My head pounds with nervousness as my hands shove my Civic into park. I know I have this interview down, but my mind still races with last minute anxiety. I spray my vanilla perfume onto my neck and wrists before exiting the car and straightening my shirt. I'd chosen a simple black blouse with gentle tassels from the sleeve and tight skinny jeans without holes. My height stops at a couple inches above five feet, but my black sandals offer me a small amount of height. I fix my glasses over my nose and make sure my hair hasn't slipped out of its blonde plait over my shoulder.
Breathing deeply, I pull the door open and immediately smell paper, ink, and a hint of raspberry air freshener. My hands tremble gently clasped in front of me as I scan the room. I stride to the small hole in the wall that revealed an office behind it. The plump blonde woman behind the glass slides the window away and asks my name.
"Claire Billings," I reply. "I'm here for an interview."
Her face brightens. "Oh wonderful! Just one second."
I smile and thank her, returning to my spot against the door as I wait. About a minute later, a side door swings open as she beckons me. Walking quietly, I follow her down a few twists and turns to a small room. As she tops off her coffee, I do not sit down. Interview manners, I remind myself, don't sit down first. Stand, shake hands, smile, and sit down either second or simultaneously. As I wait, I run through my list of practice questions and plaster a smile.
*two weeks later*
"Here are the invoices from last week. Go ahead and file these before you finish confirming those P.O.s," Mrs. Polly says.
I take the stack of green and white sheets from her and make my way to the filing cabinet. The stool is tucked in the closet as usual, and I snatch it and step up to reach the top drawer. As I'm selecting files to pull and organize while stuffing the new ones in place, movement catches my eye. I shift my weight to get a better view. Through the warehouse door window, I can see two men. The two salesmen toss their heads back in laughter as they walk tall toward the door and into the office where I am. I quickly look back to my hands as to not bother them. Out of my peripheral vision, I note the two men and ask Mrs. Polly what their names were back at my desk.
"Stanley and Nathan," she replies. "The shorter one with glasses is Stanley, but we can him Stan. And the taller one with dark hair is Nathan, or Nate."
I smile and spin my chair back around and face the P.O.s in front of me. My eyes hurt from looking at the computer screen, but I simply shove my glasses back up and get back to work. It might be time to get stronger lenses.
I have begun to love my new job. Three months and I'm finally done with training, doing things on my own now. The salesmen are all friendly and chuckle when they spot me on my stool. One in particular makes my heart flutter despite the age difference and the ring on his finger. As I'm filing, my thoughts wander.
I have never liked any man older than a few years above my age. Much less and grown adult. The realization I had a crush on Nathan had startled me. I hadn't known I was capable of something so odd. The feeling is foreign to me, but strangely exciting. The sound of him laughing makes my cheeks flush and my neck hairs stand on end. He is handsome for sure. His dark brown hair is usually gelled to the side away from his face and his face is calm with a stunning five o'clock shadow. His green eyes sparkle when he smiles at me and his hands are strong and sure. I had no idea an older man could turn me on until
I excuse myself to the bathroom and found my cotton underwear damp with my juices.
"Fuck," I mumble to myself. "This is ridiculous."
I wipe myself dry and make my way to the sink, taking off my glasses. The water is cold on my face and forces my skin to perk up. I stare at my large, crystal blue eyes in the mirror. Maybe I should invest in contacts, I think to myself. Everyone always marvels at my eyes and comments about their being hidden behind my grey large frame glasses. I decide to go shopping after I clock out.
The bags weigh my arms down, but I don't regret it. The better wages allowed me more wiggle room when it came to shopping. I'd purchased new contacts that fit my eyes and the correct strength, as well as a few new bra and panty sets. I'm petite at 5'2 and 103 lbs with B cups and a pear-shaped figure. I am short for sure, but I have been blessed with an exaggerated rump and small thighs. I have no idea what had come over me, but I had bought new undergarments and didn't regret a thing.
I have to admit, knowing I had on black lace panties and a matching bra made my steps a little lighter, even if I looked the same to everyone else on the outside. I had left my glasses on my white nightstand at home and tried out my new contacts. So far, everyone has commented positively. All except one. I haven't seen him exit the warehouse yet.
Perched on my stool, I mumble numbers to myself until I heard the warehouse door open. I almost turn my head immediately, but refrain from doing so until I hear my name.
"Claire, isn't it?" Nathan asks as he pauses, writing something down on a clipboard atop the cabinet.
I lick my lips nervously and clear my throat. "Um, yes correct. And you're Mr. Nathan?" I feel odd giving him that title, but I don't want to get too comfortable. After all, he is married. Or so I assume.
He chuckles so lightly. "Don't worry about formality. We're coworkers now." He looks up from his page and seems to notice for the first time. "Don't you wear glasses normally?"
I drop my eyes and lie pathetically. "Oh, yes I did. But they broke and I haven't gotten any more yet, so I'm wearing contacts today."
He smiles softly. "I like them. I can see your eyes better."
I gently lift my eyes to meet his. "Well thank you Nathan, I appreciate it."
