The ice-white blonde in the little black dress entered the room like a socio-economic sharp in the major-chord menagerie of middle class men.
“Gentlemen,” she began, standing at the head of the conference table. “There are twelve chairs here and thirteen of you.”
She let her words hang in the air, like air freshener mist in a room full of habitual smokers.
The men shared puzzled glances.
Some straightened their ties. Some stood defiantly. Some knew this day was coming and mentally replayed their back-up deniability options—the equivalent of a career “go-bag.”
The woman leaned forward, creating an image of a four-armed beast in the reflection of a highly polished table. She smiled, and white teeth were framed by coral lips.
“Does anyone have something they would like to tell me?” she asked.
<to be continued>