"It was a pleasure having you."
It's a throw-away line, the kind of almost-flirt I get all the time since I decided to become my father. So I pay it no mind, just turn away from her desk to the conference table, find a chair, sit in it, make myself comfortable, positioned (of course) so I can watch her work during the meeting.
Except she isn't working.
She's looking at me. Expectantly. Waiting for an acknowledgement of the line, all prim and and starched and bespectacled and five foot two and proper like. She's so fucking cute I can hardly stand it, but I'm not about to yell back "it was a pleasure being there" or "you haven't really had me yet" across twenty feet of office floor.
So I just smile and hint at a wink, and that seems to be enough, because she smiles back and turns her chair and resumes her typing, her curly chestnut hair falling over the high white collar of the blouse that's been causing her so much difficulty all day.
I don't know what she's been doing or how she's been managing it but I've been in three or four of her meetings so far and at the beginning of every meeting her collar's been folded under and tucked under her bra strap, revealing a precious few tan inches of delicious looking breast.
That's been three or four meetings in various different conference rooms and meeting areas at different angles, distances and vantage points staring at her exposed flesh. I know she's noticed, because in every meeting under my intense and burning stare she's looked down, realized her state of disarray, yanked the collar, and clutched her blouse closed all without missing a beat in the proceedings.
But you would think if it really bothered her, if she really wanted me to stop, that she'd remember to check her blouse before the second meeting started, and the third, and the fourth, and she wouldn't be saying "it was a pleasure having you" when I said "Those were very efficient meetings today" and she wouldn't have been waiting for a wink and a nod to finish the conversation either.
I don't know what's going on in that pretty little head of hers but I'm picturing her in the ladies room in front of the mirror before each meeting, very carefully tucking her collar under her bra strap, admiring the effect, and smiling to herself a secret enigmatic little smile.
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