Blueprint

P3 - Happy Hour

Week One
"Yes, hello, Mrs. Lopes," Harry's voice airs out from across me. I sit by his desk, legs crossed over one another and my hands busied with highlighting important information on contracts he'll eventually hand out to his clients. Besides the stains of bright yellow on my fingers, no harm has been done today. I wear my simple, white turtle neck that was on the more fitted, riskier side by my mother's standards, and another long, tan skirt of mine. Pair of nude flats on my feet. My hair was down today, dark wavy strands falling forward, concealing fractions of my face from Harry if he were ever to look up from his own paperwork.

A soft sigh falls from my lips, tired eyes squinting at a line before noting it was the one he'd denoted as crucial for the client. My heavy exhale grabs Harry's attention, his fogged green eyes flickering to me as he leans forward, elbow pressing into the dark wood of his desk. Distractedly so, he gazes upon me, continuing his conversation with the woman on the other end. I feel my neck grow steadily warm, blaming the thickness of the turtle neck, but still, I flush while his unmoved, stolid and quite serious expression refuses to alter even at the slightest showcasing of my usual shyness. I'd be an idiot to believe this clever, charismatic grown man doesn't notice the way I cower and grow a bright, painfully adolescent red glow across my face at a single look.

"Come to think of it, I haven't got much of those laying around, but I can set you up with Mr. Yung, he could be of help," he states steadily into the phone, rubbing his large, ringed hand across his unshaven jaw, and over his mouth that was decorated by the same stubbles of light facial hairs. Then his exhausted, stressed eyes to rub away at the sleep that is visibly wanting to take him over. I wonder just how stressed he is, and how I'd love to help him resolve those issues. Clearing my throat, I keep my eyes glued to the pile of contracts in front of me, telling myself to not look up because Harry has yet to look away.

I flinch, stunned only slightly when his hand reaches out to grab a pen that was near my freed hand, lying on the desk lazily with little use to me. His knuckles brush against the back of my hand as he leant forward for the ball point pen. I cringe at my awkwardness, but am relieved that he doesn't react, too busied scribbling down information onto one of my sticky notes he proceeds to take from my little reserved section of his desk.

"Athena," he pulls the phone away from his ear, covering the voice piece with his opposite hand, calling me in a low whisper.

I look up quickly from my lowered head, tipping my head up to look straight at him and brushing my hair behind my ears. My hands stop highlighting. "Yes, Harry?" I softly respond, full lips parting as my chest fills with air, rising.

He blinks his pale eyes, watching me steadily before saying, "I need you to print me a form. It's coded as Form A on the printer by the coffee machine."

"Okay," I nod, happy to escape the heat of his office. I think about my socially recessive behavior, and the way my voice grows so meek and gentle when in a conversation with him. Scratch the fact that he's my superior; I'm already a gooey mess inside at the idea of my submission to his demands. Sighing to myself when I finally walk out of the office, I roll my eyes at my pathetic attitude and begin to relax. I need sex.

I stand patiently by the printer, waiting for Form A to print out, tapping my neatly oval shaped nails into the exterior of the jet black printer. The other interns are occasionally passing by, their own workload somewhat short of busy work. I bite my lip and listen to the printer beginning to ink the piece of paper.

When I return to his office, turning the doorknob, I find him seated but now off the phone, a large hand running through his hair. He briefly glances up at me to watch me shut the door and approach him, setting the form in front of him. Grabbing it as I take my seat beside his desk, he murmurs a slow, "Thank you." His eyes scan the familiar document and he uses a pen to jot down information. I press my lips together momentarily, eyeing him carefully and then proceeding to grab the bright yellow highlighter next to my hand flat to the desk.