was even larger than it already appeared due to the skillful fashion choices and some very resilient undergarments. Moreover, as he had repeatedly remarked over the last few months, her already impressive mounds had been significantly enhanced during her recent pregnancy with their first child. (I’ve found men can be almost scandalously candid about their personal affairs in locker rooms and the one attached to our company gym had not proven to be an exception.)
I made little effort to conceal my appraising glances. I could see she wasn't expecting such treatment, nor did she appreciate it. I gave myself even odds as to whether she might reciprocate my physical admiration; some women find my height and bulk intimidating. Moreover, Richard Coulter was a slim and trim metrosexual types, whereas I was about as svelte as a bull moose. I suspected a woman of her obvious physical appeal could have landed a husband of her choosing, so apparently her tastes didn’t naturally run to brawn.
I paid her miffed expression no mind. Richard had never spoken of his wife’s preferences for underwear, so I stared at the tasteful amount of thigh on display and pondered whether she favored briefs, G-strings, or thongs till she sat down and demurely crossed her legs.
I at last raised my eyes back to hers – albeit pausing for a couple seconds to admire her magnificent chest along the way. "Mrs. Coulter, I am sure you are confused as to why I have called you here, so let me get straight to it. I despise your husband, Richard.”
Her miffed expression shifted rapidly to one of confusion. When I’d had Colleen set up the appointment, I’d told her that it was because of company interest in a women’s charity group that I knew Mrs. Coulter was an officer in. A complete lie, naturally, but clearly Sophia hadn’t thought to question it. Good. This meeting would go much swifter if I could keep her off balance.
“To be quite direct, Mrs. Coulter,” I continued, “your husband is a pompous windbag who loves the sound of his own voice. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has been pampered his whole life. That fancy Ivy League degree is no substitute for experience. Richard shouldn’t have an executive’s position, but the Board of Directors got him hired anyway because his granddaddy plays golf with half of them. He's in over his head, but he’s got his head so far up his ass he hasn’t a fucking clue how close to the edge he’s walking. He's an arrogant little son of a bitch and I'd very much like to see him fall on his ass."
I held up a manila envelope and slid it across the desk to her. "That's a copy of documentation we're required by federal law to submit every quarter to the EPA certifying out compliance. For the past three years that's been Richard's job to complete, so you'll find his signature at the bottom of every one attesting to their accuracy. The highlighted portions are where I've identified that he has also been misreporting certain information. Now personally I figure that Richard did it because he's a clueless fuck up who couldn't find his way across the factory floor with a map, but if the EPA and the DoJ catch wind of this, they're going to call it falsification of data, failure to report, and fraud. That means millions in fines to the company and maybe a short stint in federal prison for little Richard.”
"Now the department that oversees these reports is nearly as clueless as he is, so the odds are a thousand to one that they ever cotton onto this shit on their own. They get a thousand of these damn reports every quarter because some Massachusetts liberal got up in arms about Chesapeake clams or some nonsense and pushed through a bill mandating every manufacturer handling any of a few dozen chemicals file these damn reports. I bet they all get stuck in giant file cabinet and forgotten about as soon as they arrive.
I grinned maliciously. “But, if I place an anonymous call to them and tip them onto this, I guarantee some eager beaver looking to move up the ranks will latch onto this like a bulldog. Inside a week we're going to have government investigators all over the place and your husband will be well and truly fucked.”
The leather in my chair creaked as I leaned back. "So you must be asking yourself why I’m not having this conversation with Richard. Tell him to quit or else.” I shrugged. “Quite simply, I don’t think Richard is smart enough to realize how fucked he is. He’s an aggressive, competitive little shit and I know he hates my guts, so I figure he’ll probably try to take me on rather than back down. So if I can’t count on him to tuck his tail between his legs and go, then I’m just making him even more of a pain in my ass than he already is.
I leaned forward and pointed a thick forefinger at her. “But you, Mrs. Coulter, you’re practical. You have to be, what with being the new mom and all. I’ve seen your house and the cars you drive. Richard wants to act like he’s got a vice president’s salary, but he’s not there yet. In a year’s time, sure. Peterson at the Idaho plant has already announced he’s retiring and I know granddaddy has been urging the Board to consider little Richard. I figure with grandaddy’s connections and the fact that no one my age wants to pick up and move to fucking Idaho, Richard has it in the bag.”
