Carrie stifled a yawn and glanced at the clock. Twelve fifty-seven. Perhaps she should not have had the second helping of pasta salad for lunch. She was feeling as doped up as a dog that had eaten half of the Christmas ham.
A sharp jab in her arm made her blink her eyes.
"The boss will have your hide if you fall asleep during the meeting," Roberto whispered.
"Not if he doesn't see me first."
He whipped out the pen from behind his ear. "Want some advice?"
"Why not? You're going to give it to me anyway regardless of whether I say no or yes."
"Take notes," he said, tapping the end of his pen to the pad sitting on the small arm desk attached to his chair. "Guaranteed to keep you awake."
"And a cup of coffee doesn't?"
Terrance, the skinny department director, coughed to get everyone's attention. At that moment, a figure--slim but top heavy--breezed in to take the empty seat beside Carrie. Alex, the analyst three doors down, was wearing (again) a one size too snug suit with a scandalous neckline and bright lipstick that Bozo the clown would be proud of. Carrie wondered briefly if the woman got a wedgie every time she sat down. Terrance rolled his eyes at Alex's entrance but clicked the control to begin his presentation.
Fifteen minutes into the meeting--while Terrance was droning about company statistics, Roberto was busy scribbling in his pad, and Carrie was on the verge of dozing off--Alex leaned over so that her upper body was sprawled on Carrie’s desk. Carrie caught a whiff of her strong perfume and tried vainly not to hyperventilate. Roberto studiously concentrated on his notes, trying to ignore the cleavage dangling in his peripheral vision.
"Hey Enrique," she breathed in a little-girl voice. "Isn't Terrance talking about information relating to your project? Make sure to take a lot of good notes!"
"Uh huh," he mumbled.
When she settled back into her seat, Carrie and Roberto exchanged exasperated glances.
