Fits Like a Glove Read online

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  Red Rose Publishing

  www.redrosepublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Carolyn Greggg

  First published in 2008-04-24, 2008

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Pitch

  Prude

  Pique

  Parade

  Photo

  Payment

  Prod

  Proximity

  Pride

  Pinnacle

  Prick

  Possibility

  Plan

  Pleasure

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  Fits Like a Glove

  by

  Carolyn Gregg

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Fits Like a Glove by Carolyn Gregg

  Red Rose Publishing

  Copyright© 2007 Carolyn Gregg

  ISBN: 978-1-60435-124-8

  ISBN: 1-60435-124-1

  Cover Artist: Shirley Burnett

  Editor: Lea Schizas

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

  Red Rose Publishing

  www.redrosepublishing.com

  Forestport, NY 13338

  Fits Like a Glove

  by

  Carolyn Gregg

  Pitch

  Daddy's dead. Long live Skye Blue.

  Charlotte had to admit, the view from her father's office was spectacular. She'd always envied him for it. The city's skyline was a giant panorama so perfectly stretched out in front of her, it almost appeared to be a painted backdrop. At least, if it weren't for the pigeons and the occasional helicopter going by, it would seem that way.

  She still wore her navy blue dress she'd worn to the interment. Daddy's ashes were now in a mausoleum, complete with marble casings and a burnished brass plaque that matched the one her mother had in the compartment next to him.

  For the past three months Henry Skye had fervently denied he was dying from lung cancer. Him and his company. “Chin up! Straight ahead! Damn the torpedoes!” were his battle cries. And for nearly thirty-nine years, the motto had done him well.

  "Well, Daddy, the torpedoes have sunk the ship,” Charlotte whispered out into the gathering darkness. “I'm now in charge of a company that's going down fast and taking the new Captain with it. And I'm the new Captain. Oh, Daddy..."

  She dragged her hand through thick, chestnut hair in a gesture of irritation. Since she was a child, whenever she felt at odds or confused, she would gather up the long strands in both hands and almost rip her hair out by the roots. Of course, she never did, but somehow the pull and pain on her scalp was almost a catharsis, enabling her to clear her mind so she could approach the problem from another angle.

  That was her gift, per se. The ability to think “outside the box". At first her professors at college had been appalled at some of her concepts in marketing and advertising. Then they had been intrigued. The year she graduated, Newsweek had called her one of the top fifty Up and Comers for the year, which was all fine and good in Charlotte's book, with one exception.

  She had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. Yeah, the idea of working for Daddy's company had been more than tempting, but as long as Henry Skye was in charge, any idea or pet project she brought to him was taken off the table quicker than she could wipe the polish from her nails. The man was more than obstinate about keeping the status quo. He was a freaking concrete wall.

  Thus the business had suffered, as well as the man's health, until Old Man Skye had succumbed first. Unfortunately, the company wasn't too far behind.

  Which was why Charlotte was suddenly thrust into the position of President and CEO of a business that needed new direction and new marketing strategies ASAP. In fact, it had needed them half a dozen years ago when sales began to slump. That had been one funky shareholders meeting she'd attended where Old Man Skye had had to explain why, with the rising presence of AIDS and other nasty sexual diseases, sales of Skye Blue Condoms were taking a nose dive.

  "Miss Skye?"

  Charlotte jerked, startled by the sudden interruption to her train of thought. Turning around, she spotted Pamela Thomas, Henry Skye's secretary for the past two dozen years, standing in the doorway.

  "The board members are gathered and waiting for you."

  "Thanks, Pam. Be right there."

  She took another look outside at the magnificent view before turning to follow the woman out of the office. Although her father had a lot of bad habits, there was one thing she'd inherited from him that she planned to put to the test in the next few minutes.

  She could sweet talk anyone into doing just about anything. Okay, granted she had a different approach than her father. But in the long run, the results were what mattered.

  The boardroom was packed to capacity. Every supervisor, director, and manager for the company was waiting in fear for her entrance. They knew something was up. Something major. But they wouldn't go down without a good fight. Well, let them try to buck me, Charlotte smiled to herself. The news she planned to hit them with was probably the last thing they expected to hear.

  As she entered the huge conference room, she immediately felt like the ten-year-old child suddenly pushed to the front of the stage with the spotlight shining directly into her eyes. Charlotte mentally winced but stood her ground. This was her company now. Her baby. And all these people were her employees. With a little luck and the old Skye “chuzpah", this meeting could end on an upswing. Charlotte grinned. Or, considering their product, with one fantastic hard-on.

  "Ladies. Gentlemen. Thank you for coming here on such short notice,” she began.

  Immediately, Bruce Belling, Vice President and Vice Chairman, snorted in contempt. “Christ, Charlotte. It's nearly eight p.m.! It's been a helluva day, what with Henry's interment and all. What's so damn important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?"

