“Yes? What’s that?”
She clears her throat. “I seem to recall the last time I saw Nathaniel, he isn’t your typical Brainiac, boring scientist.”
Her statement confuses me. “Um, okay. Would you like to expound on that? Does he lack social skills or something?”
Dolly chuckles darkly. “Oh, no, Nathaniel has social skills alright. Perhaps too many, if you know what I mean.”
I give her an exasperated grunt. “No, I don’t know what you mean, Dolly. Spit. It. Out.”
Apparently, I haven’t had enough coffee this morning to deal with Dolly’s evasiveness. She does this all the time. She’s very dramatic and coy.
“The dude is gorgeous. And is somewhat notorious for being a playboy. So, don’t let him charm your panties off you.”
And with that, she laughs into the phone and then hangs up, leaving me trying to envision what a playboy research scientist looks like.
Guess I’ll find out at lunch.
3
Nathaniel
I abhor tardiness.I’m always on time and have never been late to anything in my life. In fact, my mother used to tease me about it, saying the only time I was ever late was the day I was born. Ever since then, I’m prompt, if not at least five minutes early to everything.
That position has served me well all throughout college, grad school and now my career. When you’re a top researcher in your field, there are certain deadlines that have to be met in order to win research grants and submit data for clinical review. It drives me forward and keeps me sane.
Today, however, has been a complete cluster fuck. The snow started to fall earlier this morning as I watched the city streets below become covered with white as I was on a conference call with my fellow researcher, Jose Peralta. By the time I was ready to head out, hailing a cab was impossible, so I hoofed it down to Fifth, which took me an addition fifteen minutes that I hadn’t planned on. Now as I walk into the Brazilian café Dolly scheduled for my interview today, I shake off my winter coat and remove my hat, frustrated and thrown off my game.
Removing my dark-rimmed glasses to wipe off the foggy film that accumulated on my walk, I impatiently sidle past a few patrons and search the room, hoping my potential interview isn’t here yet. Through my blurry field of vision, I see a woman in the back corner of the restaurant watching me with naked interest.
Or at least I think it’s interest, as all I can really make out from where I stand without my glasses is that she has on a bright red blouse buttoned up to her chin and a shock of maze-colored hair cascades across her shoulders. The contrast is bold and blinding.
Slipping my glasses back on, I take a few steps forward and stop dead in my tracks. The blonde stands from the booth, extending a hand with a tilt of her hand and a tentative smile on her beautiful face.
“Are you Mr. Leeds?”
This isn’t going to work.
“Excuse me?” she says with an incredulous tone. “What isn’t going to work?”
Oh shit, I guess I said that out loud. Well, fuck me.
I gesture with my hand toward her. “You. You’re too young. You don’t have the experience I’m looking for.”
I’m about to turn around to leave, hoping to extricate myself from the tempting woman in front of me. Now that I have a good view of her, I’m convinced she will only be a distraction if I hire her.
She’s beautiful. Blonde. Young. And sexy as fuck.
And I’d be inside her panties and fucking her within a day’s time. Which means, it would be a fucking disaster and she’d hinder my research progress, which I won’t tolerate.
I know myself. I may put a vast majority of time and effort into my research career, but I also have a very sizeable and insatiable sexual appetite. And lucky for me, I’ve never had any problem attracting the opposite sex.
But I do not sleep with women I work with or who work for me, rather. People might say I’m a playboy and womanizer. That’s true. But there’s one other thing that holds true. In this city, there is no shortage of beautiful women. There is, however, a shortage of good assistants and that’s what I need more than a quick lay.
The woman -Marin, I believe is her name– thrusts a piece of paper in front of me. A bit indignantly, I might add.
“First of all, Mr. Leeds, how dare you make an assumption about my age in relation to my abilities. I will have you know that I am a college graduate with two years of office and organizational management experience. I worked for one of the toughest bosses in this city until recently. I am ethical, organized and extremely competent. In fact, I think I’m overqualified for this role, but I’m doing it for...”
She suddenly stops speaking, clearly wobbling on her soapbox, her cheeks burning with the rosy color of embarrassment (or irritation) and her lips are pursed tight. To say I’m mildly curious is like saying the Yankees are just an average team.
