Take this job and shove it.

You head down to your boss's hotel room. You have to give her credit for that much, at least -- she could have had a suite, but didn't want to waste company money. No matter-- you knock on her door. She opens it in a bathrobe, her hair down and tousled instead of in its usual severe bun. Looks like you got her out of bed. Bonus.

"Where have you been, Jane?" she demands. "I've been trying to get hold of you all day!"

You and every other woman in this hotel, you think, but there's no need to tell her that.

"I just came by to tell you I'm quitting," you tell her. "I hit the jackpot last night. Ten million dollars." You can't help but smirk a bit as you pass on that tidbit. She'll probably have to work 20 years to earn what you made in 20 seconds.

She stands there, flustered by your confidence, and, judging by the way her nipples are trying to poke their way through that bathrobe, more than a little turned on. Nevertheless she tries to rally. "But you'll have to pay like a third of that in taxes."

"Oh, no, I guess I'll just have to scrape by on six million dollars until I can find a new job. I figure I can manage it if I cut corners. Buy domestic champaigne instead of Dom Perignon--"

"Sparkling wine," she corrects. You roll your eyes. Oenophiles. Though for the first time in your life you're in a position to become a wine snob yourself, if you care to. You turn to leave, but she grabs your arm. You look back and see she's flushed and breathing heavily at the contact. You're a bit turned on yourself now that you have your special appreciation for attractive women, though you've got your pick of literally hundreds of beauties in this hotel alone, including the two waiting in your room.

"But what about the meeting with the Sonoda Group tomorrow?" She asks desperately. "I know you won't mind seeing me fall flat on my face, but if that deal falls though the company stands to lose millions."