Just three minutes to go.

Harri’s computer time confirmed the hopeful news the office clock had already told her. She put her coffee cup to her lips—her “blowjob lips”, as Patricia often joked—and sank the final grainy dregs. She dared to stare at her computer once more, seeing little more than a vague collection of numbers and graphs that began to blur as they always did at this time in the afternoon. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, letting her half-closed eyes drift over the office partition. The words “suck it up” had been etched into the corner of the cubicle—her little reminder that the bores of an analyst were usually worth the pay. Usually.

“Gearing up for the weekend, Clark?”

Harri almost fell off her seat as Mr Gordon’s thunderous voice hit her from behind. She turned in her chair to glance up at the large man above her—a pair of powerful, pale blue eyes making her feel even smaller in her seat. The pepper-salt business manager wore one eyebrow up, studying the young analyst with a hint of humour in his moustache.

“No, Mr Gordon. Just taking a moment to consider the forecast analytics.” Harri forced a slight smile, trying not to let her tiredness show too much.

The boss studied her for a moment longer. “Of course,” he finally said, placing one of his huge hands on Harri’s shoulder. “Now, Miss Harriet Clark, before you disappear, I was hoping you could do me a favour this weekend.”

“Uhh, yes Mr Gordon? What is it?”

The bigger man edged his way further into the cubicle, his broad shoulders taking up half the wall space.

“I was hoping you could come in tomorrow to finish off the Smart-Tec paperwork from Wednesday’s consultation. We’re up to our necks in it with Susan having left, and I could really use a hand getting things nailed down before Monday.”

A pained groan resounded in Harriet’s head, exploring different excuses before Mr Gordon had even finished his sentence.

“Could I count on you, Harri?”

Harri put on her best ‘hands tied’ face. “Uhh, actually this weekend isn’t great for me, Mr Gordon. I already committed to plans for Saturday, and I don’t think I’d be able to get out of it at short notice… Sorry.”

Mr Gordon’s eyes gave a twitch of disappointment, continuing to study Harri from above as he usually did. Harri sat below him with a shrug on her face, hoping her boss couldn’t read minds. Her ‘plans for Saturday’ consisted of nursing a hangover with a big bag of salted chips. Patricia, her girlfriend, had organised drinks for later on tonight, and no doubt she’d have many a tequila shoved down her throat. Saturday overtime would be hell.

Mr Gordon gave an understanding tip of his head. “Alright, Clark. Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you on Monday.” He clapped Harri on the shoulder with another bear paw, complementing his leave with a patriarchal wink.

Harri sighed and ran a hand through her wavy brown hair. She opened her laptop case, beginning the process of packing up her things while thinking in relief about how she had just narrowly escaped a painful few hours with The Walrus—a nickname aptly given for both Mr Gordon’s classy moustache and his fondness for The Beatles.

It wasn’t that Harri disliked Mr Gordon; in truth he was about as good as any boss could be. But still, he was her boss, and Harri wouldn’t maintain workplace professionalism for a second longer than she had to.

———————————————————

Patricia pulled opened the door with her usual flair, her cheeks already as rosy as her favourite salmon top.

“Well helloooo,” she sang, dancing into a hug with a bottle of schnapps in hand.

“You’re looking pretty jolly already,” Harri commented with a grin. Patricia bowed, continuing her little jig before taking up Harri’s wrist and pulling her inside.

“Jollier than you, mi amiga,” she winked. “Now stop diddling about and let’s get some tequila in you.”

By the time the clock struck midnight, Patricia’s group of five were thoroughly drunk and squished into the back of a taxi headed for town. Harri and Patricia were sandwiched between Milly and Jess, who were both lean enough to only take up half a seat each, with Stacy in the front next to the driver. Harri herself wasn’t usually a big drinker; but as usual, a drunk Patricia had talked her into coming to town—this time to her favourite bar: Little Kitten.

The line for entry was long as it always was on a Friday night, and they had to wait a good twenty minutes queuing before the bouncer finally let them inside. Down the stairs to a basement dancefloor, the place was packed. Strobe lights and stripper poles were both being put to maximum usage, and Harri couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic dancing display for an ear-thumping Livin’ La Vida Loca. It wasn’t Harri’s first time here, but it was never her first pick of bar. The men were always aggressively sexual, and it had become a common occurrence for her “pinchable buttocks” to be grabbed or slapped when she moved through the crowd. Still, there was usually an abundance of single men at the Kitten; and though Harri would rarely bring one home, she still enjoyed a little male attention every now and then.

The night went quickly. Much tequilas and schnapps; much dancing; much banter and laughing. Patricia was high in spirits as she was high on them; and with her generosity of shots, Harri had reached a plateau where she would find herself wandering the dancefloor in a euphoric stupor, beginning even to enjoy the male attention she was receiving, getting checked out in regular, not-so-subtle glances. Though she wasn’t particularly attracted to macho guys, she had found it to be a hot thrill when she was grabbed by a stranger. Ever since she was a teenager, she had always appreciated the look of a well-formed dick, and she’d even sucked a couple guys off in bar toilets in the past. Still, she was reluctant to admit that to anyone, even herself, that she had any slutty tendencies. She usually rolled her eyes and resisted half-heartedly when Patricia declared she would be dragging her back to the bar for their Friday night shenanigans; and though the first time seemed a bit awkward and scary, she’d come to like Little Kitten. She had even wondered if she could risk a hot night of promiscuity without her cover being blown. Maybe if someone decent made a move on her, she might…

“Hey there, pumpkin,” came a familiar voice in her ear. “Where have you been hiding?”

Patricia draped an arm around her shoulder, her breath pleasantly peach-flavoured from all the schnapps she had been inhaling.

“You know me,” Harri shouted back over the music. “Been tied to the dancefloor with a bungee cord.”

“You sly little mongoose you.