> “Maybe she, you know…doesn’t like dudes,” the third guy says.
“No, no. She doesn’t go out with anyone here. Not even the other chicks,” the second guy points out. “She’s totally antisocial.”
“Face it, man, you gotta up your game,” the first guy says. “If you want to ask somebody as hot as Erin out, you have to have a foolproof plan. Foolproof.”
Erin? My ears perk up as my step slows. Are they talking about my Erin?
As quickly as the thought strikes me, I shake my head. Erin isn’t an unusual name. They’re probably talking about some other Erin.
“What kind of plan?”
“She seems to like doing training, so offer to train her. Right? In programming. Maybe she’ll transfer to app dev like the previous one.”
Okay, these assholes are definitely talking about my Erin. She’s the only one whose predecessor moved to app dev.
What the hell. Over my dead body they’re going to steal her from me.
Oh ho. Aren’t you possessive. When did she become your Erin? And…“steal from me”?
Whatever. She’s my assistant, so I can totally refer to her as “my Erin.” It doesn’t mean anything. I just don’t want other teams trying to steal my people. I spend a lot of time and energy training them. I’m entitled to keep the talent I’ve discovered and developed, damn it.
“She probably already has a boyfriend,” the third guy says. His tone is positively morose.
“Doubtful. She’s too cold and unknowable.”
“Like the farthest corners of the galaxy,” the first one says, gesturing to indicate the heavens.
If he thinks that’s clever… Well. What was I expecting? They’re programmers, not poets. They probably think Shakespeare would sound better in binary.
I clear my throat. “Good morning,” I say in my coolest VP voice.
They start. The third one smiles. “Hi.”
“Have a good day,” I say, then walk past. Realizing that Erin is an object of desire among the developers doesn’t really sit well with me, but I should’ve known. She’s quite beautiful. Why wouldn’t these guys want to get close to her?
On the other hand, they said she doesn’t seem to care for their attention. That puts a small spring in my step as I stop by the break room to grab another coffee.
When I’m back in my office, drinking fresh brew and reviewing the new marketing plan for the fourth quarter, Erin finally comes in. She’s in a bland pale oatmeal-colored blouse with lots of buttons and a gray pencil skirt. Her feet are in Mary Janes again. A pair of pearl studs glows from her earlobes, and her hair’s held at her nape in a ponytail.
All professional. All neat.
But I can’t stop thinking about how she looked at the auction. Bright. Arresting. Waistline cinched and hips flaring. Hot as hell.
Yeah. I wasn’t going to think about that again, but it’s true. She was smoking. And still is, because now I’m mentally dressing her in other hot, sexy red outfits, with no back. Or a plunging neckline. Or both. And a super-short skirt. And stilettos.
I’m glad she dresses so conservatively at work because I don’t want any of those geeks seeing her like that.
My dick’s stirring. Shit. Not what I need when I should be getting ready to give her the chocolate and apologize for what happened on Saturday. How well is it going to go over if I do it with a crotch tent?
Erin sets her laptop on her desk outside my office, then walks in with a pen and legal pad.
“Good morning, David. I’m sorry I’m late,” she says, taking a seat opposite me.
Now that she’s closer, I can see dark half-moons under her eyes. Maybe she needed extra sleep, but didn’t get it. “No problem. I was just early today.”
“How was your weekend?” she asks with a smile.
She’s asking me about my weekend? I thought she’d be saying something like “How could you?” or “I’ve given it a lot of thought, but I had to send an email to HR about what you did.”