Page 33 of Analysing Her Assets

“Yelena, will you help Tamar?” Noga asked.

“We’ll need to start by visiting them as soon as this afternoon,” Tamar said.

“Yeah...” Yelena mused. She had an elfin face, gray eyes, and short, spiky hair, and Tamar would have found her pretty, except Yelena always seemed to be annoyed about something, constantly pouting. “The chief of IT, Gabby, said they passed me over for promotion because I don’t show enough initiative. He placed me in Compliance IT, and I get up every morning and cry. I cry! Boring doesn’t even begin to describe it. I want to move to Investments IT and lead my own team there. Doing this with Tamar may help me. I’ll come with you to meet the guys from the brokerage.”

“Joined interests, I like that,” Marina said. “Women helping women, that should be one of your mother’s rules, right Tamar?”

“It should,” Noga agreed. “Men have many networks in place. They served in the army together, or they go on hiking trips, or schedule football games in the Sportek. We never do anything together.”

“Well, we have our team now. Tamar, we should give you a makeover! Like Sandra Bullock got.” Marina was having fun.

“This isn’t Miss Congeniality,” Tamar protested.

“It totally is. It’s a popularity contest. You should be much more congenial than you are now. That old fart Keynan likes men better than women, unless...”

“Unless they wear a short skirt, which Tamar never will,” Noga said.

“Thank you!”

“Here, I started a WhatsApp group, I invited you,” Marina said, and they all checked their phones. She called the group The T-team. Keeping in with the theme of Sandra Bullock’s movies, Marina chose the picture of The Ocean 8 movie as the group’s icon.

“But Tamar should wear something else, these jackets and pantsuits, urgh.” Marina shuddered. Tamar straightened her jacket and wished she was less well-endowed, or less conscious of it.

“Your sister, call her,” Marina suggested.

“Tally?”

“Yes. You told me she used to practice on you, right? Make clothes for you.”

“Yes, but...” She never asked for help from her family–they were the ones who needed her help. “She’s probably too busy.” Tamar preferred not to ask Tally and risk her refusal.

“Call her,” Marina urged. “Give her a chance to help. Besides, it’s what she wants most, no? To make clothes. Give me her number, I’ll add her to our WhatsApp group.”

“Yes!” Noga was excited. “I can totally picture the montage, Tamar trying on different outfits, like in Pretty Woman. But a different song...”

“Rocky! Best montage ever. Ta-na-na-na...” Marina was completely off-key.

The scowl had finally left Yelena’s face. “Or ‘This Girl is on Fire’, by Alicia Keys. I love it.”

“The T-team is on,” Marina declared.

18. Gideon

Gideon cursed. He’d lived in the city for the past year, walking to work, and he’d forgotten what traffic was like. Rush hour traffic on South Ayalon was a bitch. But he wanted to get this visit to Berdiplast off his plate, and this early afternoon hour was the time Old Doron had asked him to come.

He’d passed by home and changed, and it was like sliding into a different persona, shedding new habits and re-acquiring old, familiar ones. Donning on his Blundstones, thick canvas pants, a plaid shirt, and an old T-shirt underneath. So different from the ironed shirts he wore at Peaks, which at times gave him a sense of dress-up.

He’d stood by the doorway at the announcement of N’s retirement. Tamar’s dark head was on the third row, next to Marina from the tech team and Noga from Investments. Now that their candidacy was out there, their rivalry was real.

He had resolutely avoided her all day and, judging by his success, she’d done the same. Under the harsh lights of the workweek, the deal they struck seemed outrageous. She’d looked so different this morning, rigid and prim in her work clothes. Then she’d turned in her seat and looked at him. The wild goddess who rode his knees re-surfaced for a glorious moment, and Gideon had to repress his mind, before growing another boner in the workplace.

But right now, his heavy pants grew tight around his cock. Gideon tried to place his butt in a more comfortable position in the driver’s seat. After meeting Doron, he would invite her for an evening walk with their dogs.

He hadn’t been here in almost two years, yet his old employee card worked and the electric fence moved. Cruising by the two-story management building with its neat small garden and benches, he parked in the rear parking lot.

The familiar smells and noises of the factory floor greeted him. Molten chemicals in stainless-steel containers formed complex molecules. They stretched and grew into thin sheets—a shimmering sea of long silver waves. The gray cement floor swarmed with shiny flakes, awaiting the evening sweep.

Gideon found Doron in the loading yard. He was Gideon’s father’s age, sixty-six years old, yet he stacked crates onto a container with three more workers.

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