She looked hot. And I was bothered. She leaned against the wall of my cube like it was a lamp post. Oh, happy lamp post. She wore standard business attire, a suit with a skirt and a white blouse. It was what was under that suit. It was kryptonite. Strong enough stuff to bring a powerful man to his knees.

“Sweetheart,” she drawled. “I need the client suitability data.”

She did that little hip thrust when she said it, just sliding her hip a little to one side. It’s a move that says “I want you, and if the coast were clear I’d turn tigress all over you, right now.” Some women don’t know that they’re giving themselves away. Some women us the hip move like a weapon. I knew one woman that used it like a hypnotists watch; left…..right….left….right. I ran into her once in a bar. Somehow by two in the morning I was strutting around the place clucking like a chicken.  I have no idea how that happened.

“Sure doll,” I said, “got it right here.”

I opened the spreadsheet. She looked pleased. Suddenly she grabbed me by my cheeks and said, “I love you,” in a sultry voice. She planted a big one on me, thrust her tongue inside. We were locked like that for a small eternity. I didn’t know I could hold my breath that long. I didn’t mind.

When she finally let me go she said, “Just kidding of course. Can you add the sales rep and region to that? I’m leaving early today.”

“Sure doll,” I said, “I’ll have that for you in an hour.”

“Thanks,” she said turning to leave abruptly. “I’m going downstairs for a smoke.”

Then she gave me a look over her shoulder.

“I’ll look for your spread…sheet.” she said, separating the two words in a meaningful way, before locomoting out of sight.

I don’t let a woman like that break my heart. She’s only in it for the data.