This is my first attempt at writing a story, thanks goes to my proof reader, PD. I wish to identify myself as the author, including any Copyright entitlements. Both parties are over 18. Any feedback would be welcomed....
*
Patty is a 31 year old woman, 5'6 tall, with long blonde hair down to her shoulder blades. She is also my boss.
Me? I'm 6'0, 44 years old, with short dark hair and glasses. In have been teased about looking like Harry Potter, so to give you an idea. I have been admiring Patty since she started in my department as a supervisor, and recently she was promoted to Department Head, over-seeing the 30 staff in this section.
Most people would look at her and say, yes she is gorgeous, but wouldn't approach her to express their admiration, myself included. Privately though, in my head, we have done everything imaginable in the bedroom, and out of the bedroom too. I never thought in a million years I would even get to touch her out of turn.
One afternoon, with about 1 hour left until the end of the day, Patty come over to me and speaks quietly, "John, you are in charge of the Brooker account are you not?"
"Yes." I reply, "I'm currently getting the presentation finished off for the meeting of the Board in 2 days, but I'm struggling with some of the final figures, they just seem to add up the way they should be."
She looks at the data, and asks me to stay back so we can have a look at them. I was planning to remain after anyway to re-input the raw data, so I agreed.
5pm rolled around, and the office erupted into a human lava flow towards the exit, leaving me sat at my desk. I look over to Patty's office and see her on a phone call, looking quite animated, as if she was laying down her law to whomever the unfortunate soul was on the other end. I was glad it wasn't me, as she occasionally was quite venomous if someone got on her wrong side.
About 15 minutes later, I feel a hand on my shoulder, which startled me. I hadn't heard Patty walking out of her office and approach me.
"Are you OK John?" she asked in a concerned tone.
"Yes, sorry. My mind is running hundreds of scenarios on where the information went wrong, and trying to fix it."
She grabs a chair from a neighbouring desk, and we start to go through the information, from the bottom up. While we work, I am aware of the perfume she is wearing, White Musk. It fills my nose and my head. Several times, when she leans across to point out something in the data, she puts her hand on my arm to steady herself. She has never been a 'touchy-feely' person in the office, but input it down to her approach as a manager to not get too personal.
After 2 hours, we finally track a mistake in the data. A single decimal point. In my haste to input the information, I moved the decimal point one space. So I correct the mistake, and re-run the calculations, and it run true to the predictive model.
The presentation, if successful towards the Brooker board members, would ensure our reputation as the best.