Bedding The Boss Page 2

  Heather grinned at her team leader. ‘You do like your nicknames at WYB, don’t you? Have I got one yet?’

  ‘The jury’s still out, but don’t worry. Your reputation is unblemished. The worst you’re going to get is Snow White.’

  ‘How accurate that would be!’ Heather laughed aloud at the very idea. ‘Why is Victoria the Ice Queen? She seemed approachable enough in that meeting.’

  ‘It’s because she’s never been caught in the toilets at the Christmas Party.’

  ‘Caught?’

  ‘Shagging, I mean.’

  ‘Joanna! I didn’t know you knew such words.’

  ‘I haven’t always been over forty, you know, and that particular activity has being going on ever since Eve got a taste for apples. It’s not just been invented by you youngsters. I’ve even done a bit myself.’

  ‘But surely not in the toilets.’

  ‘Nowadays it happens all over the place. It does when we throw a party at WYB, anyway. No halfway private space is exempt. I suppose that’s the girls’ doing.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes. The lads don’t stand a chance anymore, do they?’ Joanna had been keeping a straight face, although her lips had twitched occasionally, as if it was an effort. Suddenly she smiled again and looked incredibly youthful. ‘Not that we were all saints when I was your age,’ she added.

  Heather already fancied the pants off Ms Joanna Jones. Seeing her at her best didn’t change that one bit.

  Shame she’s too straight to notice, she thought, her internal grin wider than ever.

  ‘Go on,’ she said out loud, ‘give me a confession.’

  ‘Me?’ Joanna smiled yet again, ‘sorry, no confessions. Too many guilty parties are still at large. I’m at least ten years away from writing my blockbuster kiss and tell.’

  *****

  Heather’s update was interrupted by someone from another team, arriving with some paperwork for “Ms Jones” to countersign. Heather lingered until he’d gone, grateful when her team leader resumed without prompting.

  ‘My advice to you is to keep on being sensible . . .’

  Sensible! Heather smothered a laugh. Me!

  ‘That’s important when it comes to dealing with men who work at WYB. Go with anyone on a higher grade and you’ll be labelled Airhead Bimbo for the rest of your days. If you really must shag on your own doorstep, avoid the likes of Tiger Woodhead and pick on a twenty-year-old temp. There are an awful lot of them, after all. And with your looks you could have a different one every night of the week; or maybe seven at once, if I’m right about you and Snow White.’

  ‘You can’t possibly be right,’ Heather protested. ‘As well as not doing married, I never do more than three men at a time.’

  ‘Three’s okay, so long as they’re temps,’ said Joanna, giving her another of those smiles. ‘And if you ever lose control at a WYB party, don’t worry about getting pregnant, you can sort that out later. It’s the guy’s grade you want to worry about, not what he leaves inside you. If you get caught with a colleague it’s essential that his grade is lower than yours. That way everyone will agree it’s nothing career-driven. They will just say you’re a ballsy, hot-blooded babe.’

  ‘I didn’t appreciate there was so much etiquette involved. It’s like reading Jane Austen.’

  ‘More like Playgirl,’ said Joanna. ‘And reading Playgirl is the only confession you’re getting out of me right now. That and the fact that these days I find an hour alone in bed more rewarding.’

  Heather’s grin wasn’t internal anymore. ‘Never,’ she said, enticingly.

  ‘I’m afraid it is. Three minutes with my bare bum up against a toilet door . . . or an hour in bed with a glossy? No contest. No need for the morning-after pill, either.’

  ‘Did you ever get caught?’ Heather really wanted to know. ‘And who does all the catching, anyway? Are there squads of them, or just one official? Like the Child Catcher in Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang?’

  ‘I never got caught, but I rarely used the ladies’ for peccadilloes.’ Joanna’s smile was broader now. ‘Whenever I pulled I took the lucky chap back to my place, to make sure I got more than just three minutes. And no, there are no squads of child catchers. It’s done by word of mouth. Our grapevine’s stuffed with all the latest gossip. It’s amazingly accurate, not to mention up to date. I’m only surprised it’s not got a page on the Bank’s Intranet.’

  Heather looked at the older woman’s ring-less finger again and didn’t ask. ‘So the Ice Queen’s never been caught,’ she said instead.

  ‘Not doing anything untoward. Not even after a team-building event. As far as I know, she’s never had sex with anyone, anywhere, ever . . . hence the nickname. And that just has to have been given by a rejected man, by the way.’

  ‘Tiger, you mean?’

  ‘Not Tiger. Not as a reject. If you want to go double or quits on that pound you’ve lost . . .’

  ‘Assuming I see those minutes.’

