“You should make me marketing manager, Bob,” she said, swinging her legs up onto my desk, as the drumbeat quickened. I turned my eyes toward the window so that I would not be looking up her skirt.
      “I don’t know about that,” I said, looking out at the empty space in the parking lot, where Steve’s Porsche was usually parked beside Annamaria’s BMW. “Let’s get rid of Steve and then we can talk about it.”
      “I want to discuss it now,” she said, “so that I get a payoff, instead of a kissoff.” The music added a wailing horn to its quickening drumbeat.
      “Annamaria, I wouldn’t do that. Without you, Steve would have destroyed this company before I ever caught on.”
      “Not on your own, you might not hurt me, but your board of directors is another story, again. Is it really half made up of your in-laws?”
      “They put in a lot of money.” Several oriental instruments joined the drum and horn while the beat just kept getting faster.
      “And they hate me.”
      “I’m not so sure of that.” A sitar sprinkled the music track with a sound that was alien, and yet fitting.
“Well, you don’t have to be, because it isn’t your ass that will eventually be on the line.”
      “Between the family and the venture capitalists, the board controls the votes and can boot me out any time they want. My ass is always on the line with them.”
      “And they’re always kicking it, aren’t they? Poor baby.”

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