It seemed almost too good to be true, and Terry had to look twice to make sure; but, there, walking with his lead painter past his office door, was the new paint rep he'd heard about.
Brittany.
If his first impression was correct, she was everything he'd been told: pretty, petite, and blonde, with a body just made for the tight white jeans and knit shirt she wore today. Of course, he only got a glance at her as she passed his door, but he was pretty sure it was her. Excusing himself from the conversation he was in with two of his other workers, he headed for the paint shop. "Damn that Frank," he growled to himself. Was he trying to keep her all to himself? Who was in charge, here?
Entering the paint shop, he saw Frank returning to his desk, and the back door just swinging shut.
"Who was that, Frank? Where was she from?"
Frank looked over at him, giving him the usual baleful expression that he had become known for.
"What...originally?" he asked, then mumbled to himself. "I'm not sure," he said quietly. "Atlanta, maybe..." Frank was a man of few words, and half of those meant next to nothing, but he had an extremely dry sense of humor, and normally Terry would have found something funny in his offhand answer. Not right now, though. He noticed the new ballcap that Frank was wearing, and the folded t-shirt in his hand.
"Dammit, Frank! I meant, was she the new Glidden rep, or what?"
Without waiting for an answer, one that could take another minute to arrive, Terry burst on through the back door, and hollered at the head of blonde hair that was disappearing into the big Suburban.
"Hey! Just a minute!"
He saw her turn to him and she paused, midway through shutting the truck door. Her face, and it WAS cute, wore a puzzled expression, as if she wasn't really used to being accosted in this particular way. She waited to see if he was going to approach her, and as he did, she slid from the seat.
"Can I help you?" she asked, with a VERY southern accent, and Terry was already in love. Her blue eyes held his as he strode up to her, his hand outstretched.
Terry introduced himself as the maintenance supervisor, and told her he was in charge of all buying for the department. Not true, exactly, but close enough, and told with such conviction that the girl immediately warmed to him. "Salespeople! Gotta love 'em," he said to himself.
Especially this one, he decided, as she quickly attempted to sell him on the benefits of using their paint over their competitor's paint, all the while fixing him with her most provocative smile. Turning to retrieve brochures from the plastic file box on the seat, she gave him a chance to really look her over, unnoticed. He observed her trim waist and the way those jeans stretched across her ass, and the enticing way in which her arm pushed one breast against the side of the other as she reached. Her deep tan testified to hours spent at the beach, or in a tanning bed.
"And if you want," she was saying as she turned back to him, "we can look at your...usage of certain finishes. We have it all on computer." Her pause in mid-sentence told him she had noticed his appraisal of her body, and the fact that she continued on with her statement, almost non-stop, told him something else, as did her body language as she handed him the literature. She leaned toward him a bit more than necessary, he thought, and her eyes held his a little longer than recent acquaintances normally would.
Interesting.
She left shortly after, making him promise to call her if she could do anything for him, and he assured her that he would. As he walked back through the paint shop, Frank was watching him with an amused smile on his face.
"Get any business done, boss?" he asked quietly, and showed his cigarette-stained teeth in a lecherous smile. Terry answered him curtly.
"Nah," he said, slipping her business card into his shirt pocket. "Just checkin' out her ass."
* * *
He waited almost a week before calling her, and the first thing she said to him was, "Gee, I thought you'd forgotten me." It was delivered in an almost childish tone, with that southern accent spicing it up. He smiled to himself.
"Not likely," he said with a laugh.
He told her he had a problem that might involve some computer paint matching, and she volunteered to meet him at the paint shop door in an hour.
"No good. We go to lunch in half an hour. Why don't you meet me at the Roadhouse Grille out on 41 in the next hour? I'll spring for lunch, if you can make it." He smiled to himself as she readily agreed.
Wondering what she was wearing today occupied the better part of the next hour, and by the time she pulled into the parking lot, he'd been hard for 15 minutes, and was beginning to notice the aching in his cock. "S'bout time," he murmured, as he watched her exit the Suburban. He was not displeased by her appearance. Not at all.