Start snooping

I figure I have at least a half-hour to look for mischief in Victoria’s office while her meeting is going on.

I decide to make a detour to the men’s restroom first, both to use it, and to flush away the altered printout where she can’t accidentally find it. Her paper shredder is probably a smarter option, but I am just paranoid enough to feel superstitious about it. Whenever I can cover my tracks completely, I should.

No one else appears to be in the restroom so I enter the stall, shred the paper, piss on it, just because, and flush it away forever. A quick hand wash, and I head back to the office.

On the walk back, I see Rachel from accounting walking ahead of me in the same direction. She is shorter than me by a head, and has an average build. Average, other than the greatest tits god ever created. Today she has a red skirt and jacket that hides her assets more than I would have liked. She had just gotten married a week ago. All of the hair styling and makeup practice has upped her beauty game lately, a trend I don’t mind at all. Feeling irrepressible glee over having gotten away with something, I catch up and walk alongside her. With a smile and a bit of swagger I say, “And how is your afternoon going?” We walk for a few seconds before she looks up at me, apparently she hadn't realized that I had spoken to her.

After a hesitant pause, “Oh, good afternoon... Warren.” Her head was really in the clouds. Her expression was mixed, like putting on a smile when you actually feel distressed. I had a fleeting thought about stopping to ask if something was wrong, but, no, I only have fifteen minutes to conduct my snooping operation so I should not open the door to a long conversation. Keep it light.

“How is married life?”

Her smile became genuine. “Oh! it’s great!”

“You will have to show me wedding pictures during lunch. Victoria will be out so I can actually appreciate it today.”

That got a snicker out of her. Rachel was once on the receiving end of Victoria’s wrath. It left her petrified, quivering and holding back tears. She is such a naive girl, still in her early twenties. Facing Victoria's blast wave, I’m surprised she didn’t piss herself.

“Oh, the official wedding photos won’t be ready for at least a month,” she says with a apologetic raise of her eyebrows.

“Wow, that long?” The only photos I really want to see are of her wedding dress. I heard it was low-cut. “Darn. Keep me posted. Catch you later. ” I veer off to my destination.

When I reach Victoria’s office, I knock before entering, on the slightest chance that she had returned early.