<span style="font-weight: bold">Samantha Belweather</span><br/><br/>"You've been with us a long time, haven't you Jules," she says, studying you. "Almost two years out of college, aren't you? Long time," she continues, shaking her head in something that might be amazement. It's not unjustified. The typical turnover in tech is about a year for men or women... though most of the boys are with the same company their whole lives - it's only the women who move onwards and upwards. "You're a valuable employee, Jules," she continues, smiling. "You started with a good base of knowledge, and you learned fast. Then you were instrumental in getting us through that difficult situation at the start of the year, when four Senior Techincal Assistants moved on." Left unsaid - that three of them had moved on through the digestive tract of the last, who'd devoured her colleagues in a fit of pique and quit in a rage. "You did a good job training up their replacements," she continues, "but one can't be sentimental about these things - and its undeniable that since they're doing better<span style="font-style: italic">your</span>importance to the company has declined," she shrugs.<br/><br/>"There've been complaints, Jules," she says, gazing at you intently, though the folding of her blouse and the deep valley between her breasts tempts your eyes. "Yesterday's only the most recent. Parsing them," she explains, "I'd say that you find it hard to support women using your admittedly first-rate IT skills without leaving them feeling their innate superiority's being challenged," she leans her elbows on her desk, and rests her chin on her interlaced fingers. "This is a<span style="font-style: italic">problem</span>, Jules," she continues. "Every time I have to send a boybasket to some girl who's demanded you on a platter she's eating my margins instead. And it screws with my staffing, or do you think that sweet secretarial voice you were talking to yesterday wouldn't have swallowed you on sight if I hadn't sent Christina instead?" She pauses, leans back again.<br/><br/>"I do have some empathy with you," she continues. "I<span style="font-style: italic">don't</span>want to see you carelessly devoured by another woman." Unsaid - that if a serious girlfriend ate you, that would be perfectly acceptable... and nor might she be adverse to eating you on a whim herself. "I know you aren't from a vorish home," she presses on. "Are you lashing you because you're intimidated by our superiority?" She asks. "Or do you not accept it at all"?