Beefy Buns

"'Could have' are the operative words," I replied. I wasted no more time in helping Mona to set up the stepladder. I was desperate to see her splendid ass again, and I was hoping that she was wearing a thong, as she had been the first time I'd glimpsed her derriere while she'd been cleaning the top of the meat locker.

"Go on up," I told her, once the ladder was in place. "I'll hold the ladder for you."

"Aren't you going up?" she asked.

"I'm afraid of heights."

"But I've seen you on the ladder before."

"The fear came on recently."

She gave me a doubtful look. "I'm wearing heels."

"Okay, I'll get Carlos to swap with you. He can wash the windows, and you can finish cleaning the toilets."

"No," Mona said. "I'll just take of my shoes."

Why stop with the heels? I asked her silently.

In a moment, she'd removed her shoes. Her feet, clad only in her stockings, looked cute and dainty.

"Hold the ladder," Mona said.

I gripped it. "Go ahead."

I watched her as she ascended, taking one hesitant step up the rungs of the ladder after another, climbing toward the huge, blinking neon sign that shouted the name of the burger franchise, Beefy Buns, to a world of hungry human carnivores.

I counted her steps: one (what pretty feet!), two (and shapely calves!), three (the hollows of her knees were sensuous depressions!), four (the backs of her flexing thighs, smooth but firm, were enticing!), five--

"Boss?"

I turned to see Carlos standing in the doorway.

"What is it?" I demanded, a little too sharply. "Why aren't you cleaning the restrooms?"

"I finished," he explained. "Mr. Moore is here; he sent me to fetch you."

"Fetch," I thought, was most likely the exact word that Mr. Moore, the bastard, had employed. The district manager was an arrogant, condescending son-of-a-bitch.