Double Standard

Double Standard By J.M. Snyder “Evan, honey?” my secretary Amber Hilliard asks, her voice bright and cheery. “Do you have that ad report for me yet?” Through the open door to my office, I hear his quick reply. “Sure. Let me get it.” There’s the faint squeal of castors as he rolls his chair away from his desk, and I glance around my monitor in time to see him back into view. Suddenly the comparable sales spreadsheet I’m working on is forgotten—nothing exists for me but the young man out in the main office area, now digging through a file cabinet. Evan. Evan Hawthorne. He’s almost ten years my junior, fresh out of grad school, and one of the best salesmen I’ve ever hired. But to be honest, it wasn’t his resume that convinced me to take him on. With his soulful gray-green eyes, kinked strawberry curls, the smattering of freckles so dense he looks like he’s sporting a perpetual tan, and a firm body that just won’t quit…I’ll admit it, I hired him because he’s gorgeous. My mind was made up when he walked in my office three weeks ago for the interview. I wanted to see him every single day and there was no way he didn’t have the job. Problem is, there’s this sticky little paragraph in the employee handbook that keeps me from doing anything more than look. I’ve read it over and over again since he started working in my department, as if it’s going to rewrite itself without my knowledge. Every time he smiles my way, every time I stare at him from my desk like I’m doing now, every time he stares at me and doesn’t seem care if I notice or not, I have to come back into my office and read the paragraph again. The one that says managers and their immediate employees cannot fraternize. The one that says we can’t get together, even outside of work, just because I’m his boss. I know Evan’s read it, too, because Amber pointed it out to him once. “You can’t ask him,” she said as I walked by Evan’s desk, where she stood chatting when she should’ve been handing out paychecks. My steps faltered but I didn’t stop. I knew they were talking about me because Amber lowered her voice as I passed. “It’s in the handbook, Evan. You can’t fool around with management.” “You do,” Evan pointed out. Amber had no reply to that. By then my back was to them and I could smirk—Amber thinks she’s being slick, getting with my boss, Kirk Morris. But according to him, they’re in different departments so it’s no big deal. We’re sales, while Kirk is…well, he’s whatever he feels like he should be. His business cards say CEO of Online Bulk Sour Candy Corporation, which doesn’t just make him my boss but, in his twisted little mind, lord of all. Lick ‘Em and Weep is his company. And it’s his stupid rule. I asked him about it right after I hired Evan but he just said, “It’s CYA, Jeff. Cover Your Ass. You can’t go hiring people just because you like the way they look—that’s discrimination. Equal Opportunity would be all over that shit.” “He’s more than qualified for the position,” I argued. “I just don’t see why I can’t get friendly with him outside the office…” “So fire him.” Like that’s a viable option. “Then hook up with him. Just not as long as you’re the one turning in his hours.” Most days, I can ignore the urges. I’m a grown man, and God gave me two hands. So I spend an unusual amount of time in the bathroom jerking off, so what? At least I’m not chasing tail like Kirk, calling Amber into his office to “take a memo” and releasing her, disheveled and giggly, a half hour later. But damn, on these long summer days when the clock has slowed and quitting time seems an eternity away, when the afternoon sun angles in through the windows behind my desk and makes me drowsy, when there’s nothing to do but sit with my chin in my hand and stare out into the salesroom, my mind wanders to Evan. He’s a head shorter than I am, and stockier, too. I like that in a man. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a tight waist, and when he bends over, his pants pull taut across round buttocks I want to sink my teeth into like twin melons. The report he’s looking for isn’t where he thought and, when he stands to search the drawer above, I envision sidling up behind him, my hands smoothing over his ass, around his hips, to find the buckle of his belt. I’d pull him back against me, my fingers working at his zipper, eager to delve into the heat at his crotch. I can imagine all too well the way he’d gasp, a throaty sound, and the feel of his own hands as they reached back to clench at my thighs, keeping me close… Suddenly someone steps into my doorway, blocking my view and interrupting my daydream. “Boardroom,” Kirk says, knocking on my open door to get my attention. My boss is around my age but sure doesn’t act it. His loosened tie hangs around his thick neck like a noose, and the light blue button-down shirt he wears is badly wrinkled, the collar unbuttoned, the top of a tan T-shirt visible at his neckline. It’s a Star Wars T-shirt—I know, because earlier I saw the shape of Darth Maul through the back of his work shirt. Who dressed him this morning? And what the hell does Amber see in him anyway? When I don’t jump at his command, he knocks a second time, as if I’m not aware he’s deliberately standing in my line of sight. “Hello, Wally? Sales meeting.” “Now?” I glance at the time on my monitor and sigh. It’s four o’clock on a Thursday afternoon. “Kirk, really…” With a knowing nod behind him at Evan’s desk, he asks, “What? You’re not doing anything productive. I need to see the data from last month.” “Yeah, right this minute.” I glare at him as I shuffle together the papers on my desk. “You can’t wait until the morning? We’ll be here all night.” He winks at me, a wicked grin on his face. “I won’t. I have plans with that hot dish you’ve got sitting right over there.” Out in the main office, I hear Amber giggle and I roll my eyes. Yeah, she’s got double D’s, long blonde hair, and legs that stretch for miles. But Kirk knows I’m not one for the ladies…and he’s just flirting with her in front of me because he can. Because I can’t flirt with Evan, and he’s rubbing it in. He raps on my door once more, as if that settles it. “Round up the usual suspects. You’ve got five minutes.” As he walks away, I hear him lower his voice to speak with Amber. “Hello, sugar.” Sometimes I think he just does this because it’s what he’s supposed to do—walk around the office and make sure everyone’s pretending to work, call meetings at the drop of a hat, and drive me crazy with wanting this report or that spreadsheet. It must be part of his job description somewhere, probably in the employee handbook and I just haven’t found it yet. Note: CEO must be able to make Director of Sales go off the deep end. Because that’s what he does, and he’s very, very good at it. For one thing, my name isn’t Wally. Most everyone calls me Jeff, even my own employees. I don’t insist on the mister crap like Kirk does. It’s Jeff, or hey man, or yo buddy. Not Mr. Wallace, and sure as hell not Wally. Everyone else seems to get that. Everyone but Kirk. For another thing, he knows my brain stopped working two hours ago. All I’ve been doing since I returned from lunch is surf the web and stare at Evan. Have I mentioned that he’s so unbelievably hot, I can’t even look straight at him when he’s facing me? Whenever he’s in my office, I have to shuffle the papers on my desk or look around the room or past his shoulder, anywhere but at those beautiful soft-doe eyes of his that seem to pin me in place. He likes me, I know he does—it’s in his slow smile, in the shy way he looks at me, in the fact he said something to Amber, even, who then had to point out that stupid “no fraternizing” rule. The one Kirk so blatantly ignores just because he owns the company. Talk about a double standard. He’s out to drive me insane, I just know it.