  Daddy had always told her that the best defense was a better offense. Thank God back at the university Professor Davies in marketing had drilled into her how to bull her way through a sales pitch. Charlotte could push against the best of them.

  Slamming her hands onto the polished top of the mahogany table, she bent over and practically shoved her nose close enough to rub his. “Skye Blue is flushing down the pipes this very minute, Bruce, and you fucking well know that! The longer we sit on our hands and scratch our asses, the less chance we have of bringing this company out of the doldrums and back into the profit category! You wanna wait until tomorrow morning? Fine! While you're at it, pack up your stuff on your way out."

  Belling's immediate response was exactly as she'd hoped. “Are you firing me, Charlotte? Nice try, but you can't do that."

  "No, Bruce. I'd rather not. You see, I'm giving you the chance to help me drag this business out of the red. It's been languishing too damn long as it is, and Daddy's procrastination did more harm to it than any of you are willing to admit, although you kn
ow I'm right. Right? You know that. I know that. Hell, we all know that!"

  Throwing a glance around the ring of paled faces, she straightened up. “The longer we sit and twiddle our thumbs, the worse our situation gets. You want to wait until morning to think about doing something? Well, screw you! Get up and leave, but remember to leave a current address at Pam's desk so she'll know where to send you your final paycheck. In the meantime, the rest of us better grab a cup of coffee because I plan on keeping every single one of you here until we can come up with at least three new ideas to begin implementing tomorrow morning."

  She paused long enough for the import to sink in. She knew they had been expecting to hear they were getting their pink slips. The last thing they expected was to be told that if they abandoned her now, they were going to be fired. Jump ship now, and don't ever think about coming back. But if they chose to stay, to stick with her and give it their all, then the chances were almost in their favor that Skye Blue would survive.

  As the realization that they had kept their jobs became clear to the board members, Charlotte walked over to her laptop she'd had Pam set up, lifted the lid, and swiped the touch screen to bring the presentation up on the white rear wall specifically made to reflect like a monitor. Ever since that day in September when Daddy had pooh-poohed her suggestion to help revitalize sales, Charlotte had done her damndest to come up with a few viable and lucrative marketing strategies of her own. They had to be sure-fire sellers. Or at least unique enough ideas that they would put some money back into the company's coffers until that Best Seller could be found.

  With a nod to her secretary, Charlotte waited for the woman to lower the lights, enough to where everyone could see what she was about to propose. It was time for her to do what she did best—pitch a spiel.

  By the time she was finished, there wasn't an objecting hand raised from the bunch.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Prude

  Ramona can rot in hell.

  Guy reached into his pocket and pulled out two quarters, two dimes, and three pennies. The sum total of cash he had to his name because Ramona had cleaned out the checking and savings accounts. She had also maxed out the credit cards in the worst possible way—cash withdrawals, which the courts declared Guy had to pay back at the ball-breaking interest rate of thirty-two percent.

  He quickly amended his previous thought. First, Ramona had to be torn to shreds by a mob of Romero zombies, and then she could slowly rot in hell. Very slowly, while she was still cognizant enough to realize what was happening to her.

  "Nah. Still too gentle,” Guy muttered. “Keep an open mind, old man. There's bound to be a better idea out there."

  Eighty-three fucking cents. What in hell was he going to eat between now and his next paycheck? He couldn't even buy a loaf of bread or a package of bologna for that amount. Or a soft drink.

  Straight pins in the eyeballs, then toss her to the mob of zombies. Ramona, I hope you fry.

  At least he had enough money to make a quick phone call to Vic's. His best friend had been a lifesaver ever since Ramona had kicked him out. Whenever Guy found himself down to his last—he glanced down again at the coins in his palm—eighty-three cents, Vic always came through with another loan to get Guy by until his next payday.

  A choked laugh rattled in his throat. Payday. What a joke. Why don't the courts call it what it really was? Pay up.

  Vic answered on the second ring. “Yeah?"

  "Hey, buddy. It's your favorite pain in the ass again."

  "Where are you?"

  "Corner of Wattland."

  "Oh, yeah, that's right. Court day. Well, did the judge at least leave you your dignity?"

  Guy grinned in spite of himself. “That and eighty-three cents. I don't suppose you could come get me?"

  "Give me about half an hour and I'll be on my way. Have you had anything to eat?"

  "I had a cup of coffee for breakfast, but that's been it."

  "Don't you get paid the fifteenth?"

  "Yeah. Next Tuesday. Appreciate it, Vic. Really do."

  "I told you. Not a problem. Be there in a jiffy. Just hold on."

  "I'll be here,” Guy promised before hanging up. A little less than forty minutes later Vic's blue sports car pulled up next to the bus stop bench where Guy was waiting. Once he slipped into the low-slung vehicle, Vic pulled away from the curb.

  "I'm going to need to get a second job,” Guy growled as soon as they were in the middle of traffic.

  Vic chanced a glance at him. “That bad, huh?"

