It all started with a secret glance from across the room, one he had not intended for her to see. Smooth as silk, he tried to play it off as though his wandering eye hadn't settled on her seraphic countenance yet she was more alert than he had realized. The--now embarrassed-- watcher ducked his head to the side so that his computer monitor blocked his face, hoping beyond hope that maybe she hadn't noticed. Poking his head back out with the speed of a leisurely tortoise, he noted she wasn't at her desk at the far end of the airy, late-century designed office. Relieved, he pulled up the spreadsheet software on his computer, resolving to bury his nose into his work rather than face his earlier social faux pas.
The office in which he worked had all the warmth of a sterilized hospital: white walls and large panes of tinted glass windows that filtered the gloomy grey of an overcast sky onto a maze of indistinguishable cubicles. Clickity-clack! The man's fingers tap, tap, tapped a rapid rhythm into his well-worn keyboard, the repetitive sound melded with the offsetting chorus of ringing telephones; It drowned out the sound of her approaching heels. Before he knew it, the scent of her perfume danced on the air as she sashayed past his drywall enclosure. He stopped mid-keystroke, turned to look over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her lithe silhouette: her sable black hair was kept in a simple plait that ran down her spine and fell to the small of her back, her purple & white floral business blouse seemed to flourish as she passed, her black pencil skirt fell at a respectable knee-level; the clap of her swift walking against the linoleum floor told him she had forgone her usual high-heels for flat shoes.
To his surprise, saw her flash a radiant smile that warmed her creamy caramel-colored countenance. Awkwardly, he waved to her as she proceeded out of the cubicle pit into the nearby break room.
"Malcolm...MALCOLM!" His neighbor napped him out of the momentary spell her presence had cast on him; Malcolm the watcher turned to the direction of the voice and saw the beet-red face of his co-worker peering over the wall with watery-blue eyes.
"Yo, what's up?" He tried to play it off.
"You have any sticky notes over there stashed away?" He asked, clutching the top of the wall with his pudgy, sausage link fingers, tapping it as if he were playing an imaginary piano, looking curiously at him.
"Uhh, yeah." He cleared his throat, trying to get his bearings, as he opened his top right drawer to scrounge through his supplies. "I should have some in here somewhere..."
While Malcolm dug deeper through his desk, the needy neighbor leaned in and whispered,
"So...you and Aria, huh?"
"What? Noooooo." He denied with vehemence, resurfacing empty-handed.
"Why not? You sure seem interested the way you were eye-humping her just now." The nosey co-worker pressed the issue, those ocean orbs followed her movement until she rounded a corner out of sight.
Malcolm scoffed at the idea, shooting a disbelieving look,
"You're kidding, right? You've seen her, she's light-years out of my league, for starters. And even if I had that level of game, I couldn't make a move while I'm working here." Malcolm explained.
"Right, that whole 'don't shit where you eat' cliche." He rolled his eyes, not buying what his work neighbor was selling.
"I like to think of it as not 'dipping my pen in the company ink', but sure that lovely turn of phrase sort of applies to this situation." He responded sardonic, finally unearthed those elusive post-its buried under a stack of windowless envelopes, holding it up between two fingers. "Besides what's your sudden interest in my love-life, Bob? When's the last time you got laid?"
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." Bob, the interrogator countered smugly.
"That may be true, but you hardly qualify as a gentleman." Malcolm jabbed back.
"Oho, someone had their Wheaties for breakfast." Bob shot back, snatching the post-its; he stopped and playfully punched his arm, "Might wanna save some of that alpha energy for your secret lover, 'cause here she comes again."
She appeared, arms laden with stacks of folders brimming with documents, evidently in quite a hurry; she misstepped, tripping over a buckled portion of the slate grey runner rug that lined the hallways and falling face-first. Copy paper flew up and fell down onto her like snow; Malcolm hopped out of his chair and rushed to her aid.
"That was a nasty fall. You alright?"
"Yeh, yeah I'm okay." she chuckled to cover her embarrassment, "Guess I should've been watching where I was going."
