I stepped into the office building with a wide smile on my face, much to the confusion of everyone else there. Perhaps it was just because I was just coursing through the high of getting my first job, while everyone else there had been there for some time, but being inside this large, open building, with nice tile floors and a receptionist up front at a fancy wooden desk, seemed almost heavenly to me. It was definitely better than the alternative, for certain. I stood tall in the air conditioned entrance area, taking the feeling in; it was the last time I would be able to feel it for the first time.
As I passed by the receptionist, I gave him, an older man with a grey comb-over dressed in a sports coat, a wave. He waved back, and off I was on my way towards the elevators.
At the elevators, there were several people, a sea of dully-colored button-up shirts and black slacks waiting for the doors to open. As one arrived, they filled it up completely; even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to fit inside with everyone else. When that elevator went up, I pressed the call button, hoping for one to come my way, and not before long, one came to pick me up.
Stepping inside, I took note of the mirror that faced me, and the twin guard rails that ran parallel to where I was looking. It was such a minimal space, the perfect place for a worker to make sure their outfit was on straight and maybe do some last-minute touches on makeup; like there was anything else for an elevator to be. It was a perfect time to look myself over, check my clothes, make sure that my hair was right, and to see if there was any breakfast still in my teeth. After making sure everything was good, I couldn't help but think about the interview that happened.
It went really well. Granted, I wouldn't have been in here if it hadn't, but the person scheduling the interview, a man very similar to the receptionist, was very fun to talk with and we hit it off personally as well as professionally. There was only one thing that bothered me about it at all, though, and that was he mentioned that Ms. Fletcher, who was supposed to be my boss, wasn't in on account of vacation and that I'd meet her on the first day.
It left me wondering who this Ms. Fletcher could even be, but as the elevator beeped and opened, leaving me to find the open office under her direction, I knew that even my best guesses couldn't help me figure it out. Regardless, whether she was an old woman or a greenhorn like myself with a business degree, I was ready to work for the company; any more time not working would have driven me insane.
I entered the open office, and saw a bunch of desks, almost each of them occupied not only with a computer and stack of papers, but someone already sitting down and working. The sound of clicking keyboards and the occasional discussion about work filled the air. At the very front of the office was an unoccupied desk, ostensibly for the boss that was apparently on a business trip when I was doing my interview.
The other unoccupied desk was near the boss' desk, and as quickly and quietly as I could, I slipped into the seat and started looking at the papers that were on my desk. As I sat down, the person next to me, a man who wore a black button-up and thick glasses and looked to be a few years my senior, pulled his attention away from his computer and looked at me.
"You're the new guy?" He asked.
I looked away from the computer and at him, and nodded. "Just got hired a week ago. It's my first day."
"You know what you're doing?"
"I just have to copy all these spreadsheets, right?"
"More or less. You can probably get away with doing that for now, but eventually, you'll have to use formulas to make sure every aspect of the company's bottom line is accounted for."
I nodded. As long as I got paid for doing this work, I was fine with it.
"You seem to have a pretty heavy workload, too," he added, eyeing the stack of papers next to me. "I definitely didn't have this much work when I started out. Now that I have some seniority, they've given me a bit of slack, but I didn't realize just how much they're giving the new guys."
"Should I talk to the boss about it?"
"I don't know," he remarked. "She said that she'll be back today, but if she was, she'd probably be back by now."
The conversation died down, and immediately, both of us returned to work on our spreadsheets, becoming a part of the noise that filled the room. It was oddly soothing to listen to, and helped me stay productive. However, the words that my coworker had just given me stayed in my head, as if they were etched in my brain. You have a pretty heavy workload. I had expected it--they have busy work to do, after all--but hearing those words made me a bit concerned. Once the boss showed up, I'd have to talk to her about it.
However, as soon as the thought filled my mind, the clicking of keys was undercut by the sound of high heels clacking against the floor. Thinking it was one of my coworkers returning from a break, I paid it no mind, until the sound stopped filling my left ear and started filling my right. A chair rolled and someone sat down, and immediately, the coworker next to me spoke up.
"There's Ms. Fletcher. If you have anything to say to her, you should say it."