  "Her lawyer convinced the judge that she wouldn't be able to get any kind of decent paying job until she finished her degree. So the judge stuck me with the maximum alimony support.” He growled softly, then added, “They're garnishing almost thirty percent of my wages."

  "Je-sus!” Vic swore loudly. “That bitch! How in the hell do they expect you to live on seventy percent? Wait ... how long are you going to have to do that?"

  "Until she gets her degree,” Guy explained. “The judge told her the day she got her paper, the temporary support would drop to eighteen percent, unless she remarried. At that point, I would no longer have to pay her anything.” He sighed heavily. “I can only pray some prick hurries up and makes the same mistake I made, and drags her in front of a JP."

  "Hey. At least it's over,” Vic reminded him.

  "Yeah. I don't have to see her sorry face again. But tomorrow morning, I'm going to have to start hunting for a second job, or at least a part-time one where I can make enough money to cover the utilities.” Catching a movement from the corner of his eye, Guy turned his head to look at his friend. “What? Were you going to say something?"

  Vic motioned with a nod of his head toward the bar and grill looming in the distance. “What say we celebrate your new freedom over a couple of beers?"

  "Vic, I've hit you up too many times these past couple of weeks,” Guy began to protest, but was quickly shushed up.

  "My idea, my dime. Let's go tie one on."

  For the next couple of hours the two buddies reminisced over shared high school and college memories. They gorged on greasy cheeseburgers, onion rings, steak fries, and domestic beer. Soon Guy was able to get the royal screwing he'd received temporarily out of his mind. Too bad he couldn't say the same for his more immediate problem.

  Vic noticed his sudden morose mood and backhanded him across one shoulder. “Tomorrow's a new day, buddy. Lighten up."

  "Oh, easy for you to say. You have an apartment and enough money coming in to pay your bills, and then some,” Guy snapped back. “I lost my apartment. And now I can't even scrape enough together to get my own place, much less worry about electricity and a phone."

  Vic stared at him for several long moments, as if studying him. Finally, he took a deep draw on his beer, belched, and leaned over the narrow table toward him. “Listen. I found out about this just today. I think it may be the answer to your money woes, old friend."

  One eyebrow went up. One thing Guy had never had to worry about was Vic doing something illegal. Stupid, yes. But dangerous or illegal, never.

  "Okay. Give."

  "You're not a prude, are you, bud?"

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "I mean, if someone gave you good money, and I mean good money, to take your pants off—"

  "Fuck, Vic! What kind of shit are you—!"

  "Shhhh! Shh, shh, shh!” Vic quickly motioned at his friend to keep his voice down. “Hey, now, it's not what you think! Hey! It's me! Victor Ray Challus! I was fullback; you were defensive end. I aced literature; you aced advanced algebra. Together we were a team!"

  "Then explain what you meant by that ‘take your pants off’ remark!” Guy demanded in a tight whisper.

  "Ever hear of Skye Blue Condoms?"

  The second eyebrow went up. “Yeah. So?"

  "They're looking for real models. Real test models,” Vic grinned.

  "You mean ... to test condoms? Are you for fuckin
g real?"

  Guy watched his friend cackle, like it was a great joke. “It's not what you're thinking, Guy. Listen. There's some new lines of condoms they're planning on coming out with. But instead of using the conventional dildoes and such to test their product, they're wanting real live test subjects to try them on, see how they fit, report if they scratch or whatever. They're advertising for twelve men with all shapes and sizes of schlongs."

  "And you're mentioning this to me because...?"

  "Because it's only for three hours of work a night. Furthermore, rumor says they're paying two hundred bucks an hour."

  "Shit city!"

  "I'm not shitting you!” Vic assured him. “This is one hundred percent legit!"

  Guy stopped just short of celebrating to sober up for a moment. What was the old adage about “if it sounds too good to be true"?

  "Tell me again how did you find out about this offer?"

  "Mitch O'Hara."

  Ah. Well, that explained it. Mitch's old man worked for Skye Blue. “I guess that means Mitch is going to go work for them, too?” Guy presumed.

  He was answered with a shrug. “Don't know. Supposedly the company is only going to advertise the positions tomorrow in a select couple of places. Everyone interested is going to have to interview, just like a regular job."

  "Damn. For six hundred bucks a night for just three hours’ worth of work, they'd be idiots not to interview.” He cut his eyes back at Vic. “And you promise this is all on the up-and-up, right? I mean, I'm not going to get over there to find out it's nothing but a huge set-up for something else, am I?"

  For one of the rare times in his life, Guy watched his best friend's face cloud over in a moment of anger. “You're sitting in the street without a pot to pee in, or a window to throw it out of, and you question my offer to help?"

  Guy waved it off. “Sorry, Vic. Sorry, buddy. I have no business biting your head off because I just got screwed up the ass by my ex. Can you ... what else can you tell me about this interview thing? Where do I go? Who do I see?"

  The storm blew over as quickly as it had settled. Smiling, Vic pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket and slid it over the table to Guy.