Don’t risk her finding out you’re trying so hard. See instead if you can learn anything about what’s on 7.

Veep

Unable to play it cool but likewise unable to cool down after that show in the elevator, you’re determined. The women of Monarch Industries, usually a welcome bit of visual white noise, become a constant distraction. Jenna’s tits. You imagine what they’d look like on that skinny blonde from quality control, the one with the dimples. On Remington’s secretary, already the personification of the hourglass figure. Put Jenna next to that busty Latina data entry chick, strip their tops off and compare them. Why? Why did Jenna flash you in the first place? You’re way beyond why at this point.

Suddenly there’s Avery striding past, and suddenly all you can wonder is what she would look like in that skimpy little outfit.

What would she look like out of it?

With no help from the company directory and no desire to build a reputation as the consultant asking around after the babe who works under the CEO – maybe literally – it’s time to explore other avenues. If there’s anything that can hold your attention that isn’t round and jiggly, it’s your curiosity over the unusual layers of security imposed on the seventh floor. What is Monarch doing on 7?

Basic inquiry goes nowhere. The company’s only map you can find online is their site map. A walk up both stairwells reveals only that there’s no door between 6 and 8 on either of them. A fire code violation? Maybe, but even so, that’s not the sort of security you were hired to look into. You even double-check that there’s no secret entrance like in some mystery novel, but what would be the seventh floor landing is only so big, and it’s nothing but plain white cinder blocks. Dead end.

What then? Maybe it’s best if you just sit down, get some work done, and hope you run into Jenna again before your gig is over.

Your resolve is painful; the rest of the day passes with your balls growing bluer and bluer under the narrow desk in your assigned workspace. With an hour to go in the day, you abandon your analyses and start sketching out a plan. You’re going to find out where Jenna went. Simple as that. Heaven help Monarch if they think they can hide her.

“Mind hitting the code for 7 for me? Hands are full – thought I’d bring in donuts today for my buddy’s birthday. Surprise him.”

The donut gambit. In the end, yesteryday’s master plan was a contrived series of long shots. In the light of day, the tried and true is the obvious choice. After all, it worked far more often than it had a right to. Your last job, it had gotten you in the building, past security, and thanks to an access code some fat lady had left exposed in her cubicle while stuffing her face, into the server room alone and unmonitored. Donuts could work miracles.

So after a long night of frenzied masturbation the likes of which you haven’t indulged in since high school, you arrive at Monarch with four huge boxes of bakery fresh donuts, along with a smattering of croissants, bagels and danish. Even so, today you even show up early enough to get a space. Take that, Brooklyn! Once in the building it becomes a waiting game, monitoring the lot to watch for the arrival of someone from upper management, timing your trip to the elevator to coincide with theirs. Normally, this maneuver tests whether the rank and file are overly inclined to be polite to someone making an ostensibly friendly gesture. Today, you’re attempting an infiltration of what seems to be Monarch’s most secure area on site, and hoping to do so with the help of their top people.

It’s not your best idea, but it’s better than going door to door asking if anybody knows the huge secret on 7.

The woman you follow into the elevator is Amy Marchiano, junior vice president of marketing. You’ve met with her twice during your audit, though both times so briefly you’d be stunned if she remembered you. One thing’s for sure, she’s on brand for Monarch. Memorably beautiful with Asian accents, smartly dressed in a sleeveless but austere gray wool top complementing her large-framed black glasses, slender but not without femininity in the lines of her. Her hair is a tad disheveled this morning, though whether it was from rising early to work from home or hitting the gym on her way in was anyone’s guess. She smelled nice, too. (Or maybe it was the donuts.) She was young for her post, definitely emphasizing the junior in junior VP.

“Say, got my hands full – bringing in a little morale boost for the troops. Mind entering the code for 7 for me?”

“How sweet! Here, let me take those so you can enter your code,” the woman offers, tapping her smart watch to close down whatever app she’d been using and extending her arms to make good on her offer.

“No, it’s all right – this stuff’s heavier than it looks. I almost dropped it just lugging it in here.”

“I believe it, but I’m afraid I can’t give access to someone I don’t know,” she says, sounding genuinely sorry. “Maybe just set it down? The floor looks like it’s dry, so it shouldn’t hurt anything inside.”

Crud. The security protocols were working. Although reading between the lines, Ms. Marchiano seems to at least be acknowledging that she could go to 7 if she wanted. Not much to go on, though.

You could concede you got caught, try to pass it off as a security inspection. Which it very nearly is, although nothing in your meetings with Aubrey Merriman covered it explicitly, and she was explicit that she was being explicit in her expectations. Still, better to play it off. The only alternative is to stall for time, wait until it’s too late to get off on 7 and act like you goofed and are heading back down on your own. Except then you realize she’s been holding the elevator for you, her arm concealed from you behind your mountain of donut boxes.

