Chapter 3
"Typing speed?" the pinched-faced employment-office lady snapped even before
Cindy had a chance to settle herself down in the squeaking metal folding chair.
"Shorthand speed? Telex experience? Dictaphone?" she continued as though reciting a litany, never even glancing at the nervous young blonde.
"I ... I'm afraid I ... I never worked in an office," Cindy stammered, trying to smooth her short navy blue skirt down over her ripely rounded thighs. She'd chosen the skirt, a relic from her high-school wardrobe, as being more appropriate than the vivid-hued outfits which Mike had brought her. Although she certainly preferred the new clothes, they'd seemed somehow too frivolous for a job interview, and it was only now that she realized how very short this skirt was. She felt her che
