Kate’s Christmas Job

Mark says…

A few Decembers back, facing the prospect of spending Christmas alone for the first time in ages, I found myself at an unaccustomed low ebb. Having split with longterm girlfriend Donna in the summer, I needed to find alternative accommodation fast. Yet a supposed month-or-so long stopgap at work colleague Gary’s house had turned into a somewhat more elongated stay. Not that Gary minded unduly, a fellow batchelor, he was glad of the company and even happier with the rent supplement, besides which I was his boss. I suspected that, with the New Year pay reviews impending, he’d be expecting a better-than-average rise this time around.

Having graciously let Donna keep the car as well as the flat, on top of being Gary’s lodger, I was his passenger on the daily trip to work. A fortnight from Christmas and, with the inclement English weather at its most mischievous, I was grateful of the warmth of the Merc that was Gary’s pride and joy. Typically one of those ice-cold December mornings straight out of a Victorian Christmas card, a light covering of snow brushed the ground, supplementing the near freezing rain to form huge slushy puddles. The breath from those walking along the pavement, wrapped tightly in padded winter coats, hats and scarves, was clearly visible in the dull air.

Enjoying being a passenger and, not having to concentrate too hard on the road, I didn’t really notice her until the very last minute. Dashing desperately for the bus in inappropriate heels, a white blouse and cream jacket, the twenty-something girl really was asking for trouble. Gary saw her though and, issuing an evil Bond villain-esque chuckle, veered suddenly to the left to churn through a massive roadside puddle of congealed sludge. Tyres spinning Catherine Wheels, a blanket of murky icewater careered upwards to splash the poor girl neck high, turning everything she wore black in its wake.

My work colleague howled with sadistic laughter as, in the reflection of the rear view mirror, the girl banged her fists, stamped a foot and bawled mute expletives our way. A right nasty sod at times, Gary could hardly stop laughing throughout the rest of the journey. Pulling up in the company car park, we headed inside to join colleagues about to embark upon another dull Monday. Still, Christmas was getting close and, with the festive season in full swing, a newly erected huge and overly-decorated spruce in reception brought some seasonal cheer, alongside the telephonists, clearly trying to outdo one another with the largest collection of Christmas cards.

An hour later Jane Rees, the office manager came up to my office to reveal that our new temp had been in accident and would be late. Looking at the piles of work that had accumulated thanks to a combination of annual leave and a bad strain of the flu, I sighed. “Where does the agency find these people?” I mused rhetorically, the festive spirit quickly evaporating and not for one moment realising the thilling sexual journey I was about to embark upon.

—

Kate says…

If I hadn’t needed the money so badly for Christmas, temping would never have entered my mind. But I did and that was why I found myself rushing around on that horrid Monday morning. Blonde hair tied into a ponytail and smoothing the skirt down my bum, it wasn’t until reaching the front gate that it dawned on me just how badly dressed I was. The cream jacket and skirt I’d worn to my last job a couple of summers back was totally inappropriate in the bleak midwinter. I shivered, almost loosing my footing as I stepped out onto the glazed pavement like Bambi on ice.

Seriously pushed for time, there was to be no turning back. I had to press on sharpish or risk being late for work on the very first day – not good. Heading unsteadily to the bus stop, I was lucky not to topple over two or three times on the way. Yet nothing could prepare me for what happened. It all occurred in a kind of slow motion. He knew exactly what he was doing, the nasty so-and-so in the flash Mercedes, swerving so as to plough through the puddle and send a tidal wave of dirty slushy water all over me. Dripping from head to toe, I banged my fists in crazed anger and let fly with a string of swear words before breaking down miserably in tears.

With no option but to head home to change, sobbing all the way, I knew before getting there that my ‘work’ wardrobe was stretched already, the tight black skirt perhaps more apt for the nightclub than the office, the split up the side far from subtle. The only other top that wasn’t a t-shirt with a slogan on it was a tight-fitting blouse from days gone by. Though I could hardly be described as busty, the blouse accentuated what boobs I did have rather obscenely. I only hoped that this firm had a relaxed attitude to female dress code. Lesson learned, I tossed the heels in a bag and slipped into a sensible pair of trainers for the journey, making a mental note to head to the shops after work. I was so ill-prepared it was untrue.

It was 10.30 before I made it in and, almost turning back several times, only the thought of money and how useful it would be spurred me on. Out of sight of the road, it was as I was about to swap trainers for heels that I noticed it: that same damned Mercedes that had drenched me first thing. A black fog descended and, not really thinking straight, I moved upsides, holding out a shoe. A grimace slipped from my lips as the heel scraped the dapper paintwork, a sound like the shrill chalk-on-a-blackboard noise from my schooldays. But revenge was mine.