“But if Richard were to lose his job and do 18 months in minimum security, I’m betting it’s you who gets left holding the bag, Mrs. Coulter. And Richard’s finances being what they are, you don’t have the green to pay for your lifestyle with him gone. Just imagine having to sell your house and move out of that fancy neighborhood while all your friends whisper behind your back about your husband, the felon. I bet that would just be unbearable.” I grinned mightily as I saw the horror of such public shame sink in.
“So I trust, Mrs. Coulter, that you are the pragmatic one. Moreover, you’ve got something that Richard can’t offer me. You.” I let my eyes glide back over her body to further convey my meaning.
"So here's my proposal: I'm going to hold onto this information and next year, Richard gets that vice president gig in Idaho. You can finally pay off the bills you’ve been running up and the Coulter family lives happily ever after.
“But while Richard’s awaiting that promotion, you become my mistress. You keep my libido satisfied, you get your dream life. You don't, I make that phone call, and that shiny happy future goes bye-bye.
"What is it going to be, Mrs. Coulter?"
My phone trilled, so I slapped it to speakerphone mode. “Yes?”
"Your 5 o'clock is here, Mr. Trask."
"Thank you, Colleen. Show her back, please."
I leaned back into my well-worn leather chair. A few moments later, my secretary’s standard three knocks rattled against at the door. When they came, I knock at my door. After a moment, the door opened just wide enough for Colleen's brunette curls and big doe eyes to glance in. "Mr. Trask?"
I motioned for her to come in. She swung the door wide and stepped aside to let my guest inside. At my height, most women outside the WNBA seem short, but even Colleen’s 5’6” frame seemed tall next to her diminutive companion.
"Mrs. Coulter, do come in," I said with a broad smile. "Colleen, it's after 5 and I don't expect I'll need anything else today. You can leave."
Colleen's curls bobbed. "Yes, Mr. Trask." The door shut behind her.
Sophia Coulter gave a polite smile and strode towards one of the comfortable chairs in front of my oak desk. Mrs. Coulter wore a pale grey dress that was clearly picked because it matched her eyes. Her makeup and dark black hair showed similar care and attention. Mrs. Coulter was clearly no novice at presenting herself well.
Her dress fell just below the knee and was clearly tailored for her figure. Its demeanor was strictly professional, but fit just well enough to hint at the slenderness of waist, curve of hip, and firmness of thigh beneath. "I'm serious, but I'm still attractive" was the clear message.
Her upper body departed somewhat from this by incorporating a suit jacket. However, this was clearly to somewhat disguise her impressive chest. Even with the additional concealment, Mrs. Coulter unequivocally possessed a rack that would be the envy of a woman half again her height, let alone her petite stature. If Richard - her husband and fellow coworker - could be relied upon, the true size of her bosom was even larger than it already appeared due to the skillful fashion choices and some very resilient undergarments. Moreover, as he had repeatedly remarked over the last few months, her already impressive mounds had been significantly enhanced during her recent pregnancy with their first child. (I’ve found men can be almost scandalously candid about their personal affairs in locker rooms and the one attached to our company gym had not proven to be an exception.)
I made little effort to conceal my appraising glances. I could see she wasn't expecting such treatment, nor did she appreciate it. I gave myself even odds as to whether she might reciprocate my physical admiration; some women find my height and bulk intimidating. Moreover, Richard Coulter was a slim and trim metrosexual types, whereas I was about as svelte as a bull moose. I suspected a woman of her obvious physical appeal could have landed a husband of her choosing, so apparently her tastes didn’t naturally run to brawn.
I paid her miffed expression no mind. Richard had never spoken of his wife’s preferences for underwear, so I stared at the tasteful amount of thigh on display and pondered whether she favored briefs, G-strings, or thongs till she sat down and demurely crossed her legs.
I at last raised my eyes back to hers – albeit pausing for a couple seconds to admire her magnificent chest along the way. "Mrs. Coulter, I am sure you are confused as to why I have called you here, so let me get straight to it. I despise your husband, Richard.”