  ‘You will. There’s no doubt about that. And precious little doubt about this either. I’ll bet that if anyone ever has got through her guard, it’s Tiger. Were they at each other’s throats all the time, like a couple who have been married twenty years?’

  ‘Yes . . . and no. Towards the end they were bouncing ideas to and fro like Serena and Venus.’

  ‘That’s their love/hate side,’ Joanna said. ‘If there is anything other than my imagination, that is.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s nearly time for my meeting. Anything else I can tell you before I go?’

  ‘Yes. What is it that Victoria does?’

  ‘She’s running Mortgages at present. Before that she was running a special team, like the one Chris is fronting up now, even though she can’t have reached his grade yet. Or perhaps she has. That young lady been promoted faster than anyone I’ve ever known. And I have been here since we first opened in 1983.’

  ‘Okay, last question. What’s your nickname?’

  Joanna tried to look affronted. ‘What makes you think I’ve got a nickname?’

  ‘Everyone else seems to have one. And you’ve been here all along.’

  ‘Oh, all right then. This is from the old days, mind. But I overheard it being used last week, so I can’t claim it’s long-forgotten. It was, maybe still is, Hot Lips.’

  ‘Hot Lips . . . Wow!’ Heather was delighted. ‘Never mind a night in with Playgirl, get yourself out with me after that rugby match on Saturday. Show me the sights of Bingley. There are loads of pubs; we’ll pull in no time. Especially wearing badges with Snow White and Hot Lips on them.’

  ‘I might take you up one day,’ Joanna rose from her chair, ‘but probably not so soon. Bingley’s full of rascals and scoundrels. Pulling’s not been the same since the teacher training college shut down.’

  Chapter Three

  There was no sign of the minutes when Heather finally returned to her desk.

  ‘Not quite so efficient,’ she murmured, before sighing deeply. Although she liked everything about her job she was disheartened. Up until now she hadn’t seriously considered having sex with a workmate (except for the odd bedtime fantasy about the lovely Ms Jones that was). In fact she hadn’t seriously been considering sexy relationships at all. Now, the first time she’d been tempted . . .

  The first time she’d wet her knickers in anticipation . . .

  Joanna hadn’t mentioned the other office romances that were happening all around them, the ones that were presumably acceptable by grapevine standards, but she was obviously spot-on about spur-of-the-moment flings. In her short time at WYB Heather had already heard dozens of junior managers referred to as bimbo, airhead or both in the same sentence. That wasn’t a mystery anymore: they had been caught in the bogs. And boggy mud at WYB must stick, because some of those juniors had to be pushing forty.

  How unfair was that? “Promotion” was probably the last thing most of them had been thinking of at the time!

  As for high-flying Victoria, well, she
could forget it. Despite that warm, welcoming wink, she was the Ice Queen, possibly even the Virgin Queen. It wasn’t easy to forget that incredible body but hey, she could always round up some of those temps.

  Heather added a couple of lines to an email and sent it off into cyberspace . . . after officially starting her break, naturellement. She liked Steve but wouldn’t have done him a whole email during working hours.

  Well, maybe a very short one.

  She couldn’t help grinning. She had noticed that particular workmate straightaway. Steve had made it plain he’d noticed her too. Trouble was, as well as having a willy, he had one of those bits of metal on his hand: the sort that put him completely out of bounds.

  His reply bounced back almost immediately.

  “Hot Lips; like in MASH if you watch golden oldies. Rumour has it she used to be quite a babe. Still not bad if you ask me, although I would prefer a much younger woman with beautiful green eyes and long black hair. And she has to have matching initials. HH would be perfect. Any idea where I can find one?

  My nickname is the very boring Stevo by the way. What’s yours?

  Cheers

  Stevo”

  Heather’s response went back just as fast.

  “Of course I’ve watched M*A*S*H. Hot Lips Houlihan played by Loretta Swit. Or was that the film? I’ve seen both.

  Sorry, no idea where you might find the girl of your dreams. Maybe nobody’s so perfect. Best stick to Hot Lips. She is a JJ after all.

  I think my nickname should be Little Orphan Annie, but I’m told it may be Snow White. And before you ask . . . don’t! I’ve already had lots of applications for all the roles as (very tall) dwarves, including one from Dopey, asking if he can make me feel Happy.

  Cheers

  Snow W”

  Another message arrived as this went. Curious, Heather went into her in-box and found it was from VictoriaHanson@WYB.com. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘Miss Efficiency’s minutes. That’s cost me two quid.’

  She therefore opened the message in all innocence to find:

  “Hiya Heather.

