Thursday evening.
Corporate
Whore paced her hotel suite. Her hand
was powdered white and her pupils danced around in a manner which they were not
biologically intended to. Her heart
rate, if she could be bothered to check such a thing, was dangerously
high. If not for the euphoria dazzling
every circuit in her brain she might be uncontrollably homicidal.
Pink Slip
had not only failed to bring her Donald Jackson, but she hadn’t reported back
at all. She’d disappeared. Unprecedented! Unfathomable!
And lots of other exclamatory un-words her brain might be able to
produce were it not so amped up on Bonus.
The
weekend’s festivities were scheduled to begin in a few hours. Executive weekends often began on Thursdays
and ended late on Monday night. The
board would expect Donald Jackson. The Shareholders
too.
There was a
soft knock at the door.
Good. That would be room service with her
breakables. She’d ordered several
bottles of champagne and dozens of glasses.
If that did not sate her urges she would ask for plates.