Her miffed expression shifted rapidly to one of confusion. When I’d had Colleen set up the appointment, I’d told her that it was because of company interest in a women’s charity group that I knew Mrs. Coulter was an officer in. A complete lie, naturally, but clearly Sophia hadn’t thought to question it. Good. This meeting would go much swifter if I could keep her off balance.
“To be quite direct, Mrs. Coulter,” I continued, “your husband is a pompous windbag who loves the sound of his own voice. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has been pampered his whole life. That fancy Ivy League degree is no substitute for experience. Richard shouldn’t have an executive’s position, but the Board of Directors got him hired anyway because his granddaddy plays golf with half of them. He's in over his head, but he’s got his head so far up his ass he hasn’t a fucking clue how close to the edge he’s walking. He's an arrogant little son of a bitch and I'd very much like to see him fall on his ass."
I held up a manila envelope and slid it across the desk to her. "That's a copy of documentation we're required by federal law to submit every quarter to the EPA certifying out compliance. For the past three years that's been Richard's job to complete, so you'll find his signature at the bottom of every one attesting to their accuracy. The highlighted portions are where I've identified that he has also been misreporting certain information. Now personally I figure that Richard did it because he's a clueless fuck up who couldn't find his way across the factory floor with a map, but if the EPA and the DoJ catch wind of this, they're going to call it falsification of data, failure to report, and fraud. That means millions in fines to the company and maybe a short stint in federal prison for little Richard.”
"Now the department that oversees these reports is nearly as clueless as he is, so the odds are a thousand to one that they ever cotton onto this shit on their own. They get a thousand of these damn reports every quarter because some Massachusetts liberal got up in arms about Chesapeake clams or some nonsense and pushed through a bill mandating every manufacturer handling any of a few dozen chemicals file these damn reports. I bet they all get stuck in giant file cabinet and forgotten about as soon as they arrive.
I grinned maliciously. “But, if I place an anonymous call to them and tip them onto this, I guarantee some eager beaver looking to move up the ranks will latch onto this like a bulldog. Inside a week we're going to have government investigators all over the place and your husband will be well and truly fucked.”
The leather in my chair creaked as I leaned back. "So you must be asking yourself why I’m not having this conversation with Richard. Tell him to quit or else.” I shrugged. “Quite simply, I don’t think Richard is smart enough to realize how fucked he is. He’s an aggressive, competitive little shit and I know he hates my guts, so I figure he’ll probably try to take me on rather than back down. So if I can’t count on him to tuck his tail between his legs and go, then I’m just making him even more of a pain in my ass than he already is.
I leaned forward and pointed a thick forefinger at her. “But you, Mrs. Coulter, you’re practical. You have to be, what with being the new mom and all. I’ve seen your house and the cars you drive. Richard wants to act like he’s got a vice president’s salary, but he’s not there yet. In a year’s time, sure. Peterson at the Idaho plant has already announced he’s retiring and I know granddaddy has been urging the Board to consider little Richard. I figure with grandaddy’s connections and the fact that no one my age wants to pick up and move to fucking Idaho, Richard has it in the bag.”
“But if Richard were to lose his job and do 18 months in minimum security, I’m betting it’s you who gets left holding the bag, Mrs. Coulter. And Richard’s finances being what they are, you don’t have the green to pay for your lifestyle with him gone. Just imagine having to sell your house and move out of that fancy neighborhood while all your friends whisper behind your back about your husband, the felon. I bet that would just be unbearable.” I grinned mightily as I saw the horror of such public shame sink in.
“So I trust, Mrs. Coulter, that you are the pragmatic one. Moreover, you’ve got something that Richard can’t offer me. You.” I let my eyes glide back over her body to further convey my meaning.
"So here's my proposal: I'm going to hold onto this information and next year, Richard gets that vice president gig in Idaho. You can finally pay off the bills you’ve been running up and the Coulter family lives happily ever after.
“But while Richard’s awaiting that promotion, you become my mistress. You keep my libido satisfied, you get your dream life. You don't, I make that phone call, and that shiny happy future goes bye-bye.
"What is it going to be, Mrs. Coulter?"