  I hope you didn’t mind me butting in like that. You seemed to want to keep a low profile and I know what Chris can be like. You would have made his day if he’d found out The Manor is single-sex. If nothing else you’d have been quizzed about what went on with the big girls after Lights-out.

  Be warned! He is persistent. When he finds out he’ll try again, starting with a seemingly innocent question before pouncing.

  Other than that, welcome aboard. There are more graduates here than you can shake a stick at, but not many who went to a private school first. And hardly any who went to a half-decent private school, never mind a top drawer establishment like The Manor. I was lucky enough to go to St Helena’s, so I know the difference better than most. It will be good to have someone like you to speak to. We can swap tales about how character-building it was: the loneliness and temptations; the frustrations and all those cold showers!

  We must have lots in common.

  I might even swap stories about Lights-out.

  L

  Vic”

  Heather’s heart fluttered. She pictured the high-flier as she turned from the water cooler, swapping one sensational view for another. And that wink . . .

  When Heather was quite small her Uncle Adrian started to give her Tintin books for Christmas and birthdays, ignoring her mum when she said they were meant to be stories for Belgian boys. An image from one of those books came to her now. It was of a fairly drunk Captain Haddock; he was slumped at a table, staring wistfully at an unopened bottle of Loch Lomond whisky. He had a little white angel perched on his right shoulder, a grinning red devil on his left. The angel (with Tintin’s head) was very earnestly giving a hundred sound reasons why the bottle should stay unopened. The devil (with the captain’s head, beard trimmed to make him suitably diabolical) was gleefully giving a hundred much more interesting reasons why it should not.

  Abruptly, the image changed and she was in Captain Haddock’s position, staring wistfully at her PC. The angel (who now had Joanna’s head) was saying: ‘Think of your reputation . . . and your career. You’ll get sideways-promoted to delivering the internal post. Then you’ll spend all the rest of your life wishing you’d listened to me.’

  The devil (now looking like Jack Nicholson) didn’t waste time with words. Instead he clapped his hands and Heather saw again Victoria turning from the water cooler. Apart from her shoes and glasses she was naked. Smiling at her, naked and winking and . . .

  Knickers, Heather thought decisively, there are always other jobs. And who’s going to get caught in the act anyway?

  *****

  Heather carefully re-read Victoria’s email, conscious it had taken precedence over the minutes, and wanting to be sure she wasn’t mistaking the message.

  L Vic, she wondered. What could that possibly mean but Love, Victoria?

  Well, perhaps it meant “Lust Victoria?”

  It had to be one or the other, and in the circumstances either would do.

  Right, this called for a clever reply; one showing respect for the Ice Queen’s lofty status, just in case she’d mixed her signals after all, while giving out clear signals of her own.

  She began with:

  “Hiya Vic”

  Then, frowning, she changed it to:

  “Hello Victoria (or Vic, if you prefer)

  I certainly didn’t mind you riding to my rescue; I welcomed you with all my heart. You were better than any knight on a white charger!

  And thank you for the warning about Chris. If there is a next time I’ll be ready with some witty (I hope!) retort that shuts him up as well as yours did. Shame I can’t tell him what really did go on with the big girls after Lights-out! That would render him speechless!

  I hope you enjoyed St Helena’s as much as I enjoyed The Manor. I don’t know about you, but I quickly got over the loneliness and frustrations and concentrated on the temptations! I’ve always been able to resist everything except temptations! And I don’t think that will ever change!

  I am sure we will have lots and lots in common and can’t wait to swap stories. Maybe we should do it over a drink rather than here. Some of my stories might be a little much for anyone who is unfamiliar with single-sex schools! Particularly when I tell you about our Helena, who was anything but a saint!

  I owe you a drink anyway, for being my knight.

  Let’s make it sooner rather than later.

  L

  Hev”

  That’s used up all my exclamation marks, she thought, but what the heck.

  She fired it off before she could chicken out and again, as one message left another arrived, this time from Steve. She opened it and read as far as:

  “Hi Snow White”

  Then she realized there was someone standing behind her.

  ‘Snow White,’ Chris Woodhead said. ‘Is that what they call you?’

  Heather swivelled her chair so she faced him and at the same time blocked off her PC screen.

  ‘It looks like a possibility,’ she admitted. ‘I suppose it could be worse.’

  ‘Oh it could,’ Chris agreed. ‘There are some fairly offensive nicknames around. But what can you do? As the saying goes, Boys will be boys and girls will be worse.’

  ‘That must be a new one. I’ve never heard it.’ Heather smiled and tried her best to seem obliging. ‘Is there anything I can do to help? Joanna’s tied up in a meeting.’