Zipping up and buckling his belt, Chad Brown scratched his balding bullet-shaped head, composing a directive in his mind as he turned to his computer to email the 223 people on the payroll of Brown Advertising International Ltd.
"Everything's shipshape," announced his personal assistant as she put away her comb and sprayed air-freshener before walking to her adjoining office. Chad grunted, "Nice one – thanks."
Usually memos from the executive floor are ignored but not this one. Coming from the boss it was widely read and generally summed as: Touch my daughter's panties and you'll mess with me, asshole.
Actually in its entirety it read:
'NOTICE: My daughter Adelaide starts here Monday as my personal assistant's PA. Although I seek no special favors for Adelaide, let me make this perfectly clear: Any guy or gay woman who so much as lays a finger on her gets his/her head re-arranged plus two broken femurs and tossed out the third-level windows for a minor offence or from the roof-top for a major offence. I am insured against claims by aggrieved relatives of the deceased. - C.M.J. Brown, chairman.'
Everyone knew what to expect from Adelaide whose full-length-plus photo opened as the door to Chad's office. She'd been directing across media campaigns for the 'Come to Britain campaigns for the national tourism council. The boss's daughter appeared to have the body of a Hollywood hooker, a smile as wide as Broadway and reputedly possesses the ball-breaking toughness of her father whose 'Brown Ads' was a trademark known and respected internationally.
Adelaide arrived late for work on Monday dressed down – sneakers, yellow jeans and a strapless top. Daddy sent her home to change into something more appropriate for the Chairman's PA's PA.
"Isn't she gorgeous," sighed the senior administrator.
"How could Bullet Head sire something as heavenly as that?" commented Eve the director of marketing.
Emails about what Adelaide had worn to the office and then being sent home to dress more appropriately flew around this office, making everyone smile: most daughters with a touch of minx love giving the impression they regard their father as an asshole.
The next global email was read with delight, rocking the building with laughter: Adelaide had returned to her father's department wearing a long black diamante gown and a tiara. No-one went near the chairman for the next hour; the exasperated thudding into his heavy wood desk of his bullet shaped head was enough to scare everyone to the restrooms.
Later that day two dandies from Creative – Timmy in lime green slacks, purple shirt, red tie and white and red diamond waist coat and Ralphie wearing a tightly belted ankle length white leather coat and apparently nothing else – were sitting on either side of Adelaide's desk and extracting bell-like peels of laughter from her while peering down the front of her dress when behind them came the sound of someone cracking his knuckles. Both dandies turned, had an instant facial color change and fled the building, reporting in sick.
"That kid should be banned from working here," said the art director; his assistant asked why. "Because someone will fuck with her and Bullet Head will kill him, that's why."
Little was seen of Adelaide. Her work confined her to her office, she ate lunch in her father's office whether he was in or out, and his chauffeur delivered her to the executive floor elevator and collected her each day. In effect she did not exist except for those working on the executive floor or migrating there on business or to be bawled out.
Because of this extraordinary coddling, Adelaide attained rare status in this building – office virgin. Most if not all personnel were having it off with a colleague or two or perhaps more. The practice was endemic, taking hold slowly on Mondays after the hard weekend and rising to a peak on Fridays; Friday afternoon was known as Bang Afternoon, with not much work being done. This climax at the end of the week meant even the chairman's PA didn't get any work done on Friday afternoon apart from clearing his desk and then returning everything to its proper place after they had finished.
Adelaide, alas, spent Bang Afternoon attending to her finger-nails.
Gradually Adelaide lost her glow. Executive floor women wondered if the bangs were also missing in Adelaide's outside life; everyone knows women need a bang or two a week to maintain that healthy appearance.
Then along came Samuel Butler – handsome, cool dresser with a short string of academic qualifications including an MBA. His position was newly created: Strategist. A strategist of what no-one was sure.
An email from the social club went to every female in the office – '$100 bucks will be paid to the first woman who bangs SamBut and finds out Strategist of what? – Mavis.'
An hour later females became upset when learning from an email leak that SamBut (as he became known behind his back) had been allocated Adelaide as his PA for two hours a day. The emails flew and the verdict was Adelaide would have an unfair advantage in banging SamBut. Volunteers were called to join Mavis in a deputation to complain to Chad; Mavis chickened out when no-one stepped forth to join her.
* * *
Sam noticed Adelaide the first time he stepped onto X-Floor which is short for executive floor, in fact remembering it well: the blood nose he received when walking into a pillar while attempting from the distance to ascertain the configuration of her upper torso (i.e., looking at her tits) had him being raced to the first-aid room; almost as bad, it was the end of his favorite Mr Cool shirt by Tommy.
A week would pass before he'd see Adelaide again because that day she left on a four-day executive training course held 200 miles away and conducted by the Union of Likeminded Churchwomen. The main item of study was 'The 100 Top Ways to Eradicate Office Promiscuity'. Due to that particularly intense study topic and no males being permitted at the live-in course, Adelaide returned home in tears, ending a depressing working week. She called four ex-favorites from college but each one of those guys confessed his wife wouldn't allow him to go out, at least not someone possessing Adelaide's attributes.
Depressed even deeper, Adelaide spent most of Saturday assisting her mom re-pot plants and cross-pollinating flowers with cotton buds and on Sunday she joined her father at his request to watch mindless (to Adelaide) car racing; she also were required to play poker with Chad.
Adelaide arrived at her desk on Monday thinking; perhaps she should resign and volunteer to wash dishes in a Convent. Her phone interrupted that line of thought.
"Hello my princess – come to my office now."
Adelaide found the dummy who had walked into a pillar on his first day at the office was also there. She gave him the once over, noticing immediately his body was A-type – A-type diminutive actually. His looks were good enough for a girl to take home for her mom to approve as a steady dater and he dressed much too good for this workplace so she gave him the Big Tick and smiled warmly, provoking him to scramble to his feet.