“You can hit your floor, Ms. Marchiano,” you open. Why does it feel so awkward, suddenly, now that for once you’re not using the donut gambit the way you’re meant to? She presses her button and the elevator begins moving while you continue. “You may not remember me, but we met a couple times. I’m the IT security consultant Ms. Merriman hired. And you, clever lady, have just successfully passed a test of protocols, so congratulations!”

Her eyes narrow, several possibilities looming behind plump pink lips. She quickly settles for bemusement, however. “That’s right, I do remember you. Wilcox?”

“Will Saxon, actually, though I think you got most of the letters right.”

She laughs. “Right, Will, sorry. I won’t forget again. And call me Amy, please. So, what, you buy out some bakery and see if someone’s stupid enough to let a stranger into a secure area?”

“More or less, yeah.”

“Does that ever work?”

“You’d be surprised how often.”

“You try it on anyone else here yet?”

You shake your head. “Monarch batting a thousand, thanks to you. So far.”

“I’ll have to put that on my vitae, daunted the deceptive donut dude.’ OK, that sounded worse than it should have. I’m taking this online creative writing thing, and we’re working on… you know, never mind. Security I can handle; verbal banter, evidently I’m a lost cause.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You make a show of slowly raising the stack of donuts boxes to obscure your face, and she laughs and thwaps you on the arm playfully. It may only be thanks to Jenna and her big bared tits that you’re not being overwhelmed by this sweet, sexy vision with her big dark eyes. One more reason to track Jenna down. Keep you focused in this den of temptation.

“You know, as a courtesy, you may want to chase another target. Besides 7, I mean. Getting in the front door is one thing, but… Mr. King takes security on the laboratory pretty seriously. He gets wind that you’re sniffing around there, and…” She shakes her head. “Anyway, just be careful is all.”

Lab? What kind of lab? You read up on Monarch for your gig here, and to the best of your knowledge, Monarch’s major projects are in software. 1’s and 0’s, not the physical sciences. They made a name for themselves designing digital automation, a competitor to Alexa and Siri, and now are at the forefront of smarthome systems. Did that require a secret laboratory?

“Thanks, Amy, I appreciate the warning. Though that means I have about a hundred thousand calories of pastries for nothing now.”

“Hey, if you’re looking to unload those puppies, you can take them by marketing with me, make me a hero to my peeps.” She pats your arm. “I’m only joking, of course. You do what you like. Just don’t get haul it back to your desk and get diabetes or anything.” Her hand lingers for a few more pats, then retreats.

“They assured me I was expendable.”

“Come on, we don’t like to throw out our consultants until we’re done using them in our sadistic experiments.”

“Amy Marchiano, do your worst.”

An hour later, the two of you are laughing at a joke you forgot the moment you told it as you make your way out of the marketing offices and back toward the elevator. The donuts were a hit – they’re fresh bakery donuts, after all – and you and Amy amused yourselves going door to door with deliveries. She introduced you around, and then the two of you enjoyed a couple yourselves in their lounge. The whole feast ran you $110 even, including the tip, and every cent worth it to get to watch Amy’s eyes squeeze shut in delight as her glossy pink lips slurp the sticky bits of sugar off her fingers one by one by one.

“Gonna need to hit the gym hard tonight after that,” you say with the obligatory guilt for enjoying eating like a pig in front of a beautiful woman. Never mind that she did the same.

“Come on, ride that donut pony,” she replies. “Do like I do, and just will your body to put all the calories in the right spots. Power of positive thinking, you know?”

“Well it’s doing a heck of a job.” You wince. You’d meant it only to say she kept in shape, but somehow, when the words come out they sound more suggestive than that.

“Hey, back at ya.” She ripples a few of her fingers against your stomach. Amy definitely has some boundary issues, but you sure as hell aren’t going to HR over it.

The elevator arrives. You hit the button for your respective floors; neither of you comment that you’re headed opposite directions and really ought to be riding separately. It heads for the executive’s floor first, Amy’s stop.

“Now, please don’t answer anything that I’m not supposed to know, but… between you and me, what do they even do on 7? What kinds of things are being cooked up in the lab? And again, if it’s not my business–”

“Oh, nothing interesting. Honestly, I barely know. King tells me when something’s done and we need branding for it and usually next to nothing before. Last big innovation was an alarm clock of all things. Heck of a thing, trying to sell alarm clocks in the twenty-first century.”

“Yeah, no joke. Seems… retro.”

“Yep. It’s really a neat little thing, processor learns how best to wake you up and all. Kinda cool, but it’s selling like broccoli in a candy store.” She taps her lip. “Hey, that simile’s not terrible.”

