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The woman in front of me doesn’t resemble the girl who used to sit on my couch like a casual teenager, her clothes looking like a paint set threw up.
A cerulean colored silk blouse with the first two buttons artfully opened. The ends are tucked into a black pencil skirt, which reaches her knees, her remaining legs covered in skin colored stockings, black heels covering her feet. Her blouse matches her eyes and her red hair is carefully combed, a single golden colored feather dangling from one ear.
My cock hardens immediately and I instantly turn around, bewildered by my own reaction to her.
I stride over to my desk and sit down abruptly, forcing myself to calm down.
“Well, what do you think?” Halley asks, gleefully.
I meet her eyes. I see the hope and expectations in her eyes; a part of me wants to tell her that she looks awful and that she needs to revert back to her normal clothes and yet, I can’t do that to her. “Very professional,” I manage.
At least, she’ll be in the office the whole while, so I can make sure nobody hits on her.
“Also, get this!” She tells me excitedly, putting her hands on my desk and leaning forward.
I can see a hint of cleavage, which just makes my blood pump faster.
“Lana says that I can have my own cubicle. Isn’t that great?”
“Great,” I grind out. “Fucking-fantastic.”
She doesn’t seem to hear this, her excitement at getting her own desk blinding her to my irritation. She’s prancing around the room like a little elf, her eyes gleaming at the prospect of having her own space.
; I can’t stand it any longer. “What’s wrong with our arrangement from before?”
She stops and looks at me as if I’ve lost a brain cell or two. “I was working on your couch. That’s hardly professional. Now I have a place where I can keep all my things and—”
I brush half my desk empty, tossing the things to one side. “You can keep your things here. See? It’s empty.”
She stares at me before pointing out, slowly, “You just mixed the two contracts that we didn’t bind on Friday.”
“Fuck!” I immediately start going through the papers.
She snickers. “I’ll be at my desk.”
“Wai—?”
But she’s already gone.
Groaning at this disaster, I lean back in my chair, sulking.
Stupid Lana.
“Excuse me?”
I look up to see the Head of HR standing in my doorway, glaring at me. “Did you just call me stupid?”
“What?” Damnit!
She crosses her arms.
I scowl. “Why did you have to give her a desk? Our arrangement from before worked perfectly fine.”
Lana’s expression clears and she raises a brow. “She’s your intern. She needs a place to work.” When I open my mouth, she raises a hand to cease my arguments. “Which is not your couch.”
“How am I supposed to talk to her about stuff now?” At her raised brow, I hastily amend. “Work stuff.”
