MONDAY
Samuel Hall almost jumped out of his skin when someone pinched his butt in the coffee line at Starbucks.
Honestly, he didn't know what to do about it at the time. While his posterior was perfectly functional when it came to filling out the seat of his charcoal business slacks or, say... sitting, it was hardly the magnetic type of male rump that garnered attention and never a cheeky squeeze from the fairer sex.
...at least, he
hoped
it was someone of a female persuasion taking liberties with his back end. The coffee shop had been bustling with morning foot traffic, and Sam had been too stricken to face his handsy admirer before he was called to receive his order.
Now he stood in the foyer of the Radley building waiting for the elevator, holding a loaded cardboard coffee holder in one hand, feeling perplexed while rubbing a sore spot on his left ass cheek with the other.
"You okay, Mister Hall?" Henry, the confusingly titled 'business concierge,' asked from where he sat firmly lodged behind the lobby desk. All bushy gray mustache and arduous beer belly stuffed into a rumpled suit as he slowly fossilized in his ergonomic roller chair. "Ain't got the piles, have ya? Hang on, think I got a cream for that..."
"I'm fine, really..." Sam hammered the call button as the ghastly old man bent like a rusty hinge to rummage through the desk drawers. "No need to bother yourself."
"It's in here somewhere--Holy smokes!"
The crusty geezer's attention was thankfully snatched away from elusive rectum ointments as a divine vision of beauty strolled in through the revolving doors, one long, perfectly-formed leg crossing in front of the other, as though the balding olive carpet was a Parisian runway.
She was stunning. Tall, elegant, and whip-thin in that effortless way that hinted at strict dieting, a lifetime gym membership, and a Powerball win in the genetic lottery. Utterly beguiling with full, flowing hair shining all the shades of autumn framing her exquisite cover girl face.
The mystery woman stood out like a brilliant diamond amidst the drab surroundings of an aged office building with the perpetual "This space for rent" sign hung beside the spinning entryway. She was swathed in a strapless, backless cocktail dress of black shimmering fabric, matching ankle strapped, peep-toe high heels, and a tiny leather purse dangling from a threadlike gold chain looped over one bare shoulder.
"Uh... welcome, Miss." Henry croaked, unsticking himself from the chair to stand and straighten his tie. "Do you need help finding--"
"You're a doll for offering, but no thank you. I have a pressing appointment with the Wesner family law firm. Hold the lift, please."
Her southern accent was smooth as dark velvet, and the words took a moment to register for Sam, who tore his eyes away from her swaying hips to turn and find the elevator doors about to shut on his recently mauled ass.
He hadn't heard the ding of its arrival in his distracted state but recovered quickly enough to wedge his free arm into the closing gap and wrestle it open again. The infernal machine was as uncooperative as ever, but Sam managed not to spill his tray of coffees in the struggle.
"Bless you, kind sir." The walking dream purred as she glided into the small compartment. Her slinky dress had a long slit in the side that exposed an abundance of pale, silky thigh. "It's so rare to meet a true gentleman nowadays. Seventh floor, please."
"What? Oh, yeah. No problem."
Sam was trying his best not to stare.
Not to stare at her firm, juicy breasts and how they filled out the sweetheart neckline of her sheer party dress like two alabaster grapefruits wrapped in midnight satin. Not to smell the way her sweet perfume--floral as honeysuckle blossoms--pervaded the confined space of the world's slowest elevator.
Not to notice the seductive smile spreading on her rose petal lips when she met his wandering gaze from beneath luxuriously long, drooping lashes or the slick of perspiration beading on her ivory skin.
She was hot, and not only in the sense that she was incredibly attractive. Sam could feel the baking body heat from her sparsely clad figure raising the ambient temperature of their shared confines as the lift drowsily chimed off the passing levels at the pace of a crippled snail.
Sam tugged at his collar in the stifling air. "Are you okay, Miss--"
"Stinton. Missus Deborah Stinton. Soon to be Miss Deborah Tanner again if this meeting goes well." The breathtaking brunette slid closer as she spoke. Pressing her slender hip against his own. "I admit that I'm nervous and must look a frightful mess. Caught the bastard cheating on me, can you believe it? A dreadfully unpleasant business, all in all, but soon to be unattached again. No need to worry about silly ol' me."
She rested her fingertips gently on Sam's wrist as she stared up at him through half-lidded eyes. A clear flirtation. She wore jangling gold bangles; her nails were long, manicured, and painted a deep plum color. He could feel the feverish warmth of her skin in that small point of contact.
"Excuse me, Deborah. I'm Sam..." It seemed rude not to return the courtesy of an introduction. "...and you have my condolences, but I meant to ask if you are feeling well?"
