Chapter 2: Three Years Later

"Did you see him?" Chrissy said, leaning against the door jamb of my windowless office.

"Who?" I asked, barely even bothering to look up from my computer.

Chrissy was one of those office girls that believed the only way to improve her position was to flirt and/or sleep with any male that would be able to advance her position. Since she was my supervisor, a position she shoved in my face as often as she could, and she started a year after I did then I would have to say she must have been pretty active. So even though I knew who she was talking about, I also knew it irritated her to no end that she thought I was only half-listening to her.

"Oh my God, Mia. Could you be any more oblivious?" she spouted with undisguised contempt.

She was, of course, talking about Reed Callaghan the new owner of 'Bean Me'. We were the largest coffee bean distributor in Oregon. It was where I'd worked as an underpaid slave, I mean a secretaries' assistant. I was Chrissy's assistant, and my job was to help her with research, typing, scheduling and coffee making. Actually, I wasn't even sure Chrissy even knew how to use a computer, coffee maker or a book for that matter, so in the end I pretty much did her job anyway.

"Ah yes," I said as I finally turned to her. "The big wig that is coming down from Seattle to add us to his collection."

I'd heard rumors of Reed Callaghan; he had been known to buy out whatever company he wanted to then turn it around and sell it for profit. I wasn't too worried about him based on his history. I was sure he wouldn't be around here much longer. His home company was based in Seattle, and I've read in the tabloids that he has an eclectic group of companies all over the continent, everything from nightclubs to grocery stores to major corporations and now a coffee bean house. He was also known to be a collector of women. He has never seen with the same one twice and he's apparently reported to have great prowess in the bedroom. I allowed myself one girly moment to imagine what it would be like for a man like him to take an interest in me, but I shook my head, that was never going to happen.

"Aren't you the least bit interested in him? Apparently, he's a ten on the 'fuc'um' scale," said Chrissy with a predatory grin and a blatantly calculating look in her eye.

She was quoting the scale that the other girls in the office, including her, had made up to rate our male co-workers. So, Chrissy had found her new conquest, had she? And I wasn't really surprised; seeing as there was hardly any man in that place she hadn't at least kissed.

"I apologize that I refuse to be excited by the fact that, yet another man is coming into this place that will be conned by your..." I searched my mind to find the right word.

I waved my hand at her cleavage which at this moment was straining inside the confines of her button-down shirt that was so tightly stretched over her chest that I wasn't sure if the top four buttons had been left open on purpose or if they themselves had finally given up the fight. It did, however, give one an unobstructed view of the previously mentioned cleavage.

"They're called breasts," she said as she flipped aside her, perfectly styled, obviously dyed, blond hair.

"I know what they are called, Chrissy," I snapped at her.

I did not even want to get into her pitiful excuse for a white skirt. I just counted my lucky stars that she was not sitting in front of me at that moment because then I would have seen way more than I ever wanted to. As it was, I could see perfectly that the red thong she was wearing had a little bow on it. I knew that was the exact reason for that little fashion faux pas.

I laid my head in my hands and counted to ten feeling my patience worn thin, I begged fate silently for some sort of intervention.

"Hey, chatty heads," Lizzie said happily.

She casually pushed her way through the door causing Ms. Breasts to stand up straight, which she did with a huff. I always wondered how Chrissy never realized those of us underneath her didn't really treat her with the same respect we did any of the other superiors. Although, with how she generally dressed, it's probably safe to say respect was the last thing on her mind.

"What do you want, Lizzie?" Chrissy snapped.

Lizzie smiled devilishly back at her, "Hi, Chrissy, you're looking sufficiently whorish today. I really hope it wasn't on Mr. Callaghan's account. I'm afraid to say he's gay."

Chrissy's mouth dropped open as horror rapidly filled her eyes.

"That's... that's impossible... the tabloids, they would have said something."

Lizzie just gave a shrug.

"I just met Mr. Callaghan's boyfriend out in the hall, big guy, very jealous. I saw him glaring daggers at Michael when he caught Michael checking out Mr. Callaghan's butt."

Chrissy turned seven shades of red, then paled and ran out of the room.

"You know, she's really got to get over her homophobia," Lizzie said shaking her head in disgust.

"It's not homophobia. She just doesn't like any man she can't sleep with. And I know you lied to her that Mr. Callaghan is gay."

She managed to look suitably offended.

"I did not lie; Michael did mention a boyfriend. But I will admit the phrase might have been 'My boyfriend glared at me when I mentioned what a nice ass my new boss has', I really could have been mistaken."

I laughed at the mischievous look on her face. I knew that she had done it in the hope that Chrissy would completely screw up before she managed to seduce the new boss into keeping her or, God forbid, promoted her.

"So, what's the real reason you barged in here? Not that I'm not thankful to you for saving me from Chrissy," I asked, moving papers around on my desk.

"We have an employee meeting in 10 to meet the new boss," Lizzie said as she turned to leave.

I groaned harshly with frustration and just barely caught myself from banging my head against the desk.

Because of Chrissy and a missing report, I was way behind on my morning work and now with the employee meeting it would put me even further behind. I rubbed my eyes, what a horrible day this was turning out to be and it was only nine o'clock.