High Flyer

Chapter One When I first saw my temporary secretary it never occurred to me to flirt with him. Even in 1990, when suing for sexual harassment was still considered to be primarily an American activity, an office flirtation would have been considered unwise for a high flyer, and besides, this particular male hardly struck me as being irresistible. He had curly hair, chocolate-coloured eyes and a chunky, cherubic look. My taste in men has never encompassed overgrown choirboys. Walking into my office I found him stooped over my computer, and since I was not expecting a male secretary I assumed he was someone from the maintenance department. I did notice that he was dressed as an office drone in a grey suit, drab tie and white shirt, but maintenance men often resembled office drones these days; it was a side-effect of the technological revolution. Abruptly I demanded: "What's the problem?" and added for good measure: "Who the hell are you?" I always feel irritable on Monday mornings. He glanced up, decided I was just another dumb blonde hired to massage a keyboard and made the big mistake of adopting a patronising manner. "Relax, sweet pea," he said casually, "I'm the temp from PersonPower International! I've been assigned for two weeks to Mr. Carter Graham." I dropped my bag on the visitor's chair, folded my arms across my chest and dug my high heels into the carpet. Then I said in a voice designed to bend nails: "I'm Carter Graham." The man jumped as if stung by a bee, and as his head jerked up I realised that his square jaw was incompatible with the choirboy image. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said at once. "I must have misunderstood the lady in personnel who directed me here." "The lady in personnel must be suffering from amnesia. She knows I only work with female temps." "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am, but let me reassure you by saying -- " "You're gay." "No, but I can do everything women and gays can do with computers, and I've even taken a course in DTP." I saw no reason to put up a front by pretending to know what this latest technological time-waster was. "DTP?" "Desk-Top Publishing, ma'am." "I don't approve of dubious activities taking place on a desk-top. Are you seriously -- seriously -- trying to tell me that PersonPower International have had the nerve to send a heterosexual white Anglo-Saxon male to work in my office?" "Maybe they see it as their contribution to multiculturalism, ma'am." Worried about my ability to keep a straight face I turned aside, tramped to the window and stared at the crowded street four floors below. Only after I had carefully counted to ten did I swing back to face him and say: "All right, so be it. Welcome to Curtis, Towers." "Thank you, ma'am." "But now you listen to me, and you listen well. This is a first-names office but you and I are going to use surnames for the duration of your time here. I'm not having all those hormones and pheromones stimulated by any pseuds'-corner office intimacy." "In that case would you care to be addressed as Miss Graham, Mrs. Graham or Ms. Graham?" "Well, I certainly didn't go through a wedding ceremony only to be called 'Miss' at the end of it, and I'm not Mrs. Graham, I'm Mrs. Betz. But my marital status is hardly your concern." "Right, Ms. Graham." "And your name is -- " "Eric Tucker." "Okay, Tucker, get me unsugared coffee, black as pitch and strong enough to make an elephant levitate. Then we'll start to flay the fax till it screams for mercy." He never asked where the coffee machine was or where he could make coffee or whether he would be ableHowatch, Susan is the author of 'High Flyer' with ISBN 9780375410574 and ISBN 0375410570.