The Efficiency Expert - an erotic short story

Oh no, he’s here. The efficiency expert. He’s in my favorite bar on my favorite stool, just when I thought we’d got rid of him.

I’m supposed to be here celebrating. The company’s efficiency review is finally over, and I’ve kept my job by the skin of my teeth. I thought that hyena of a consultant or trouble shooter or whatever the hell he is would be long gone by now, and good riddance. But what do I find? He’s still here and drinking in the very place where I’m about to toast his departure.

Noah Stevens, that self-same efficiency trouble-shooter stroke corporate carnivore. The very monster everybody’s so glad to see the back of, even if he is unbearably cute and sexy in his stern, almost machine-like sort of way.

He doesn’t look stern tonight though. Or even remotely mechanical. In fact he looks as weary as hell, almost shattered somehow, as if he’s been punched in the gut by fate. Could this be pang of unexpected sympathy I’m feeling? Work wise, he’s been beyond a nightmare, but somehow with shoulders slumped, his blond hair a bit ruffled, and a slightly rubbed-out look about his eyes, not to mention what looks like a quadruple vodka in front of him, he looks strangely vulnerable. Kind of tender and touchable. Definitely in need of a hug.

Shall I run for it? Get discreetly out of here, and join the festivities with the other survivors? I’m tempted, but something about the line of his body intrigues and stirs me. I must admit, I have a few types, and as a Mr. Sharp Suit Corporate, he’s not really one of them. And yet, even though he’s made my life a hell of uncertainty these past few weeks, I do – reluctantly – fancy him something rotten.

He turns from the bar and makes my decision for me.

“Hi, Susie. Are you drinking?” He taps the stool next to the one where I usually sit, “Have one on me… I think I owe you one, if not three or four.”

Well, ain’t that the truth!