Desmond and the French Connection Part 1

Monday MorningThe easy bits were done. With my law degree tucked away in my back pocket, I’d breezed through the licensing process and earned my call to the bar. Then came the last and hardest part – finding a job. I had just started networking when my phone rang. Hope soared. ‘Hello?”Is that Desmond Brady?”It is.’ ‘It’s Michael Gallagher from Gagne Nadeau & Tremblay. We met a few years ago, at the Osgoode job fare.”I remember. You’re from Montreal as I recall. How are you?’ Hope crashed and burned. Why would a Montreal outfit hire a Torontonian  with a piss-poor mastery of French?’Just fine, thanks. Congratulations on being called to the bar.”Thanks.’ ‘Has anybody snapped you up yet?”I’m talking to a few firms.’ Oops! Wrong tense. So sorry.’I see. Are you still interested in mergers and acquisitions?”I am.’ ‘Good. Why don’t you drop by and see me in the morning?”In Montreal?”We opened our Toronto office last year. We’re in First Canadian Place, 32nd floor. Shall we say nine o’clock?”Let me see. Yes, I can manage that.’TuesdayThe meeting lasted all morning. There was a lengthy interview, an IQ test, and then a detailed personality inventory. Think Myers-Briggs on steroids. It was early afternoon before I left for home.  My phone rang just as I got in the door. It was Michael inviting me back for an interview with a senior partner the next morning. ‘Giselle is very decisive and a bear for punctuality. Do not be late and good luck!’ There was a strong hint of “you’re going to need it” in his voice. Wednesday Morning The receptionist Ümraniye Escort was surprised to see me back so soon, but that changed when I mentioned Giselle. Her eyes widened and rolled heavenwards. ‘Oh! I see,’ She reached for her phone, announced me and hung up. ‘Her personal assistant will be right out.’ We chatted until the woman of my dreams appeared. My jaw dropped. A stunning young Goddess was walking toward us with the confident elegance of a prima ballerina. Her figure was athletic yet curvy and built to send heart rates and blood pressures soaring. Black, curly, shoulder-length hair framed an angelic face, with large soft eyes, a flawless caramel skin, and plush, kissable lips. The receptionist smirked and looked down. ‘Watch out for that one!’ she whispered. ‘Mr Brady?’ The mellow timbre of her voice turned my knees to water. ‘Yes, I’m Desmond.’ ‘Hi, I’m Margot Chapelle. Follow me, please.’ On the way, I  thanked the gods for perfect derrieres and short, tight skirts. She knocked on the door to a corner office and leaned in. ‘He’s here, Madame.”Good. Show him into the conference room. I’ll see him in a few minutes.’ Margot ushered me through an adjoining door. Although there was plenty of room to sidle past her, my upper arm somehow brushed against her breast. I was appalled. ‘Sorry!’ Innocent brown eyes met mine. ‘Whatever for?’ She cut me off in mid-mumble when I tried to explain. ‘Take a seat. Giselle will be with you soon.”Thanks, Margot.’ ‘You remembered my name! How sweet.’ Her smile Ümraniye Escort Bayan burned into my libido as she closed the door. I leapt to my feet when a woman in her late thirties or early forties came in a few minutes later. Her hair was short and jet-black, her skin pale, and her features sharp. She placed a thick folder on the table and shook my hand with a firm grip. ‘Hello, Desmond. I’m Giselle Martineau. Sit.’ Her dark navy blazer and skirt was loose enough to mask her figure, but she seemed to be quite slim.She pushed the folder across the table. ‘The first item, Desmond,’ she said, ‘is our formal offer.”I’ve got the job?’ The answer was a short, sharp, soul-freezing stare. ‘Sorry. Um, thank you!’ My heart was pounding as I reached for my pen to sign on the dotted line. ‘Not yet!’ she snapped, then pointed at my folder. ‘The next few pages cover our terms and conditions, mission statement, vision and values. Read them, and, if acceptable, initial each page. You will then have to pass an oral exam before you may accept our offer. Understood?’ I nodded. ‘Good. You will need the rest for your orientation. Our compliance policy, code of conduct, full details of your benefits, IT policies, and so forth.”I see. Thank you.’The shadow of a smile flitted across her face. ‘Let Margot know when you’re ready. She’ll take you to HR to get your orientation started.’ I nodded, and she got up to leave but paused at the door. ‘Be back here by noon. You’re having lunch with us.’ Again, I nodded. ‘By the Escort Ümraniye way,’ she continued, ‘You have big floppy ears. Wear your hair longer so you will look less ridiculous. You are also overdressed. I’d rather see you nude than in that suit. The dress code in my department is business casual. Slacks with a casual shirt and shoes, for example, but I don’t like short sleeves. Is that clear?’I nodded. ‘When do I take the test?’  ‘That was a joke. There isn’t one, so just sign the fucking thing. But I’m still looking forward to the oral.’ The smirk was still on her face as she shut the door behind her.Wednesday LunchThere was no sign of Margot when I got back from HR, but the door to Giselle’s over-sized and disturbingly tidy office was open. She was at her desk, staring intently at her monitor. I tapped gingerly. She looked up, saw me, glanced at her watch, and almost smiled. ‘You’re early! Excellent! Come here. Have a look at this, and tell me what you think.’ She spun her monitor half-way round, but I still had to lean across her oversized desk to have a look. It was a split-screen with Japanese script on one side and an English translation on the other. ‘Well?’ ‘It’s a lousy translation!’ ‘Calcutta!’ Margot was grinning at us from the doorway. She sashayed across the floor and  gave me a little slap on the ass. It was like a tiny teaspoon of a sweet but bland dessert. It left me wanting more – a prolonged hard spanking on my bare ass while she held me over her knees with my rigid cock clamped firmly between her stockinged thighs. I almost begged for more,’ but ‘I beg your pardon!’ came out instead.  ‘She likes your butt,’ Giselle said. ‘What does Calcutta have to do with my butt?’ Margot raised an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t he speak French?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘Just Spanish, German, Arabic, Hindi, Japanese, Mandarin, and English.”