The Hunger

LAYTON

Tearing my eyes away from the deep blue of hers, I looked pointedly down at the paper spread out in front of me. “Blueprints. What about you? Why are you here so late?”

Marissa shrugged, the upward movement of her shoulders slightly lifting the hem of her bright purple dress. The temperature in the office was mild despite the bitter cold outside. She seemed intent on taking advantage of it, dressing in clothes that revealed more than any winter attire had the right to much less than I was partly hoping her summer attire would.

“There was too much work just sitting there on my desk and staring at me when the others left,” she said. “I couldn’t leave it all until tomorrow. I’m here to do my job, so I couldn’t leave when there was so much left to do.”

Something we had in common. It wasn’t a welcome realization that we might share the same work ethic or anything else, for that matter. It was bad enough that she was so physically appealing and appeared to be smart and dedicated. I d