"Unrequired...or not so much"

Chapter 1 - Unrequired

"Have you seen Jean today?" I look at Miranda, who arrived at the other side of my cubicle and see her looking to the other side of the room with a worried frown that makes her button of a nose turn slightly up "Is it okay to wear that short of a skirt in working hours?". I look in the direction of her gaze and see Jean for the first time that day. Jean has been on one landslide of a divorce with a cheating husband who is making her life miserable, and coping with that has been a nightmare for her, and for us. She lost her self worth and I cannot understand why because the girl is drop dead gorgeous. Some days she is dressed as she would for a convent, others she flashes her God given talents for the world to see.  The guy did a number on her, and if this goes on, she will lose her job. As if on cue, before I could do something about it, our boss arrives and with him his scent.

There is something special about the sense of smell. The way it makes you powerless to react, makes your brain freeze, even when you need it the most. Science says it is a way to choose the perfect mate. How the skin scent will tell you if what you have there is what you need for your offspring. I understand science, I read about it, and I get it, but it doesn't make it any easier, because I have to live with the perfect scent every single day. And the scent comes with the perfect package. The thing is, when you have good genes, your package is good not just for one "cow", but for a "herd", and believe me, the man is a bull. And his office is full of us, with more applying every day.

I hate to think like that, I'm a feminist, woman power is my moto, but biology is difficult to control, and when you have that walk, voice and smile in close proximity, it makes it very easy to understand that we, ladies, are just very good covering up our "animal" side, at least I hope we are, because the other option is just mortifying.

It's hard to have that good looking of a boss. 6 ft 4, of lean long muscles, that even in a suit are hard to cover, and a walk that makes wild cats envious. But what really makes me speechless are the eyes. Bedroom eyes. The perfect mixture of blue and green, surrounded by the darkest and thickest eyelashes I ever seen, as thick and dark as his hair that he always has a little too long. Let me tell you, he makes it very hard to say no to overtime, not when he looks at you as if he is asking for another go. It's hard to be his assistant. And that is exactly what I am. And now I am in the situation of covering up for my friend who is about to flash him her backside if she bends just an inch forward. And that will get her fired. Don't get me wrong, the guy is sex on a stick, but he is strict, he is professional, and that kind of behavior is not allowed, ever. What was she thinking?!?!

I get a bunch of papers that were in my desk, get of my station and make my way to him, praying that I will come up with something that will sound plausible in the few feet that separate us as Miranda goes to Jean to take her to the toilet and away from the office.

I know I look as panicked as I am, because when he looks at me he frowns and makes a move with his head for me to follow him. And now I am in bigger trouble because he thinks something is seriously wrong when there isn't. Well, there is something wrong, but not with his business. And he cannot know, and I have to make up something fast and at the same time, it has to be something that will not make him think the office is on fire, or we were invaded by aliens. I am a terrible liar, I never learned how to do it right. I stutter a lot, let me tell you. I'm proud of being honest, but now, it is a curse.

When we get to his office he opens the door and lets me go in first. And I'm struck lungs deep with his scent. It's as if it's amplified by his presence. I've been there today, making sure he had all his files for the day, and it seems it wasn't as intense. Still there, but not as sharp, as thick. I feel myself flush, getting hot, and it just makes my  situation even worse. I'm fair. I'm ghostly white, truth be told. Blushing is a condition I will suffer for all eternity, I believe even after my departure for the pearly heavens, if life goes as uneventful as present, I'm going to be known as the lobster. Makeup helps, but in this situation, there isn't a foundation in the world that would cover the blood. I'm surprised I didn't nosebleed. So, I get all red and shiny, as expected, and he tells me to seat with his raspy and low voice, which I think only made me feel worse. Not to be corny, but the man SHOULD come with a warning, for woman kind. And I'm shy, well, in his presence I am. Who am i kidding, I get shy thinking about him. No presence needed.