She closed her eyes. Then opened them again, feeling she should keep watch for anyone who might be approaching. Then, unable to resist, closed them...again as he gripped the side of her foot and kneaded it with the fingers and heel of one hand, and worked his way along her arch with his other thumb. Mmmm… No one had ever done this for her. She hadn’t felt anything so nice since she used to lie with her head in her mother’s lap and her mother would stroke her hair and forehead, something. Devon was slightly nervous, worrying that she wouldn't do a good job and Freda would be disappointed and angry with her. She tried to remember everything Brigitte had said as the woman walked ahead of her to the stage and sat down behind the desk.She mounted the two steps to the low stage and stood awkwardly next to Brigitte, who ignored her. The Frenchwoman pretended to be writing. She put her pen aside finally and looked up at Devon, her eyes scanning her body from toes to head.She started to. To say she was not impressed was an understatement. However, with the offer of a weekend in London at the expense of my company (or so she thought) she let up and agreed. I explained to her that we would get to London early Friday afternoon and book into the hotel. She could go out shopping for a few hours while I met the guys at three. We should finish the main part of the meeting by five, six at the latest. We would then be having a meal together. My wife was reluctant about that but I said. While Stacey preferred men for certain, she didn't mind an occasional bi-curious thought."Stacey, are you ill?" Cheryl asked her.Cheryl was another annoying co-worker, but she at least meant well. She just had it easier with her husband, and made a point of giving Stacey unsolicited advice on her marriage. Of course, she was also a Bible-thumper and complained about her husband's resistance to her conversion efforts, so Stacey didn't take her counsel too seriously. Any woman who couldn't see.