You’re nearing her floor. The two of you have rapport by now. Talked about her writing class, showed her a few pics of Mo. She got a kick out of the name. The handsiness, too, and even if it’s mostly casual pats on the arm or swiping crumbs off your shirt, it’s more touching than you’ve gotten from a woman since… well.

“Say, maybe this is a stupid question, but… do you know a woman named Jenna? I think she works for Ms. Merriman and Mr. King? Average height, bobbed hair, red glasses?”

Amy taps her lower lip pensively. The lip, in response, gleams kissably, patiently. “You know, I think so? Quirky fashion sense, sort of intense way about her?”

“Yes. That’s her all right. You know her?”

“I know of her, yeah.” Her eyes widen in comprehension. “Oh my god, is that why you were so interested in 7?”

“No! No, no no no, not at all, no,” you clarify smoothly. Maybe you should have said no one more time, to be clear. “We sort of bumped into one another yesterday, and we were right in the middle of something when she had to run. Just wanted to see if I couldn’t follow up.”

Amy nods, a sparkle in her eyes. “Right. Unfortunately, Will, I don’t have any way of getting in touch with her. My understanding is she’s part of this big project they’re cranking out on 7. Only been with us a short while, and I don’t have any contact with her team. They take the NDA’s really seriously down there, so fraternization is a big no.”

“Oh. Yeah, I get that.” Damnit! What do you have to do, wait in the parking lot and ambush her on her way out of the building? “Ah, well. Thanks anyway, Amy.”

The elevator slows to a halt and the door swings open on Amy’s floor. She steps out, but leaves one black shoe in the path of the door to hold it in place. “You really like her, huh?”

“I don’t really know if I like her.” You definitely like her body, and let’s face it, there would have to be some serious personality flaws to dissuade you from at least trying to nail her.

She nods. “Wouldn’t have thought she’s your type.”

You lean forward just enough that she can’t miss it. “I like a variety of types.”

There’s no missing the pleased twist at the corners of her lips. “I tell you what. Since you’re a consultant, you won’t be in the corporate directory. Why don’t you give me your number, and if I hear anything, I can pass it on. Least you deserve for breakfast, right?” She holds out her phone, inviting you to enter yourself as a contact.

If the gate between you and Jenna can be opened by donuts, you’re going to get a second job at Dunkin’s. “You’re sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“If you start to bother me, I’ll let you know.” She shoves the phone into your hands.

You type in your name and number, double check, and hand it back. “Thanks, Amy. Thanks again, that is.” She gives you a brief smile, a nod, and lets the elevator door slide shut.

You’re most of the way back to your floor when your phone buzzes. It’s an unknown number, but an obvious one. You’re lucky I like donuts, Will.

Any time, more where that came from, you answer, quickly adding her number to your own contacts.

Keep that up and you’re going to make me forget to connect you with Jenna, she writes back a moment later.

All right, that was flirty. The rest of it, that could have been a woman who’s simply predisposed to be friendly. Leaving a door open. That text was definitely flirting, though. You’re planning out a clever reply when she writes again. Anyway, time to get some work done. Don’t be a stranger.

Unless you do strangeness good. ;)

While you’re still processing that, another message follows. It’s an attachment, a video of Amy Marchiano at her desk giving a wink that can only be described as sultry, followed a moment later by a kiss blown to the camera across her free hand. On your third viewing, you at last notice that you can clearly see her nipples through her top.

What the hell is going on at Monarch Industries? Did you step in a puddle of pheromones or something? You’re a handsome enough guy, had good rapport with Amy this morning, but for crying out loud! Are you losing your mind or something?

Lunch time comes and goes. Keeping up with Amy in her impressively wolfish hunger over breakfast keeps you from eating half your tuna fish sandwich. It’s not great, but it’s not egg salad.

You’re on your way back to your cubicle when your phone rings. It’s Aubrey Merriman calling. Two contacts from the CEO’s office in two days? Maybe the hotties of Monarch Industries aren’t the only ones you’re making an impression on, you think slyly to yourself as you answer.

“Saxon.”

“Mr. Saxon, this is Aubrey Merriman. I understand you’ve been espousing an interest in… well, look. We need to talk. Come to my office at your earliest convenience.”

“I–”

The line goes dead.

Decision time! Voting takes place for patrons $10+ at https://www.patreon.com/icebear. Results will continue to be posted here for free, though, so no pressure. Artwork for Amy illustrated by Karl “Souracid” Liversidge.

Your choices:

• Explain to Aubrey that you and Jenna seemed to hit it off. Snooping on 7 was only to contact her. Honesty is the best policy.
• Play dumb. If she’s worried about 7, you were only doing your job. If she’s worried about your interest in Jenna, you have none.
• Contact Amy first, see if she snitched on you or what.
• Blow her off. She’s only an executive assistant, after all, not the executive. Surely King has better stuff to do than nag his contractors over non-events.