Satisfied with that little piece of handiwork that left a nice dense scratch, I quickly changed footwear and located the carousel door. It was only as I waited in the reception, cheered by the huge Christmas tree and abundance of pretty seasonal cards, that it occurred to me that the owner of the car I’d just vandalised most likely worked here. Breaking out into a cold sweat and about to up and take flight, a female voice echoed in my ear. “Kate Lee?”

“Yes, that’s me,” I replied timidly.

“Jane Rees, office manager,” she introduced. “We’ll just get you issued with a pass and I’ll take you upstairs.”

Too late now to scarper, I figured no one could possibly suspect innocent little me of inflicting the damage.
Unless, that was, my conscience turned traitor. Oh God. My face turned a deep shade of crimson upon following Jane into the office as, standing at the coffee machine, the next person I laid eyes upon, was the driver, with the same smug expression I’d recognise anywhere. He glanced my way, thankfully without a hint of recognition (at least that’s what I hoped), just that knowing look guys tend to give when they set eyes upon me for the first time: heavy with lust and wanting, hehe. I had to run the gauntlet of a dozen more men, ranging from teenagers just out of college to those nearing retirement and all seemingly raging with testosterone. A cosmopolitan bunch, they shared a collective one-track mind, mentally undressing me. “Cor, is that the new temp?” I heard one whisper.

“Phwoar, wouldn’t ya just!” mouthed another.

You should be so lucky, I thought, making a point of glancing teasingly over my shoulder and pouting, despite having clammy hands and a heavily pounding heart over my unforgivable act of petulance. “Okay, this is where you’ll be working Kate,” Jane announced, bringing me back to my senses “I’ll leave you in Kirsty’s capable hands.”

And capable hands they appeared too. In her late twenties / early thirties, I assessed, Kirsty Peters looked a real dish. With a brunette bob and a businesslike demeanour, she was my professional antithesis. Thank God the job only lasted a fortnight, I thought. Kirsty pulled up a seat and started showing me around the computer system. A whistle-stop tour with a few giggles along the way, I was ready to begin work by 11.30. With the fax machine located near my desk, it was funny how many faxes were sent over the next few hours. By lunchtime, it seemed that every guy on the floor had been over to check out the new temp.

A quiet and uneventful rest of morning, thank God, I was getting ready to go to lunch when the peace was shattered and all hell broke loose. Mercedes Man, it seemed, had discovered my artwork. He stormed down the aisle, cursing and raging and heading for one of the managerial offices. Even with the door shut, it was possible to hear his raised voice, and I felt my face redden. “It’s got a bloody great big scratch down the side,” I heard him whinge from behind closed doors.

Serves you right, I thought.

The office door opened and he was preceded by the guy who I remembered had been in the passenger seat. Of medium height and build, his head was shaved, a look that strangely I had to admit I quite liked. “That’s the boss, Mark,” disclosed Kirsty in a whisper, rising to join the Pied Piper-like exodus as everyone went off to witness my act of malice for themselves.

I let them get on with it, heading off instead to grab a sandwich and familiarise myself with the local surroundings. Having killed the mandatory half-hour, the afternoon turned out to be less apocalyptic than the morning, spent working solidly. Having quickly picked up what was required, I was able to shift quite a few piles of work. “Wow, I’m impressed, Kate,” Kirsty enthused.

I blushed and, at that moment, we were joined by someone else, heralded by a shadow. “Ah Mark, this is Kate, our new temp,” Kirsty introduced.

I stood up and turned to face him, holding out a hand in greeting. He took hold, shook it and smiled, issuing the obligatory welcome and a look I couldn’t quite fathom. Oh no, was it possible he recognised me as the girl from the bus stop? Had he perhaps put two and two together? “How are you feeling now, Kate?” he asked in a deep manful voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

And his smile, gosh, I almost had to fan my face. “…After your accident,” he clarified.

“Erm, fine thanks,” I replied, feeling my cheeks redden. “Sorry for getting in so late.”

“That’s okay. I’m quite impressed you came in at all.”

Wow, everyone seemed to be impressed with me so far, well everyone apart from Gary, though I imagined I’d gotten away with that. As Mark turned and walked away, saying to keep up the good work, Kirsty grinned toothily. “Well Kate, it looks like you’ve won the boss over already.”

I exhaled, relieved at the turn of events. On account of the late start, a late finish was assured so as to make up the time, or lose valuable pay. The office thinned gradually until the only sound came from my fingernails clicking the keyboard. At least, I imagined I was alone, until a hand rested upon my shoulder. “Kate, would you mind coming in for second?” sounded Mark’s voice from behind.

My heart turned a cartwheel as I followed dutifully and he gestured me to pull up a chair to the other side of the desk. After a few more pleasantries, out of the blue he asked: “Kate, erm, do you know anything about what happened to Gary’s car this morning?”

