Inappropriate Gifting

At last Neo has returned from Paris. But, to my extreme dismay, he has returned empty-handed. He was unable to find the book I had requested, and he did not bring me back any consolatory souvenir in its stead.

My hopes for a borderline inappropriate boss-secretary gift exchange have been dashed to pieces, but being a good sport, I step into Neo's office to thank him anyway.

He glosses over his travels to Paris, Cannes, St. Tropez, then asks me how things have been.

“Oh, okay. You know, same old stuff.” I thank him for having had me write a complaint letter to Werizon Wireless, admitting that, second only to taking care of the office plants, it was the most exciting task I completed last week. I somehow segue this into saying that I’m a terrible secretary, to which he protests that I shouldn’t sell myself short; of course, we all know who’s got the correct assessment of my skills in this situation.

Neo somehow segues my self-deprecation into me ghostwriting a book for him. Non-fiction, maybe 100 pages or so. This is the third time this week that someone is commissioning me to write something, a freakish clusterfuck of opportunity, but I tenatively accept, taking on more than I can chew, as usual.

Neo says we can talk about it more later, if it sounds like something I might be interested in.  I ask him what the subject matter is. “Well,” he muses in his heavy Russian accent, with what seems like a hint of hesitation, “a few years ago, I wanted to start a club… no, not a club, that’s not what I’d say it is; a sort of community.”

“What do you mean?” His hesitation has piqued my curiosity, and I have a subconscious hunch I know what he’s talking about.

“It’s a… a rather self-conscious subject… but we can talk about it in more depth another time.”

The door to Neo's office is wide open; over the weekend we installed a gigantic mahogany desk that just barely blocks the swing of his door for the time being, preventing him from closing himself off from the rest of the office. His book is nothing he wants to discuss within earshot of the entire staff, and I sense he is growing timid despite his initial bravado in asking me to ghostwrite his book.

It is then that my subconscious hunch propels itself to the surface of my mind in a startling realization:

Could it be? Are my most unreasonable wishes for the most ridiculous of situations being granted, here in this executive black leather swivel chair? Will Neo be asking me to ghostwrite a book for him… about S&M??????

Oh boy; this book is more inappropriate a gift than I could ever have ever asked for.