I never viewed temping as a stopgap like most people. I loved the irregularity; the unpredictability. I didn't have time to get bogged down in a never-ending cycle of filing because I was only there for a week or so. I could swan in and instantly become the mysterious new girl; wank fodder for every man in that office. I was the perfect no-strings fling: up for a quickie and gone in the blink of an eye so any awkward encounters in the lift were few and far between.
I had worked in loads of offices and they were all the same. I tried to summon up some enthusiasm as the MD continued to show me around.
"Eva, let me introduce you to Daniella."
Two pistachio eyes swept over me, disinterestedly. She arched a bored eyebrow and stifled a yawn before rearranging her plump lips back into their original pout.
"Hi," I mumbled.
"Hi," she sneered, her focus already back on her computer monitor.
She was beautiful. Her caramel-coloured hair flowed over her shoulders; her collarbone jutted out like a knife edge. She flicked her kohl-rimmed eyes to a huge stack of paper in the corner of the room.
"All of that needs shredding."
Her voice sent prickles down my spine. My nipples hardened under my cotton blouse. It was an unusual mixture of emotions: fear tinged with excitement; dread mixed with desire.
My first week was terrible. Daniella watched me constantly with those unnerving green eyes, breathing down my neck. She terrified me and yet at the same time, I found her fascinating. I knew nothing about her apart from the fact that she wore Chanel No. 5 and drove a black Lexus. She didn't wear a wedding ring and there were no photographs on her desk. Her inscrutable aura entranced me. I was bewitched by her unfathomable depths. She would strut from one side of the office to the other and every pair of eyes would be fixed on her, feasting on the sight of her satin skirt skimming the curve of her ass, her tight blouse clinging to the arc of her breasts, her lean legs striding with poise in killer stiletto heels. She had men and women alike, regardless of their sexuality, eating out of the palm of her hand and I was her newest recruit.
Drinks after work on Fridays were a staple of office life. Every week at five-thirty, a group of us would pile into The Oak. After claiming our usual table in one corner, I waited until we had all taken those first, satisfying sips before I raised the inevitable subject.
"So, Daniella..." I let her name dangle tauntingly for a while before continuing, "Does she ever join you for drinks after work?"
Ingrid shook her head and laughed, "You must be joking!"
"Well, what does she do?" I pressed, half to myself than the rest of the table, "Seriously, does anyone know anything about her? Is she married? Has she got kids?"
My question collided with a wall of blank faces.
"I think she moonlights as a stripper," someone piped up; "she's certainly got the body for it."
We all nodded solemnly. I was surely not alone in imagining Daniella twisting herself around a pole or writhing on a table; a leather bra struggling to contain her pert breasts. I shifted in my seat and shrugged off my coat. Using a beer mat, I fanned myself. Several other suggestions were thrown into the mix as the alcohol worked to loosen everyone's tongues and inhibitions but I preferred to keep my theory to myself. I envisaged Daniella on a yacht with a bunch of other beautiful people, drinking champagne and eating sushi. I pictured her hair cascading down her honeyed shoulders, tendrils resting between her breasts. After diving gracefully into the sea, she would emerge, her white bikini transparent. Her nipples would clearly be visible through the thin material, seeking me out, beckoning me closer. I took a sip of my drink, using two hands to keep my glass steady. I had often fantasised about sleeping with girls, as I suspected most women had. There was something intensely sensual about the idea of licking a women's vagina, kneading her breasts.
The following week was my last. Being on the brink of leaving didn't mean Daniella treated me any differently though. On my last day, she had pointed to a pile of paper and barked "shred" at me as soon as I walked through the door. Something inside me snapped. I had pandered to her whims and nuances for almost a month and been bullied and belittled in return.
"You know if you said 'please' once in while, people might stop thinking that you're a complete bitch."