"Fine, Fine. Never better. You're such a sweetie for asking." Deborah drawled, batting his forearm playfully as she drew in closer. Thrusting out her firm, happy breasts. "Just a touch of allergies brought on by the blooming season. As a matter of fact, I'm beginning to feel single and ready to mingle. My friends call me Debbie, by the way. Are you feeling friendly, Sam?"
Sam would have backed up if he had any room to maneuver. The gorgeous, soon-to-be divorcee was coming on strong and broadcasting some apparent signals.
He held the coffee holder in front of himself like a caffeinated shield as the aforenamed Debbie closed in on him with all the grace of a savannah predator stalking prey.
He wasn't sure what to do in this situation. Sam wasn't a ladies' man by any measure. He was an accountant--a
junior
accountant--with the skinny nerd awkwardness and wool knit sweater vest to prove it.
No woman would ever fantasize about running their hands through his unruly sweep of ash-blonde hair. Nor would they hang on his every word as he expounded the financial benefits of declaring work expenses as tax deductions.
The steamiest evening Sam had ever spent with a member of the opposite sex was an after-hours inventory audit of a custom cabinetry business with his standoffish co-worker Claire. That was last summer, and the shop's air conditioning had been broken.
So what was this picture of womanly loveliness thinking? Pressing him, of all people, back against the faded wood paneling with a lascivious glint in her wanton eyes...
"I... I, um, please forgive me, Deborah--"
"Debbie. Call me Debbie, Sam." The autumn-haired vixen purred, leaning in to give him a better view down the snowy valley of her cleavage and inhaling the wafting vapors rising from the cardboard coffee cups. "Mmmm, I love the smell of freshly brewed beans in the morning. Almost as much as..."
Sam waited, rooted in place as Debbie paused, pretty little nose scrunching up and her charming expression frozen for a second.
"...ACHOO!!"
She blasted out the mother of all sneezes, spraying straight down his front, followed by an embarrassed sniffle and an abashed grimace.
"Pardon me, dear... like I said, springtime allergies."
Thankfully, the lift chose that moment to grind to a stop, and the doors creaked open on the fifth floor, providing Sam with a polite means to escape.
"Feel better soon, Deborah, and I wish you all the best in your legal proceedings." He said in a formal, if slightly rushed, tone, sideling around her and into the hallway as respectfully as he could manage. "It was a pleasure to meet you."
"Sam, wait! You still need to give me your number. How will I find you?!"
________________
"It's fine, right?" Tammy asked, hand hovering over her double-shot mochaccino with whipped cream and vanilla bean. "She wasn't contagious or anything?"
"You can't catch allergies, dummy," Claire said, taking a deep sip from her
completely
different double frappuccino with vanilla infusion and cream topper. "They're immune reactions, not diseases. Read a book once in a while, why don't you?"
"Nobody is allowed to get sick." The office manager Sadie announced sternly, blowing on her morning cappuccino with frothed milk and two sugars. "March is crunch time for us. Lots of work to do and zero time for runny noses."
Sam was still massaging sanitizer into his hands as the small office of Chandler's Accounting Services quenched their daily caffeine fix. One solitary figure lurked, overlooked in the background. Stooped shoulders weighed down by thick layers of obstructive clothing--a shirt under a cardigan under a hoodie--as though Spring hadn't just sprung.
He picked up the last coffee and approached her with an understanding smile. "One latte, made with almond milk and topped with coconut cream. For everyone's favorite intern."
"Thanks, Sam." Zoey's grateful smile was brief and tentative, disappearing behind a tangled swish of chocolate brown hair as she shyly dropped her bespectacled gaze to inspect the cup. "Are you certain it's vegan? If there's any dairy in it, I can't touch it."
"I've got you covered, Zee." Sam gave her shoulder a short pat of reassurance, about as much physical contact as his chronically timid co-worker could handle. "We have to look out for each other down here on the bottom rung."
It didn't need to be said that working in an office full of women had been an adjustment for Sam. Navigating the hitherto uncharted waters of gender dynamics in a competitive workspace was initially daunting. That was until the geeky bookkeeper had been sat down by Tammy and Claire. The persistently bickering pair set aside their friendly enmity long enough to firmly instruct him to "chill out" and stop staring at his leather loafers whenever they looked his way.
...and bring them their fancy-ass coffee. Junior staff members still had to pay their dues after all.
Chandler Accounting Services was a relatively small player compared to the larger firms on Charlestown's financial stage. But the pay was good, all the neat numbers in columns suited his pedantic disposition, and the work environment was generally friendly... if a tad heavy on the estrogen.
