Boss Girl

"You can have that every night for the rest of your life."

Annnnnnd…. Cue the cold shower!

I slowly opened my eyes and saw the puppy dog with the granite body just inches from my face, about to kiss me. I sat up before he had the chance. "Scott, I thought we already resolved this."

"I thought you might miss me in Vegas and change your mind."

"No, I haven't changed my mind."

He leaned over to the cherry end table and picked up a glass that had a touch of scotch left in it. "Maybe you need some time to think." He downed the rest of the liquor.

"Maybe you need to remember who hired you." I leaned back against one of the four posts of the bed, which had moments before served as an impromptu stripper pole. "I'm your boss. Why do you call me Ms. Hack in the bedroom if you think I love you?"

"I thought it was part of the dominatrix thing you had going."

Dear God…

"So that's all I am to you? A piece of meat?"

Oh, man, I wish I'd had a camera rolling. Coming from a man that would have been the sound bite of the year.

Hey, great idea for cable… an entire network with older women and younger men.

But back to our regularly scheduled sexual encounter….

"In return you get to anchor in the number one market in America."

He threw back the covers, grabbed his underwear from the ceiling fan blade, and started to get dressed. "You've been leading me on."

"I've done no such thing, Scott. When I interviewed you, I told you that if you wanted the job you should come to my room."

"I thought you were attracted to me."

"I am, physically, but not in a romantic way."

The hurt in his eyes grew and he turned away. He finished getting dressed and started to head for the door. He stopped a few feet from it, picked his car keys off the dresser and turned to face me. "I want out of my contract," he said.

"Not gonna happen," I said.

"We'll see."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," said Jillian from the speakerphone. "Young man who has trouble spelling IQ is offered a job anchoring in New York City. But wait! There's more! As an added bonus, he got to sleep with his hot, red-headed boss to get the job. And there's a problem?"

"Apparently," I said, wishing they were in my office instead of just voices on the weekly Thursday conference call.

It was Neely's turn. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't most men jump at the chance for mind-altering sex on a regular basis while bypassing the usual dinner and courtship stuff?"

"Courtship? That still exists?" asked Rica.

"In the South it does," said Neely, turning on the drawl. I could almost see the dreamy, faraway look in her eyes.

Rica laughed. "In Brooklyn, courtship's when a guy says, ‘Meter's running. You wanna have sex, or what?'"

"Then most men are from Brooklyn, 'cause that's what they want," said Jillian. "No holding car doors open, no cuddling, no ‘so, what are you thinking?' questions, just clean-out-the-pipes-air-out-the-brain-blast-furnace-sex with a woman who looks like she needs a bail bondsman and a public defender."

An image of a black leather miniskirt and red platform heels that Scott liked flashed through my brain, along with a picture of a blast furnace blowing his hair out of place. I shoved it to the back burner for later.

"And guys say women are hard ta figure out," said Rica. "Fuhgeddaboudit."

"So what should I do?" I asked, looking at the speaker like it was some sexual magic 8-ball.

"Screw him," said Rica.

"She'd like to keep doing that," said Neely. I heard chuckles all around and couldn't help but smile.

"You know what I meant," said Rica.

"So what's the situation this week?" asked Jillian.

"He's not speaking to me," I said. "Though yesterday he went from brooding victim to looking like he's up to something."

"Think he'll show tomorrow night?" asked Jillian.

"We'll find out soon enough," I said.

* * *

Actually the answer swatted the front door of my townhouse around five in the morning on Friday. It arrived in the form of a New York tabloid, complete with a front page picture of Scott Harry and a headline that made my jaw hang open like a trophy bass.

Anchor Goes "Undercover" to Keep Job

Ho.

Lee.

Shit.

I dashed back inside the heavy oak front door, slammed it, and pressed my back against it like I was hiding from a firing squad. Then I quickly unfolded the paper.

It got worse.

Cougar Boss Turns Scott Into Dirty Harry

By Cassandra West

Apparently the news business is no longer couched in secrecy.