The Winner's Curse

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

Kirsten couldn't agree with men's dominant role in society, she had been hurt too many times, but she didn't want to live long without one either. And Mark promised to be different. He was everything she'd imagined him to be in her fantasies. Made of the same stuff as her, had similar values. They were kindred spirits. And, between the sheets, he was like a dream come true. Considerate. Anticipative. Sensing her needs before she herself.

Now up and gung-ho, she took her time putting make-up on. Choosing what to wear. Even the extra effort made sense. She dabbed on the perfume from Saturday evening. He'd liked it. The thoughts of the night together thrilled her over and again and delicious recollections occurred at the oddest of moments. It had been a long time since she'd felt so good.

The morning passed easily. At noon, she went down to the cafeteria for a salad lunch. On her way back, she got off the lift on the eighth floor. Heading for the Information Technology department. Nothing like the present, she said to herself as she punched in her ID code.

She went to chin wag with the secretaries and her old friends there from time to time. Today was going to be one of those occasions. Although she did intend to make a small detour. She dropped in at Barbara Mell's office and fell into a visitor's chair. Barbara was secretary to the director of information technology and an old pal.

"Going without lunch, Babs?" Kirsten asked casually.

"I'm still on that diet," she said and continued hammering on the keys of her word processor, transcribing dictation direct from an iPhone.

Through the open communicating door, Kirsten could see that the adjacent office was empty. "Boss at lunch?" she asked.

"He's in the US ... Atlanta," Barbara said without looking up.

"For long?"

Barbara hit a couple of keys on the keyboard. The laser printer began to purr and eject printed pages. "Back at the end of the week," she replied.

“Charlie with him?”

"No, he's here as usual." Barbara extracted the sheets from the printer and read them swiftly. "Right," she said, "I'm off for a coffee with the girls ... Coming?"

Kirsten hung back, feigning interest in the IT magazine she'd picked up. "Be along in a sec. Just like to finish this."

She gave Barbara a minute and then went through the small adjoining room which led to Charlie Kerr's office, the deputy director. He was in charge of the firm's computer hardware and director of data processing. He'd been with the firm when Global Investments bought it and owed his position to longitude and servitude. He didn't stand out in the ranks of the management samurai at GI.

To get his password would be some sort of poetic justice. She knocked on the closed door. Her backup story prepared. But she expected his office to be empty. Blokes like him took two-hour lunches paid for by the hardware vendors.

Still, the sound of his croaky voice came as a shock.

“Enter.”

Oh s**t, she groaned and fought back the desire to run.

"Ah, Miss Bower," he said with an oily smile, looking up from some trade journal. He rose. “How nice. And what brings you to me?" He waved to a visitors chair and sat down again.

"I need a new job," she said. She remained standing at the side of his desk.

He was in his late forties, bald and had a thin, pinched face and weak, watery eyes. "And I have one to offer?"

"I’d like to return." She gave him a winning smile and moved closer. "I'm to be transferred."

"Yes, ah, yes, I've heard. Won't you sit down? Er there?" He pointed to the other side of the desk, a nervous look flashing across his face.

Her closeness was having the desired impact. She now took a chair.

He eased off his reading glasses and polished them. "So what are you looking for?"

Reeling off her story, she glanced behind him and was startled to see he had two monitors with keyboards hooked up.

Oh, shoot, just her bloody luck. Her speciality had been software – not hardware. She suppressed the irritation she felt and plumped in her mind for the keyboard at his elbow. It looked similar to her own – and that was an IBM make.

He seemed to ponder her words. People didn't fall over themselves to work for jokers like him. She was probably the first to come and ask.

"Well, Miss Bower, with your prior experience and qualifications, I'm sure we could find a place for you here. Perhaps even in my own department," he added, giving her his sickly warm smile. “With the work ever-increasing, I could do with an assistant.”

As he spoke, his eyes kept darting to her breasts. They weren't her biggest physical asset, but he didn't seem to notice. She found everything about him repulsive. Still, she held her winsome smile firmly in place.

"Have you ... filled out the application forms?" he said.

"Not yet. I wanted to speak to you first."

"Ah, quite right. But, well, I'd suggest you do the forms. Then ... er, we can get down to brass tacks, eh?"

"Do you keep any handy?" She was certain he didn't.

"You'll have to see Barbara. She takes care of staff administration."

"I know. But I've just come through her office. She's out to lunch."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry …"

"Couldn't you get them for me." She glanced at her wristwatch. "I should be back at my desk by now."

He gazed at her indecisively. Then his eyes dropped to her boobs again.

"I'd prefer your department, Mr Kerr," she said demurely. "But if ... "

"Just a minute." He jumped up and was gone in a scrambling flash. Leaving the door wide open.

Kirsten looked back over her shoulder, then went quickly behind his desk. Disconnecting the keyboard, she attempted to insert the micro recorder plug into the slot. Her heart missed a beat. Shoot, it didn't fit. She tried again – the same result. Dampness on her brow, clammy hands. Oh, Christ.

The sound of him closing a drawer in the other office came through to her. Panic rising. She had to get back from behind the desk. But she was so close.

At that moment, she realised she was holding the bloody thing the wrong way round. She stuck the plug in blindly. A snug fit. An ecstatic feeling of relief shot through her. She reconnected the keyboard and set the dip-switch. Her heart beating so fast that the blood was pounding in her ears. She reached the window in time and pretended to be looking out.

"There," he said, coming over to where she stood. "Fill those out and bring them back to me. Then we'll see what I can do for you."

"Will you be out at all this week?" she asked, recovering fast, needing to return when he was not there.

"I have no travel plans. But do try and get those papers back to me in a day or two. We haven't got any time to lose, have we?"

They shook hands, his stone cold, hers still moist. She smiled sweetly. He returned her smile self-consciously. Then she left quickly. Outside, alone in the corridor, she threw a mighty punch in the air. Phase one successfully completed. Yes!

She just hoped it would be as easy to recover the bloody thing.