I nodded and stood up, walking towards the desk. Immediately, the diatribe that I had in my mind about how much work I had disappeared as I took in the sight of my boss.
At the desk in front of me, there sat an older woman. She had to have been in her mid-thirties at her very youngest, but her long, brown hair didn't have any hint of grey in it. A pair of red glasses adorned her face, framing her dark brown eyes and bringing attention to a mole right underneath her left one. A bright lacquer of red highlighted her lips against her fair skin. And although she was sitting down, I could see her white dress shirt trying its best to hold back her curves, buttons straining against her chest not to break. She looked up from her computer and gave me a wide smile, one that seemed to rattle my very core.
"I'm Ms. Fletcher, your boss. And you are?"
I gave her my name, surprised that I almost ended up choking on the words.
She daintily stuck her hand out. I made sure to grab not too harshly, but with enough firmness. "Nice to meet you," I said.
"Nice to meet you as well," she said, her voice a sonorous alto. "I'm so glad to have someone like you on our team."
I held back the nervous chuckle that wanted to come out, and kept my gaze on hers, her own shining with a mixture of enjoyment and a slightest bit of mischief (although that might have been me overthinking it all). As I let go of her hand, hers lingered, holding it there for an extra second. A rush of what felt like ice shot up my back, and Ms. Fletcher let out a small giggle.
"It's always nice seeing people so young and energetic joining us. Now, if you have any trouble with any of your work, don't hesitate to ask me, okay?"
I nodded. "Understood."
She returned her attention to her computer and brought her hands back to her keyboard, the tapping of her keys almost a constant stream of noise. With her attention back to her stuff, I turned around and returned to my desk, where I was greeted by a spreadsheet that I thought I understood enough to get started on, and thus, I started typing away, trying my best to put all of my attention into typing out my assignment. I needed to do the best I can, at least try to make it look like I was there to work.
However, even as I typed, my mind was in another place altogether. I was barely thinking about the cells I was filling out. All I could think about was Ms. Fletcher. Her warm, comforting voice, her mature body and the clothes that struggled to contain them, the way her hand felt against mine; it was difficult not to keep my attention on her when I could simply look up above my monitor and look at her instead, putting all of my attention into looking at her. It was so ironic, knowing that the one thing that was keeping me from working my best was my boss, but I wasn't the one who decided that she should be so sexy.
I could thank whoever did later. I needed to work on my spreadsheets. Throwing my thoughts aside, I looked at the papers stacked on my desk, and went to work, typing up as much of a storm as I possibly could. I had a long day of this ahead of me, and I wanted to make sure that every sheet was done before I went home. I needed to make a good impression on this company, and more importantly, make a great impression on Ms. Fletcher.
It was impossible not to get my mind off of her, though. Every so often, I would look up and see her, sipping on the cup of coffee on her desk, or typing up a storm at her computer, or talking with a coworker about something I couldn't care less about. The smile on her face was addicting to see, as was the intense stare she gave as she worked on her work. Each glance was fleeting, though, and before she could notice, I returned to my work, trying to be as diligent as I could be.
However, I wasn't diligent enough, Eventually, Ms. Fletcher noticed. Maybe I stared for too long once, but there was a moment where, in my looking up, our gazes met. Immediately, my glance shot back down to my work, where I'd keep my eyes glued onto my screen for as long as I could. Even if I wanted to look elsewhere, I didn't want to look like I was distracted. Thus, I worked, even as the thoughts that lingered in the back of my head kept rampaging, trying their best to be a distraction of the highest caliber.
Eventually, when I decided to look up again, I saw that Ms. Fletcher was staring over her computer and at me. I could barely see the corners of her lips from where I was, but I could see that they were the ends of a bright smile. It felt surreal watching the gaze come from her, and I tried my best to hide the pang that went through my body.
Her smirk grew, and then she returned her attention to her work. As did I, looking down at my computer, my fingers tingling a bit from what had just happened. I shook myself out of the stupor, though, and started typing up more of the spreadsheets.
Then, next to me, I heard some joints popping. I looked over at the coworker sitting next to me, stretching with his arms as high as he could possibly bring them.
