“I’m too sexy, I’m too sexy for my shirt”: After having made the mistake of watching too many Youtube-videos from her youth last night, she has this song in her head, strange images included. Nor turning up the selection of U2-songs on her iPod, nor scanning the news online or any other method has helped solving this problem. So she sits on this big, wooden table, some papers in front of her, waiting for one of the most important press conferences of the year to begin – struggling with the mind of a crazy teenager.
After some minutes of nervous waiting (since she doesn’t want to be taken out of the room because of laughter), the men of the day arrive. All in their 50ies, dressed in black suits, they all look quite serious. She knows that they should – aren’t they the leaders of a company making hundreds of millions each year worldwide. And today, it’s the first press conference after the newspapers found about black-mailing methods in the company.
And indeed, the men in black not only look serious, but – which surprise – very nervous. All of them. But there’s one man especially catching her attention. His feet particularly. Which she shouldn’t be supposed to see, at least not now. She has been to many press conferences before so she knows they avoided certain tables – no feet to see, no sign of nervousness.
But this man – quick gaze on the paper – the CFO – almost dances with his feet. Back and forth, back and forth, as if he used morse code. And he sweats heavily. Turns his marriage ring a couple of times.
Right now, the company’s press spokeman introduces the men on the platform – normal procedure for this kind of event.
But today’s prelude is never going to end.
Suddenly, the CFO stands up – gun in his hand.
The sexiness of the morning fades away.
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