Damaged goods - Sex Stories

Damaged goods

... burgers, before standing, sticking his hands in his pockets and turning his head to one side, looking at the doorway. She laughed. "Alright, you've passed. You have catalogue man down to a tee. It must pay well, so why d'you give it up?" Plonking himself back on the flaccid cushion, he gave his stock retort. "Got fed up with being someone else's bitch. Look left. Look right. Look more intense. " "So now?" "IT consultant. Telling managers what they already know and charging them for the privilege." "Money for old rope?" "Something like that." "Don't they get suspicious?" "You mean being delivered intangibles and told what they want to hear?" She nodded, draining her pint far quicker than he'd have expected. He sank his to catch up. "They're all too busy looking for someone to blame. By the time we come in, their precious company's already sliding on the FTSE or the shareholders want blood because of the lower dividends than the previous year. Paying us to point the finger at bad processes gives them something to focus on, something to report to the board that make them seem like they have a clue. We save them face. Buy them time." "Clever. Who's 'we'?" Ryan rummaged around in his wallet and slid his card across the table. She reached for it and their fingertips connected briefly before she drew the card closer and scrutinised it. "Ryan Noble Associates?" He nodded. "A band of like-minded reprobates I call friends. We're small, nimble, agile. And I liked RNA as it has the ...

... link to DNA, the essence of life on earth." "Pretentious much?" He grinned. "Someone's gotta be. Drink?" "Same again, please." He took the glasses to the bar – an act to which Corey seemed indifferent, probably as he preferred having something to do on quiet days. But he was nothing short of efficient, capping her shot of lime off with half a litre of amber liquid and pouring Ryan a pint with a textbook centimetre head. Had it been Guinness, Ryan figured the guy might have eschewed the traditional shamrock emblem for piping the Mona Lisa into the froth. Ryan slid the cash across the bar. "One for yourself?" Corey took a second to consider the offer, the light catching the three diagonal bars in his eyebrow. "Thank you." By the time Ryan returned to the table, the food had arrived. "Has it been three minutes already?" Melody looked up from cutting into her chicken wrap. "What?" "Nothing." He noted with a satisfied inner nod that his card had gone from the table. Exactly as planned. The burger was unremarkable and overdone, but the chips were passable. "Not a patch on Burger King." "Shut Up. You must have had your fair share of crappy Saturday jobs." "There was one that was pretty funny. I used to walk around the neighbourhood collecting money for a hospital charity. People would agree to pay a quid a month or something. In return I'd give them a newsletter from head office depicting giant novelty cheques being handed over to people in suits, and explanations of how the donations ...