by Glory Lennon

Created on: January 18, 2009

George's jaw dropped when she walked into his office as did the papers in his hand. They scattered across the desk and onto the floor at her feet.

"Look at that. I'm already to be put to work before I even get the job," she said playfully. She dropped her briefcase onto the chair and bent down to retrieve the few sheets.

George's brain went fuzzy as an exotic fragrance met his nostrils. Of course, that may also have been due to the enticing view of cleavage.

She rose like a vision from a misty lake, gathered the sheets off the desk, smiled, and handed the papers to him. His breath caught in his chest. Talk about killer smiles! The murder didn't stop there, however. Her eyes, the color of pewter, set in the loveliest olive-toned face he'd ever seen were made to suck the soul out of unsuspecting males and her full, pouty lips could bring them down to their knees just to beg for a taste.

"Mr. Trudeau, are you feeling all right?" she asked concern marring her perfect features but little.

There was no way in hell he could hire Miss Mallory Dexter, MBA notwithstanding. She was a sexual harassment suit in the very supple flesh, in Prada heels and ultra-sexy, form-fitting, designer suits.

Damn it! How could the most qualified person for the job also be a runway model straight out of Milan? No, on second thought, she was too sexy for Milan, just like that stupid gitchy song says.

"I'm too sexy for my hat, too sexy for my cat, what do you think about that..."

"I'm sorry? What did you say?" Mallory said her eyes full of mirth.

Dear God, had he said that out loud? George cleared his throat, motioned her to take a seat and sat down in his own, his thoughts racing and trying in vain to keep his eyes from leering at her.

"Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"What?" he said distractedly, staring at her. I'm not normally a praying man, God, but help me here, he thought to himself. She's just too gorgeous.

"You seem to be somewhere around Neptune," she said with obvious amusement.

"Neptune? They say it's not a planet anymore. How about that?" he mumbled hardly knowing what he spoke.

"I've heard it was Pluto. I figure egg-head geniuses can do whatever they please and good for them. To me it'll always be a planet. I'm just a rebel that way," she said smiling brightly enough to eclipse the sun.

"Pluto...Mickey Mouse...yeah..." George said dreamily. He could feel himself sinking into her fathomless eyes and liked it immensely.

"Mr. Trudeau, is there something bothering you?"

"Bother... uh, well, yes.

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