After the pain of the breakup of her relationship with her father Tihana has been re building her life and had found solace in a career in PR. Her looks and personality were natural attributes for this role and exposed her almost daily to the continuing adoration from work colleagues and clients.
The lift doors opened onto the wide reception area, the cool lighting reflecting off the marbled floor. Luxurious leather armchairs scattered the area and, although the reception was busy, there was a hushed -- almost reverent -- authority to the office.
"Hi Tihana", beamed the receptionist.
"Hi, Lola" came the brief reply, accompanied by my trademark knowing smile; a cross between a shy, eye averting curl of the lips and full blown grin. Lola looked away and immediately began shuffling papers self consciously.
Lola had been flirting for some months now, knowing that there was an underlying sexual tension to this morning ritual yet not having the courage or, maybe, desire, to take things further. Anyway, it always brightened my day and, one day I mused, I would have to take control and break the sanctity of this ritual with an innocent invitation, heavy with an air of expectancy.
As I walked through the reception, heels clicking on the marble floor, the mainly male congregation in the reception turned as one to look. I smiled inwardly as they feasted on me - it is always a turn on to be adored. As was the way for the colder months of the year I wore a blue trench coat topped with a leather cap, set slightly jauntily, blonde hair curling beneath it. Sliding the cupboard door to one side I slipped out of my coat, like a teasing strip dance, revealing a charcoal suit, tailored into her waist and with a flirtingly short skirt and stiletto ankle boots. Not exactly regulation office wear, but I was never conventional in that way and it had been ingrained in me over the past few years to dress sexually -- but with of course, as much style and class as possible.
Turning on my heels, I paused to check my look in the mirror that covered the entire wall of the reception, teasingly slowly, and then swept out of the room, leaving a sense of longing hanging in the air.
The morning passed quickly as I became absorbed in my work and it was only the automated meeting alarm that jolted me back to reality and my lunch time meeting. I was meeting Fiona, the owner of a transportation company that we were doing some PR and marketing work for. At the pitch for the business a few weeks ago I could feel her eyes boring into me. Normally I am so used to being looked at that I am almost oblivious to attention. Of course, I do notice, register it, and am always flattered that my effort in presenting myself is met with appreciation -- by either sex. However, Fiona's stare was somewhat disconcerting and I had caught myself blushing on a number of occasions.
It was big pitch and there were three of us: Stephen, our MD, and Thomas, the lead account manager with a background in media marketing. I was there to cover PR activity. It was a warm day so I was wearing a baby blue dress, mid length so the hem hovered half way up my thigh, and open sandals with a stiletto heel. I had taken off my jacket, white thin linen, and handed it to the secretary when I first noticed her staring at me. She started off with my eyes, looking deep into them and with a steady gaze, until I flushed and looked away. Then I could feel her assessing my figure and lingering more than could be considered polite.
She was dismissive of my colleagues for the informal "meet and greet" and barked questions at me -- how long had I been at the company, was I more than just a pretty face when it came to PR, how do you quantify the return on investment for the fees we would charge, was I married, boyfriend or (with a sly smile) perhaps a partner, how could I make a haulage company a sexy brand and what special attributes did I have to bring to the table.
Throughout the meeting she had stared at me, sitting still in her chair at the head of the table, pen in hand, a smile creeping across her face as I absent mindedly played with my hair as a kind of nervous reaction to her gaze....and the more she looked, the more I fiddled with my locks, and the more the she stared and half smiled.
And the more I blushed.
She had a boyish look to her. Broad shoulders, shoulder length black hair, wearing grey trousers and a man's white shirt. She explained to the meeting that she had inherited the company when it was on its last legs and only by working all the hours there were, and driving some of the fleet from coast to coast herself to fulfil orders did she manage to turn the business around. She now wanted to move to the next step and expand. Which is where we came in.
The pitch was successful and we were hired. I had a call a few days later from Fiona. To thank me for my contribution to the meeting and wanting to buy me lunch to agree the content for a series of press releases. Unless, of course, I would find dinner more convenient and relaxing and would give us more opportunity to get to know each other -- oh yeah, I had thought!
Which is why we now sat in a rudimentary but functional restaurant. Fiona had turned up on a motorbike and was wearing jeans and under the bikers leather jacket a t-shirt vest made of a silky material that left little to the imagination as her heavy breasts pressed against the material. I noticed that even though her breasts were firm there was no tell tale excitement and she was obviously dressed for comfort on her bike. Which no doubt went some way to explain the nature of the venue. I had been certainly nervous before we met, which is why I had let work absorb me so much earlier that day as a distraction. She had made me very uncomfortable at the pitch and it didn't take a genius to work out her sexual preferences and her obvious interest.
Still, it is my job and I am good at it. And I am well practiced at the gentle let down should she choose to continue with her tactic of stripping me with her eyes or being suggestive. Fiona was, today, focused on business to the exclusion of all things, even the traditional small talk that pervades meetings whilst surveying menus. She had waved them away, ordered for both of us, before asking as an aside if I was comfortable with what she had ordered, and ran through her agenda. Neither a comment nor look that could be considered inappropriate.
