Turning the corner of the street on my way to work at 7am, on the insistence of my boss for a red-eye meeting, I bumped into her ­stepping out from the front passenger seat of her chauffeured Porsche 911.

Now, I thought the idea of a company car was to enable the executive passenger to sit in the back and work as they’re whisked to whatever high-powered meeting is next on their hectic schedule. 

I pondered how my boss had managed to secure a completely inappropriate ­vehicle as her company car while she emerged from the low-level seat.

Because of her ungainly manner, she ­inadvertently flashed me a glimpse of her Velcro-like landing strip. “What fabulous timing. Here, give me a hand with these,” she gushed, handing me an enormous stack of folders.

Shoving my tuna roll breakfast, that had sudden