Dr. Greg Clark sat at his desk, letting the individual in front of him respond to an interview question and willing himself to not yawn or blatantly check his watch. He was no fan of hiring people because of moments like this. The inevitability of turning away some qualified applicants along the way for things as simple as being as deadly boring as this guy or saying no to genuinely nice interesting people who did not quite have the necessary qualifications or skill set. Still, he was glad for the distraction.
It had been almost a month since the last time he and Mallory, his sexy, vexing teenage coed babysitter, had...well, fucked. He tried to label it something else, but no other label really stuck, really described what they had done. She had come in in that improbable kickball outfit with the half shirt, and short shorts, hair done up in pigtails. The outfit meant specifically to tease and titillate beyond all moral reasoning...and it had worked.
He had mauled her and allowed himself to be mauled. He had bent her over the couch, drove himself inside her doggy style, using her pigtails like handlebars at her suggestion and then covered her face with his wicked desire. Even when she pointed out to him how exposed they both were, how someone if they looked at the right time at the right angle could totally see them making a mockery of his wedding vows through the front bay window, he did not stop. In fact, he had to admit, it excited him even further causing his strokes to become harder, faster, and more erratic. In the moment he could not have been more satisfied with the experience.
In the moments that followed, however, the guilt crept in. The knowledge of how risky he had been and how little he had cared about that risk ate at him. He never imagined himself capable of cheating and certainly didn't think he'd be reckless when he did. Maybe, someday, at a business trip in a different state with a woman he didn't know who he gave a fake name to. Maybe... and it was a small maybe... maybe then. Not with his babysitter in his own home in a room that could possibly allow the neighbors to see him calling a teenager a slut and leaving bite marks on her shoulders. So he made a choice. He'd have to go cold turkey, get the drug that was Mallory's voracious sexual appetite, incredible body, and smutty mouth out of his system.
Work was the solution. So he dove into projects that he had viewed as long-term "eventually" goals while being sure to avoid all but the slightest of contact with Mallory and even then only when Gina was close by, if not literally in the same room. Without access, he reasoned, there would be not opportunity to fall off the wagon.
One of the maybe, someday projects was hiring an administrative assistant to check people in, schedule appointments, collect co-pays, and file insurance vouchers. He had figured for years that it was wish item but not one feasible due to economic commitments. However, in redoubling his work focus, he took a serious look at the money coming in, the expenses, and the customer base and realized that they were turning people away because of the amount of time he and his Physician's Assistant Pammy were spending doing things like filling out insurance paperwork. By giving that work to someone else and accepting more clients, they would actually make significantly more money they an assistant. Thus, after verifying that his PA was onboard, the doctor bought some ad space in a few papers and online and collected about 12 viable candidates and spread out the interviews over the course of 3 days. Here on day 3, Greg was awaiting the wrap-up of this interview before reaching his final candidate.
When this candidate, a Robert Greho finally stopped talking, Dr. Clark decided to forgo his last few questions and simply thank the man for his time and send him on his merry way. Once Greho left, Greg intercomed to Pammy, who was covering the waiting room, and told her to send in the final candidate in a minute or so. He then turned his chair around and pulled the candidate's resume off the stack of papers. He began to read it to himself to remind himself of the features. Good school, strong work history, interesting outside hobbies that suggested a well rounded person and thus the possibility of being to interact with people in a friendly, helpful manner. This Rachyl Limor had promise.
As Greg continued to review the resume, he heard the door open quietly and close with a click that sounded an awful lot like the lock being engaged. He did not pay the possibility much mind as he told the candidate to grab a seat without turning around or looking up from the paper. After a last second re-glancing, he turned wheeled his chair back around to start the interview.
"So..." he began before all sound was died in his throat.
Sitting across his desk was Mallory Rich, the babysitter. Her blond hair was impeccably wrapped into a bun on the top of her head, held together by two chopsticks. She wore a charcoal business suit that must have tailored to hug her body in the way it did. The hem on the skirt might appear conservative and appropriate from a distance, but any closer look quickly made it clear it was a bit higher than what was appropriate for interviews.
Underneath was a freshly starched white dress shirt that presented on first blush as a conservative. Again, though, a closer examination made the observer very aware that she had chosen to leave unbuttoned not one, not two, but rather four buttons on her shirt and had bra that pushed her small breasts to together and up to highlight them. The bra was red and rimmed with lace that could be just barely seen in the space where the shirt was left opened.
She had covered her legs in black tights that were in a tight fishnet pattern that, again, took a moment to notice. Additionally, the way she crossed her legs hinted that these were thigh high stockings, not standard issue interview wear. She pulled the outfit together with a pair of nearly four inch stiletto heels.
The total effect was an outfit that upon first glance looked to be acceptable interview wear but left Dr. Clark feeling vaguely, guiltily, aroused and compelled to look closer. As he did so, the tweaks became increasingly clear to him, leaving him feel even more drawn to stare and trapped in the room with this girl/woman who could not seem but help but unearth each of the dirty desires he had apparently been suppressing for years.
"This...isn't you!" he spat accusatorily at her while waving the resume. He was aware he was shouting and did not intend to, but felt powerless to stop.
"It's not?" she said coyly, snapping the resume out of his hands. She glanced over it for a moment and looked back up, a teasing smile crossing her lips, "Looks like you are right. Rachyl Limor seems to have quite the resume though. Too bad she couldn't make it, huh? What. Ever. Will. We. Do?"
"Look, this is not okay. I have to hire someone here and I don't have time to talk to 19 year olds who pretend to be people they are not for...I don't know...a little attention!"
"Well, maybe I wouldn't have to do this if a certain doctor was not avoiding me."
"I'm not avoiding you," he told her unconvincingly, "I've just been...very busy."
"Huh...busy? Just so suddenly?" she responded, a teasing lilting quality pulsing just underneath the words.
"...yes."
"I guess I'm finding it a little...HARD," she overemphasized the word and marked it with a not-so-subtle bite of her lip, "to believe that. You want to know what I think is happening?"
"Mallory, I really should get back to wor—"
"What work? There are no more candidates, you have no appointments the rest of the day. What have you got to do?"
Greg felt flush and rooted in his chair. He searched for his mind for some sort of excuse or explanation but it was like swimming through porridge. All his mind seemed to have the capacity for was mediating the warring factions of "Damn, look at those legs. Look at those perfect tits," and "You. Are. Married. You have a good wife and wonderful kids and a beautiful home. Don't throw it all away."
"I have..." he struggled with his words like he was straining to lift a heavy load, "...paperwork."
"Paperwork? That's the best you've got, Doc?" she needled him, adjusting the hem of her skirt just a bit higher without breaking eye contact.
