“Why is that? My dad worked for the same engineering firm in Winnipeg for forty years, until he retired.”
      Annamaria reached over my shoulder to select one of the resumes. They were hard to distinguish from each other in the tempered, fluorescent, office light. “Your father was an engineer?”
      “I’m sure,” she chuckled. It took me a minute to catch up with her humor, but before I could laugh, she was already going on.
“Here’s the deal,” she continued, in a way that I really liked. Her expressions always bore a touch of street hardness. It was kind of unfeminine, but nevertheless, highly attractive because of the contrast with her very female looks. Like a high-fashion woman driving a pickup truck.
      “When things go wrong,” Annamaria said, with her hands on my shoulders as she continued to look over the resumes on my desk. “they always blame the marketing man. And then they shitcan him.”
      “That’s not fair.”
      Annamaria started to laugh. She was still leaning into my back and staring at the resume she was holding in front of my face. It was rare that I ever let anyone get away with making fun of me, but with her body pressed against my back and shaking as she laughed, it would have been extremely difficult to say anything that might have annoyed her.
      When I finally hired a senior marketing guy, it was an act of desperation. The venture capitalists had given me two weeks to fill the slot, but most of the resumes that

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