Written by lizz
17 Oct 2016
Swing low 2
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4 minute read
I was angry. We had just finished a big project. As with anything, there had been hiccups but somehow, I managed to keep everyone motivated enough to pull their weight to get us over the finish line.
It had been a bit of a suprise that Andrew had been assigned to join me on the project, but, since Matt had unexpectedly fallen ill, I was only glad of the extra pair of hands that one of our Execs had had the foresight to arrange. We'd had 48 hours to pull off the assignment, and our time had just lapsed.
I stood on the stage dressed in my all-black, tailored skirtsuit, talking prospective clients through our proposal. Responding to an array of questions, I enjoyed the looks of surprise in the faces of the audience gathered in front of me. The sea of impressed expressions told me that we had clearly knocked this one out of the ballpark. This moment was totally worth it! I was in my element and it showed.
After the applause had died, and I stepped down from the podium. I thanked our clients for their time, introduced them to members of our senior team, and left them chattering excitedly. I made my way to the back of the room.
I always made an effort to exchange a few words with the most junior members of staff after projects like these. God knows what a few kind words had meant to me when I first started out. Sometimes those small talks were all the light I needed to keep me going in those long, dark, early days of my profession.
Thanking the least likely people was something I had made a habit of.
I worked my way through my team but intentionally avoided Andrew until I had to face him... The last hors d'oeuvres were being cleared. He stood by the boardroom door, leaning on its frame. I had been well aware of his presence throughout. I had forced myself to banish those thoughts of him to keep focus. Andrew was chatting excitedly to a few of our colleagues.
I waited for my moment, took a deep breath and stepped up. I approached with an outstretched hand to shake his. My three inch heels only barely avoiding a dangerous wobble on the way. I smiled, looked down, avoiding his searching gaze, "Thanks! You did incredibly well!"
He silently reached out and pulled me in. His hand to his chest, fingers intertwined in mine. Interlaced chocolate and caramel. One move. Smooth. Without warning. He caught me off guard.
Suddenly, in that small crowd, it felt like everyone was staring. I could feel his warm breath. He spoke softly, "Do you want to meet me this week?" My hairs went up on end.
I didn't understand why he chose this precise moment to remind me of all those moments over the last two days when I had politely evaded any personal talk between the two of us.
I felt mortified. I looked away. I was trapped. Searching for an escape, I pretended to knee him in the groin. It was all I could do to break the moment of seriousness. To break the penetrating hazel gaze that was casually stripping me of my pretense and tough persona.
He held on firm. Unafraid of my immature play. We stood dangerously close while he casually leaned against the doorway. The pale hairs on his forearm ticked me. The shock involuntarily made me jump. His hands warmed mine. The corners of his lips toying with a boyish smile.
I shivered. Dizzy.
This time in front of a gathering of people who had known me for years. Who knew I was 'happily' married.
I tore my hand away from his. His confidence added to my confusion. And I stepped back. I spoke loudly, "Be safe on your drive home!" A flash of confusion crossed his face, but then he smirked. I was so transparent.
The punk had found the kink in my armour.
I was angry.
As I whirled around and walked away, my nipples rubbed against the inside of my silk top with each step. Perked up. At attention. Uncomfortable, I drew my blazer across my chest, but the space between my legs moist. The warmth and slipperiness tingled. I could feel him staring at me. My ass. My skirt suddenly felt too tight. My temples pounded as I mentally tried to block my sudden self-awareness. Of the humiliation of that moment. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.