My jaw dropped and my heart with it. Such a shock to hear those unexpected words, the guilt must surely have registered clearly on my face. I could feel myself overheating, throat dry, unable to speak “Well, Kate?” he prompted calmly, retaining a benevolent expression.

I stared up at the ceiling, avoiding his steely gaze. How on earth could he possibly know? Oh God, I felt so awful, so guilty, tears beginning to well up. “Yes, I do,” I confessed miserably. “I did it.”

My candid admission seemed to take him as much by surprise as his question had me. He took a moment to process the information, staring into space, lips pursed thoughtfully. Then he looked over and straight into my eye. “Well, if nothing else I admire your honesty.”

I bowed my head, avoiding his piercing glare, his words blurred. “You were the girl at the bus stop,” he said, before adding: “Not of course that that makes it right.”

“No,” I managed, then from somewhere finding the inner strength to defend myself. “It was a horrible thing to do. I was drenched through.”

“Yes it was,” he concurred genuinely.

Gathering up mettle, I stood defiantly. “If you’re going to sack me, I’ll be off home and not have any more of my time wasted.”

As I headed for the door he said placidly: “Kate, no, wait.”

Our eyes met and he rubbed the little goatee on his chin. Moving back I sat down again, trembling. Mark exhaled hard, not quite sure of himself. “It’s, erm, it’s not as simple as that, I’m afraid, Kate. Gary wants to involve the police.”

The revelation knocked me for six and I erupted in tears, head buried in hands. Looking up eventually after a good long sob, I apologised. Mark vibrated his lips then forced a smile. “The thing is, I’m in a real dilemma,” he offered diplomatically. Whilst I can’t condone what you did, I can fully understand why you did it.”

I looked over appealingly, brandishing panda eyes as he continued. “Plus, your work today has been first class,” he added, as if trying to justify things to his sense of fairplay. “And you seem to have brightened up the office no end. And we’re really snowed under at the moment,” he added, trying not to grin at his own topical pun as I forced a smile. “Okay Kate,” he said eventually, leaning back in the chair, hands behind his head. “Tell me, what would you do if you were in my shoes?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Are you really going to involve the police?”

He let out a pained-sounding sigh. “Hmmm, I need to give it some thought. Go back to your desk and I’ll call you back in in a few moments.”

I thanked him for his magnanimous approach to the sorry situation, before pulling up sharply, a thought crossing my mind. “What made you suspect it was me?”

“CCTV,” he replied, his hand resting on a video cassette. “You were caught pretty much red-handed, I’m afraid.”

I smiled awkwardly before departing. Doubtless he was thinking what a brainless bimbo I was.

—

Mark says…

In actual fact I was thinking how much I’d like to bend young Kate over the desk, spank her solidly then take her roughly from behind whilst grabbing hold of her ponytail. Yet that didn’t help much. What a dilemma I was faced with! Never great at making big decisions, being put in charge of a twenty-strong team, that was somewhat worrying. The truth was, I’d been promoted beyond my capabilities as a result of two former superiors moving on to bigger and better things. Rather than bring in an outsider with the requisite experience, they’d installed me in a caretaker kind of role. Things had drifted on like that for six months now and, although far from ready, I was given the post on a permanent basis. Like a school uniform bought at the start of term, I knew I’d grow into it eventually, but for now it was just a little too big for me. And something like this hardly eased my way. “Oh Kate, Kate, Kate,” I sighed, busy fingers drumming the desk.

It didn’t help that she was the cutest girl I’d laid eyes on in months. Not that that should sway my judgement, right? At that moment, the phone rang, a welcome distraction. Or not as the case may be. It was Gary, and decision time. “Hi mate,” I said appeasingly. “Did you manage to get it repaired?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Got a fair deal too. Turns out that the bodyshop manager knows my old man. Not only that…” he continued, voice lowering as if about to disclose some top secret. “I think I might have pulled the receptionist.

“So all’s well that ends well?” I suggested, trying hard to justify to myself saving Kate’s pretty neck. Oh well, here goes, I thought, a white lie but a lie nonetheless. “Look Gary, I’ve been all through the CCTV footage and there’s nothing whatsoever on there,” I disclosed guiltily.

“Oh well,” he conceded. “Thanks for looking.”

“That’s okay,” I offered, making a black streamer out of the innards of the videotape.

Two minutes later I was standing behind Kate, dispensing the news. She could keep her job and Gary wouldn’t be taking things any further with the police. She breathed a sigh of relief and thanked me before diligently returning to her work. I could hardly believe she was still here. “Go on, you should get off home,” I suggested. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“But I’ve still forty minutes to make up,” she contested.

“Says who?” I replied, leaning over to sign her time sheet up to seven hours. “Go on,” I prompted, “You’ve put in good day’s work.