Congratulations Nervous Banker!

One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six.  Seven.  Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  Ten stacks of twenty fifty dollar bills, each counted by hand, each bound by a paper loop, each set in a perfect line on the desk in front of the customer who, even through the bullet proof glass, will look impressed.

"Wow," she'll say.  "You really stacked that money."

You'll wipe the sweat from your brow.

"Yeah, I guess."

As you load the money into a non descript sack and put it through the transfer breach, she'll reach in herself and leave something in there.  When you check the breach you'll find a piece of paper.  When you unfold the piece of paper, you'll see that it has a phone number scrawled on it.  Her phone number.

You'll start sweating again when you look up and meet her eyes, only for a moment.  She'll wink back at you, which will make your eyes shoot to your feet.  You'll hear a gentle tapping on the glass, but by the time you work up the courage to look up, she'll be gone.  You'll stand there, lost in your own thoughts until your manager comes up behind you and claps you on the shoulder.

"Nervous banker," he'll refer to you as, even though your name is Greg, "you're the best damn banker in this entire bank.  Now stop shoving money into sacks and handing it to attractive women and get back to refinancing the home equity loans of those hard working, at risk immigrant families."

You'll shake your head at him as you walk back to you desk, sit down, and open up your spreadsheets again.  When he walks by you'll say, without looking at him, "I don't know why you asked me to do that.  That seems like a teller's job."

He'll open his mouth like he's going to say something, like he's going to tell you that he just wanted you, his greatest employee, the man he secretly wishes was his son, to get a little something something from the hottest, richest lady to ever walk into your particular bank branch in as long as he can remember, so he had you carefully put money into a sack in front of her to show her how good you'd be in her rich lady pussy.  But instead of saying any of that, instead of saying anything, he'll just shrug and smile.

"Sometimes I like to know someone careful is taking care of things," he'll murmur, touching you on the shoulder as he goes.

"Inappropriate..." you'll mutter under your breath at your monitor as he departs.

Congratulations Nervous Banker!