The Boss by Monica Belle

to brood, and the worst of it was having to call him Mr English, because every time I said it I got a little jolt and the memory of how I’d come the day before. He was as oblivious and as condescending as ever, but I was at least distracted.
    Wednesday was the meeting, which had me nervous as I walked in, and also seriously conflicted. On the one hand I did feel a sort of loyalty to Black Knight Securities and I had put a lot of work into the presentation, but on the other it was firmly against my interests for us to be awarded the contract we were after. Nevertheless, I was there on time, smart and attentive in my skirt suit with my hair pinned up and a fixed smile on my discreetly painted lips.
    The arrival of the council advisory team wiped the smile right off my face. There were three of them: a middle-aged woman in tweeds whose face registereddisapproval of everything, a large man with a red complexion and watery eyes and the Voice of Authority from the Dog and Duck. I just froze, standing there like an idiot with my presentation folders held out, waiting for him to denounce me. He came close, looked straight into my eyes, and spoke.
    â€˜Thank you.’
    It took me an instant to realise that he had absolutely no recollection of me whatsoever, and then I’d gone into automatic, handing him a folder and reeling off the little speech I’d prepared like a machine.
    â€˜Good morning, and may I welcome you to Black Knight Securities. My name is Felicity Cotton. Please may I introduce my colleagues, Mr Stephen English and Mr Paul Minter.’
    Both Stephen and Paul had appeared through the door on cue, beaming and extending their hands. The big florid man responded much in kind, introducing himself as Mr Burrows, while the woman, Mrs Shelby, accepted Paul’s hand with what seemed every evidence of distaste. The Voice of Authority was the last to introduce himself, as Mr Phelps, and he too remained very formal. I was still terrified he’d recognise me, and I was sure I could feel his eyes on my back as I left the room, Stephen having told me to make coffee.
    By the time I came back they were seated and Stephen was in full flow, expounding on the virtues of the ZX system. Mr Burrows seemed blandly welcoming, Mrs Shelby sceptical, Mr Phelps interested. I handed out the coffees and took a seat at the back, listening to Stephen’s now familiar presentation of how the system worked and how he was going to catch every scally in a ten-mile radius. When he finally finished it was Mr Phelps who put the first question.
    â€˜Let us take a hypothetical example, Mr English. I myself have been a victim of street crime recently. My car was stolen and later found burnt out. There seems to be little or no possibility of catching the culprits, despite our system of street cameras. Could you improve on that?’
    Stephen’s voice carried a wealth of assurance as he answered.
    â€˜Certainly. Number plate recognition is an option with the ZX system, so you would need only to identify your car on a single camera image to call up all those on which it had been recorded. As you have seen, our proposal includes plans to install cameras in a wide range of black spots. Therefore we would be able to trace the progress of the car. As long as you were able to report the theft quickly enough, the information would be relayed to the police, preventing any criminal damage and allowing the perpetrator to be apprehended. Failing that, the system would have stored a record of the theft, the car’s progress and almost certainly the features of the perpetrator, who could either be identified from our existing database, or caught by automatic back reference if added to the database at a later date.’
    Mrs Shelby posed a question.
    â€˜How reliable is this?’
    Again Stephen was completely confident as he answered.
    â€˜Both the manufacturer’s figures and our own tests indicate an exceptional degree of