"Someone really should have helped you carry some of these." He extended his pale freckled hand to help her up which she gladly took; her dainty hand was swallowed up by his, as she was gently lifted to her feet.
Upon landing squarely on her feet, their size difference was all the more apparent; Malcolm knew she had a slender frame, almost pixieish in her dainty curves but being this close to her made him realize how much larger he was than her. Standing some five feet, eleven inches he was nearly a foot taller than her, her body felt so delicate as he easily helped the woman of his late night thoughts with her filing burden.
"How long have you been working here?" She seemed surprised at his concern.
"About...a year now?" It hadn't occurred to him he had lost that much time to this dead-end corporate tomb. "I just transferred to this location two months ago. Why?"
"Ah, still kinda new. You'll find out quickly that they don't care about us as much as they try to appear. Well...uh, I didn't get your name, I'm sorry. Oh my god." She giggled, caught herself doing it and stopped with reddening cheeks.
"Oh I'm Malcolm." Her laughter was infectious, he felt himself chuckling gathering all his collected files into one hand to offer her his right hand to shake. She took it, her smooth butter pecan hand melted into his meaty freckled one.
"Quite a handshake you have there." She said, a flicker of something underlying danced an evanescent cha-cha in her amber brown doe eyes.
"Sorry. Sometimes I forget my strength." He pulled his hand away, noting something as he did that perhaps she wasn't even aware--if I didn't know any better, I'd swore I just saw disappointment.
"No worries. I'm Arialana but my friends call me Aria." She replied, squatting down to scoop up the remaining scrambled pages sprayed across the drab slate gray carpet like print-covered snowfall.
"I know...well I didn't know your whole name. I've seen you around here on those rare days we are scheduled to work the same shifts. You should go by your full name more often; it's pretty." He remarked, coolly.
Holy crap, is this happening? Should I be doing this? Jesus fuck on a pogo stick, I hope I'm not screwing this up-- his thoughts ping-ponged off skull in double time, he hadn't dare attempt to engage in conversation in the past.
"Aw thank you Malcolm." She seemed genuinely touched, she shifted the armful of disheveled folders more firmly into the crook of her arm, pushing her unusually overflowing bosom up against her floral button-up blouse, seemingly putting them further on display.
"Any time." The words came from his mouth but he didn't recognize who spoke them; he became a different person around her. He strolled shoulder to shoulder with her, and knew without looking that she was smiling at him. Oh boy, you better cut this short now or it's gonna come back to bite you in your ass--his better judgement warned him.
"Where are you headed with these?" He asked her, walking in stride with her, allowing her to lead.
"H.R., I'm an assistant manager." She said in a proud tone, a smug smirk lined her pink, pillowy Cupid's bow lips.
"Oh... well you should probably stop hitting on me, then." He joked, cutting his eyes sideways as they walked despite his nerves threatening to lock his whole body up in a fear paralysis. "It's so unprofessional."
She scoffed, faked clutching her imaginary pearl necklace and playfully swatted at him, her palm batting at his stomach and finding his abs.
"Okay Malcolm, you kinda husky underneath those work clothes huh,?" She asked playfully.
"I'm just a piece of meat to you, aren't I?" He played along with her, chuckling.
"Shush, people might get the wrong idea about me, Mal." She warned, nudging him in the ribs, leading them into a corner office that had two prominent glass windows with khaki blinds half drawn.
They moved past the imitation red oak door into a desktop metropolis of stacked documents collared by a wall-to-wall spread of identical steel filing cabinets. She went to a particular filing cabinet, bending over the open drawer to scour through the forest of folders for the right place to temporarily stow the jumbled files.
"You can leave 'em anywhere on the desk near me." She suggested, folding her sleek form over it, standing on her tippy toes. Whether or not it was intentional was unclear to Malcolm, what was clear was--goddamn, she has a nice ass--his filthier thoughts rose to the forefront.
The form fitting skirt clung to the firm curve of her bubble-shaped bottom, her soft thighs were shielded by the alluring black nylon stockings; Malcolm's eyes couldn't help but see the faint peek of a turquoise colored G-string barely breaking the profile of her curves.
