Flash Fiction - Corporate Take Over

“You’d better get your shit together, Jason, the new VP of Exploration is on his way up here.” Cathy hissed as she leaned over my cube wall.

“Not now, Cathy.” Bitch. The spreadsheet I’d worked on for two weeks was almost done. All the data I’d compiled was spread all over my miniscule work space, hung up on magnetic white boards, or lying on the floor around my chair, its rhyme or reason known only to me.

“You’re unbelievable. You’re going to make us all look bad. For once, can’t you clean up that mess you call a cube?”

“Can’t you just crawl back over that wall and under your desk?” I shot back.
This was not the time for the freaking new boss to parade past. Shit, these guys from corporate were always swooping in, crapping on everyone and then taking off to torment some new department.

Besides, we all knew the guy was here to cut our budget, trim the fat and roll some heads. Whether or not my cube was a mess wasn’t going to lose me my job, and if it did, then fuck it. After eight discoveries over the last five years, I’d proven my value to Anders Oil and Gas.

“I heard he’s gorgeous.” She rolled her eyes, pretending to swoon.

“Well, then. Don’t waste anymore time with me. Get your ass to the ladies and get ready,” I said over my shoulder, but she’d left.

Great. He’d be another brainless pretty boy who’d probably golfed his way to the top. Any minute, the elevator doors would open, he’d step out followed by a herd of handlers and assistants, and then he’d proceed to glad hand each of us, as if he really gave a shit, but really just sizing us up, deciding the next poor son of a bitch to fire.

I didn't have time or patience for interruptions or VP's. I returned to my spreadsheet to fill in the last few columns. Once all the data was in, I'd load the file into the program and pull the data together on a map, pinpointing the next place to drill for oil. The game was afoot and I was hot on the trail of a layer of sand that might hold the next huge discovery and earn my percentage of the well.

“Banks!” My manager's voice rattled the metal walls of my cube like a sonic boom.

I jumped in my chair and knocked my coffee cup over my map and me. “Shit! That was fucking stupid. Did you have to shout?” I stood, blotting the hot coffee off the large multi-colored map, not bothering to wipe off what had spilled down the front of my jeans, burning me.

“Can I help you with that?” Smooth and deep, the voice slid over me, tickled its way down my spine, between my legs and settled in my balls with a soft sigh.
Christ, I’d never heard anything so sexy, so inviting, in my life. I turned around.

The voice was nothing compared to the Nordic god that stood next to my sputtering, glaring boss. A head taller than me, with broad shoulders and thick blonde hair, he wasn’t what I expected. He was so much better. I stared, sopping paper napkins clutched in my hands, dripping on the carpet.

“Lars Anders.” He stuck out his hand, then realized mine were full. And laughed. Easy and deep, it rocked me. His mouth quirked up to one side. Those killer blue eyes traveled down my body, caressing me inch by inch, until he reached the large stain.
The wet spot directly over my erection.

One eyebrow and the other side of his mouth rose. “And you are?”
I looked up into ice blue eyes. No one on earth should have eyes so blue or lashes so full and thick.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out but a strangled squeak.
Oh fuck. I was in trouble.