In many ways Will was just as Peter described him when he called me and asked, as a favor, to look at a resume I'd have otherwise ignored: greying, professional, masterful, intelligent, perhaps a little too controlling. I liked the way his voice sounded, the way his mouth moved, the way his hands waved, the power and the force of his presence. It didn't really matter how he answered the questions, because we like docile submissive employees here and this man was anything but. There was no way in hell I was going to hire him.

Really, truthfully, I shouldn't have even been interviewing him. The job listings are intentionally written to sound much better and exciting than they really are, in order to attract people who care more about title and position than salary. Will wanted too much. Too much salary, that is, and he was way too qualified. There would be questions if anybody saw his resume, and "laid off friend of a friend" wasn't going to cut it as an explanation. No, I was definitely taking a chance, and it certainly wasn't for Peter's sake, as much as I might love him abstractly.

It was actually the recommendation from Peter's wife Christine that made me decide to interview Will. Except that recommendation isn't quite the right word, and I'm not even sure what the right word might be. I'd met Christine for lunch the day after Peter called. As we sat waiting for lunch, making idle chit chat, I asked if she'd ever met Will.

Christine gasped.

I stared at her. Christine didn't gasp often. Or blush, for that matter, and yet there she sat doing both. I needed to know more, and it turned out not to be too hard to get it out of her.

Christine, it seemed, had heard a great deal about Will from Peter over the years, enough to both intrigue and annoy her. She'd finally convinced Peter, who rarely got around to doing anything, to invite Will and his wife to dinner, during which Will's wife had nattered on at Peter while Christine and Will had talked, quietly and intensely, leaning in toward each other like long-term conspirators, unnoticed by their respective spouses. And after which, while Will's wife still talked and Peter still listened, Will, having followed Christine to the kitchen with dishes from the dining room table, and having placed said dishes on the counter, had grabbed her, kissed her deeply, and there in her kitchen with her husband and his wife in the next room, had slipped his hand under her long flowing skirt and fingered her clit without mercy until, unable to take it any longer, she had grabbed his wrist, held it in place and humped his palm until she came, burying her head in his chest to muffle her moans from their spouses.

It was, she claimed, the first and only time she had come with a man other than Peter. That, I somehow doubted. That it was one of the best orgasms and most exciting experiences she had ever had did not need saying. I could see it in her face and hear it in her voice as she told me.

So there we sat, me and Will, together at the same table, talking quietly and intensely.

In an interview room, with the door open, as per company policy.

No dinner. No spouses. No dishes. No kitchen.

But a girl can dream.

Can't she?