After a few miss-keys and a computer crash, I finally got the spreadsheet for the Anderson account finished and could proudly say I was midway through the pile of crap on my desk. I slumped in my chair. It was late and I was the only one in the cube farm on the third floor. At this rate, I'd never get finished with all of it today, but I had told my supervisor I would finish these spreadsheets before I went home... me and my big fucking mouth.
I had prided myself on being a fairly good worker, I paid attention to the details and I wasn't some 'Barbie' who put white out on her computer screen. But I wasn't above being distracted every once in a while and one of them was working his way through the cubes tonight.
To say that he had matinee movie star looks, a chiseled chin, wavy coal black hair, ocean-blue eyes, broad shoulders, a massive chest and everything else in proportion would be like a horrible cliché in some vapid porn story. Besides, he wasn't. He was tall, but bald, like he shaved it. The ocean-blue eyes were there, but they were behind wire-frame glasses. He certainly wasn't muscle-bound, but he was trim and knew how to carry himself, which to be honest, seems to be half the battle with most men. He didn't walk around like a human question mark, but more like an exclamation point, with his shoulders back and chest out. No dazzling smile, but a definitely cute grin with dimples that made my toes curl... honestly. He didn't come out of the gate, charging at you with gallons of testosterone, but sidled up next to you and talked softly ... oh, his voice, now that was money. It was deep, rich and smooth. And his dimples, did I mention his dimples?
In the past, we chatted and it had wonderfully developed in to a flirty banter between the two of us. Whenever he was on the floor doing something, he would come by and flash those dimples and we would chat. He was a janitor of sorts, but a little more than that and I had a feeling he was a bit overqualified for his job. But he seemed to enjoy where he was in life and I never questioned him about it. You have to understand the cubes here are rightupnexttoeachother, so to flirt and not have everyone talking took a bit of finesse and we seemed to both up to the challenge.
He was getting close to my cube and I was about to say hey, when the phone rang. Crap!
"McIntyre?"
"Yes, sir?" It was Mr. Wesson, the assistant head of my department.
"Do you know where the information on the staff meeting this morning is?"
"Yes, Mr. Wesson, I can email that to you right now."
"Well, that's fine, but I was wanting to know..."
"Sir, its on its way now to you, I included the minutes, those in attendance and the plan for the next meeting."
"Okay, thank you, McIntyre, I'll look it over."
I always prided myself with ending phone calls quickly. A lot of times they can end up being a quagmire of wasted time and takes me away from actually working or at least doing what I'd want to do most, like talking to a certain someone...
I stood up and looked around, he was gone. Shoot, I thought to myself, exercised my ninja phone skills for nothing. I sat down, dejected, and sighed.
"Boo."
I gave a jump and whirled around in my chair. He was standing behind me with that shit-eating grin on his face... and of course, can't forget the dimples.
"You about gave me a heart attack, Casey."
He gave a quick smile and sat down on my desk.
"I'm sorry hon, but it would've been okay, I am certified in CPR."
"Ohhh... that wouldn't mean Crappy Pickup Routine, would it?"
Casey grabbed his chest in mock pain.
"Oh! That hurt, baby.. the thrill is gone, huh?"
I shook my head, giggling.
"Hardly, its just I'm still here and I don't want to be, but I need to get this paperwork finished, so I'm just stuck... and if I keep getting phone calls like the one I just had, I'm never gonna get finished."
"Well alright," he said as he grabbed the very ineffective stress ball off my desk and started tossing it in the air, "if that's the case, then why don't we play a game?"
"A game?"
"Yep... one I know you'll enjoy."
"Okay," I said, pushing my keyboard drawer in and sitting back in my chair, "what are the rules, Mr. Hoyle?"
"Well, it starts with you sitting at your desk working with your spreadsheets... "
