Amy can help him with what's happened at bio-DNA since he left

Rick was surprised nobody from his team had called since he'd been fired. Still, he'd been close to Amy, his secretary... and he'd fantasized getting a lot closer. He wondered if they'd replaced him or were conducting some kind of search right now. With the special grapevine that seemed to exist between administrative assistants, she was his most likely source for gossip on office politics, who was screwing whom (both literally and figuratively) and who was likely to replace him.

Her phone rang four times and he was sure she wasn't going to answer but she picked up with a whisper. "I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"How about I buy you a cup of coffee. Just a couple friends who happen to run into each other."

"Fine. There's a Starbucks on Pioneer. Meet me there in an hour."

That all sounded very hush-hush. He felt almost like James Bond as he headed down 75 to 635 East toward Mesquite where Amy lived.

She was already there when he arrived, wearing a cowboy shirt tied at the waist, a pair of jeans with tears all up and down the thighs, and a Texas Rangers ballcap pulled down over her long dark hair.

"I'm buying," he said, hoping that his credit card wouldn't crash the Starbucks system. What are you having?"

He ordered her the fancy sweet coffee she asked for then sat next to her. "Okay, spill."

"What happened to you. You've lost weight, put on muscle. You look great."

"Thanks. Being laid off has given me the time to work out properly." He certainly wasn't going to admit the truth to her. Amy might be his friend but the culture at bio-DNA was all about rewarding the screwing of fellow employees.

"I never heard of anyone getting such quick results."

"Guess I wasn't as out of shape as I looked. So, what's new at the company. Any rumors on who's going to replace me?"

"Oh, that was announced about five minutes after security cleared out your desk. It's Misty Storm."

"The intern?" That made no sense.

"Yeah, except now she's Marketing Manager. Rumor is she's working for half what they paid you and, get this, she's already come up with a complete marketing scheme for the next phase of bio-DNA."

As Amy described Misty's so-called idea, Rick steamed. Everything she had suggested came directly from that last e-mail he'd sent.

"She went to Baylor," Amy reminded him.

"Ah, right." His ex-boss, Dan Hughes, was always bragging on his college days at Baylor, the fraternity parties, the fact that Baylor girls are the prettiest and fastest to put out. And, of course, their athletic teams. Not that Dan had played athletics. Still, he'd filled his office with momentums of Baylor's many athletic wins and basked in reflected glory. Of course he would have replaced Rick with some Baylor bimbo.

"Any rumors on shakeups in mahogany row?"

"Just the usual. There is talk they'll 'promote'--" she made the little finger quote marks around the word 'promote' Dr. Palmer to Chief Scientist and move Hughes into the CEO post."

Palmer was the genius behind bio-DNA's development but the corporate guys had always resented his attempts to actually run the company he'd founded. He'd fought the positioning of bio-DNA as a ultra-luxury million dollar enhancement product rather than as something to help humanity step to the next level of post-humans, earning him a lot of anger from the other executives who saw a chance to become billionaires by controlling the supply of the most valuable drug in human history. Now that they had the finished product, Palmer could become a figurehead, given a lab to putter around in, and basically pushed out of the way of the executives who wanted ever-more money and power.

If Rick couldn't figure out a way to use that info, he might as well retire.

"Is there anything else? Misty held an all-staff meeting and told us she'd fire anyone she caught talking to you. I need my job."

Rick had needed his job, too.

"Just one more thing," he said. "Can you take off your shoes?"

"Huh?"

"I've got a new job as a masseur. I need to practice."

"You want to practice on me?"

"Just your feet," he lied. He actually wanted to strip Amy down right here in the Starbucks, spread her butt-cheeks and fuck her ass. But he was willing to take it slow and he figured nobody would see any harm in a foot massage."

"Fine. My feet have been hurting."