“Well, I will admit that it is rather special,” Hugh said. He breathed in, slowing his racing heart. “That was a fairly record day.” He pulled Sophie to him, and kissed her again, tasting the salt of perspiration on her lips; she was beautifully flushed, and her skin was mottled.

“Never leave me,” Sophie said.

“Where would I go?” he replied.

“So now,” Stockton said. “We fire Judy.”

Gregoire Lazard smiled lazily. Finally, it looked like things might be going his way. “And you can do it in person, my dear Peter. She actually deigned to show up in the building this evening. She’s been making calls from her office for the last twenty minutes.”

Stockton grinned. “Pity, in a way. She’s a nice-looking piece of ass. . . .”

“We all know you’re not the first guy to sit in this office and think that.” Lazard laughed, coarsely.

“Go ahead, get her up here.”

He picked up the phone. “Judy, it’s Gregoire. Could you come up to Pete’s office, please?”

Stockton didn’t really care that Judy Dean had been an ally; she was as partisan as anybody else. Besides, his last two firings—Hugh and Tom—hadn’t gone exactly to plan. He was a bully, and throwing his weight at the little people always made him feel big.

He wanted to see that hard-as-nails little bitch crumple. He’d let her know her secret was coming out, too. So she couldn’t just flip him off and run home to the playboy prince. Judy Dean was finished, and he wanted to be there when it happened. . . .

A knock on the door.

“Enter,” he said.

There she was. She looked good, but a little flustered.

“Hi, Pete; hi, Gregoire,” she said.

“Judy, I have something to say to you.”

“And I to you. I quit.” she replied instantly, with a bright smile.

Stockton baulked. “What?”

It couldn’t just have happened a third time, could it? He thought Judy Dean was wedded to this job.

“You heard.” Judy turned up her pert nose. “And while you’re at it, stop eating. Those rolls of flab are just gross.”

“Hey! Just one second!” Stockton roared. “We called you here to sack you!”

“Don’t get excited, Pete, you’re obese. You’ll probably have a heart attack,” Judy said in a voice of mock concern. “And don’t wave your hands at me, nobody wants to see the sweat patches under your arms.”

There was a muffled snort from Lazard. Stockton turned on him, enraged.

“Shut the fuck up! And you, you goddamned bitch. You went with the father and the son. And we’re going to announce it all over national TV.”

Judy shrugged. “Who cares? At least I don’t have to pay people to fuck me, Pete. Goodbye, Gregoire; you’re the world’s worst executive and a total waste of skin, but at least you don’t stink like Pete. Adieu, losers!”