“You wanted to see me, Mr. Gild?” I asked, my head poking around the corner of his office door. He looked up from his desk.
“Scarlett!” he exclaimed and hastily shuffled his papers around. I closed the door. “Ah yes, you’re due for your performance review. Please sit down.”
I sat down slowly and crossed my legs in a way that my skirt pulled up ever so slightly. Mr. Gild was a tall man, and I could see him eyeing my newly-exposed leg over the desk. I pulled the skirt up more, pretending to scratch at an itch. He swallowed. I then lifted my hands up to the lapel on my blazer. I left my skirt the way it was, but his eyes followed the movement. I adjusted my collar and blouse, and he looked for a long time. He swallowed again. After a minute or so I cleared my throat, and his eyes snapped up to mine.
“So?” I said innocently, making sure to look up at him with my puppy-dog eyes. He coughed.
“Uh yes, of course.” He pulled at his collar a bit, and when he looked down, I couldn’t help but smile. “Your performance here has been…” he went on, but truthfully I wasn’t listening. I was focusing more on rubbing the toe of my heel up and down Mr. Gild’s leg at just the right speed. Every time he looked up, I played innocent. It was just a silly, little toe. I certainly didn’t know what it was doing. I felt a little guilty for tuning him out, but my reviews had always been the same. A middle aged man on the other side of the desk would flubber and sweat while I pretended I wasn’t doing anything suggestive. They never said anything bad. Even if they kept me on just to stare at my chest, I could care less. It was a job, and a well-paying one too.
Mr. Gild began pulling fervently at his collar again. My toe had perhaps strayed a bit too high. “Uh Miss Scarlett, the window? Could you?”
I smiled sweetly. “Oh sure thing!” and I bounded up. I went to the window with the table in front of it. I leaned over, lifting one foot a bit off the ground, and flipped the latch. Then I pretended to have difficulties getting it open, so I could remain bent over longer. Eventually I opened the window fully and strode back over to his desk. I lightly stroked my fingers across his upper back, from one shoulder to the other, and then crouched next to his chair. He looked down at me, but not at my eyes. I placed my hand on his wrist and smiled. His pulse was racing.
“Is that alright?” I asked. He nodded.
“You may return to your desk, Scarlett,” he said a little too quickly.
I smiled again and straightened up. “Sure thing,” I whispered and briefly tugged at his collar. With a girlish twirl, I turned and left the office, making sure to swish my hips back and forth. I caught a glimpse of him as I closed the door. He was muttering to himself about “hating meetings with that girl.”
On the way back to my desk, Scott stopped me. “Showing off for the boss again?” he said bitterly. I just rolled my eyes and pushed past him. It was hardly my fault that the boss didn’t like him. “Some of us got jobs with our brains!” he shouted after me, and I flicked him off over my shoulder.
I sat down in my cubicle and kicked my heels off. I pulled my hair up, opened my laptop, and opened my work documents. Scott leaned over the wall with his coffee cup arm. With his other hand, he stroked through his greasy hair. “Look, I’m sorry okay? But I’m not the only one that thinks so,” he said. I shot him a sharp look, but didn’t pause in my typing. I noticed the cuts and missed whiskers on his neck and the coffee drips on his tie. He sighed. “Look, sweetheart, I try to be your friend but-” I held up a hand to stop him.
“You know Scott, I have a lot of work I need to get done, and I don’t really have time for you right now.”
“Fine,” he said angrily, but he did not leave. He was quiet for a bit, like he was waiting for me to say something else, then: “You know they’re firing Old Man Gild?” My eyes shot up.
“Why?” Scott smiled, pleased to have gotten my attention.
“He’s getting old, you know? Forced retirement or something.”
“Scott he’s fifty-six. He’s hardly an old man.” He put his hand up defensively.
“All I know is what they tell me, sweetheart. I’m not an expert on the subject.” He leaned over the wall again, getting close to my face. “Why don’t you ask him yourself,” he whispered, staring at my mouth; his breath was intolerable. “You and the chief seem to be pretty swell friends.”
I stood up quickly and bumped his coffee mug. It spilled all over his wrinkled shirt, and he wailed. I apologized over and over, pretending it was an accident, and pulled some tissues from my desk drawer.

Scott was right. A few days later, Mr. Gild packed up all of his inscribed pens and fancy travel mugs into droopy cardboard boxes and left. The next day the new boss arrived. And it was a woman. Ms. Jessica Cook, thank you very much, and if anyone forgot the “Ms.” they were in big trouble. On the second day some guy called her “Cookie,” and she fired him on the spot. She was a strict, no nonsense, hardass kind of a woman, but her attitude didn’t bother me. It was her gender. I’d had plenty of men like that, but enough leg or cleavage or sweet little whispers always put me on their good side. But a woman? I wasn’t sure what to do.
Along with being strict, she was uncomfortably sociable, in an overbearing kind of way. She insisted on intimately meeting every single person on the floor that she was in charge of, and every day for the first few weeks, she would call somebody into her office. They would often talk for over an hour. Her third week running the place, she called me in.
My desk phone rang shrilly while I was making a spreadsheet. I thought it was just Scott trying to bother me, so I picked it up and breathed “Hello?” into the receiver, putting on my most seductive voice. There was silence for a moment on the other end.
“Miss Scarlett, this is your boss,” finally rang through. Instantly, my stomach dropped. Before I could begin apologizing, she huffed angrily. “Please just come to my office,” she said, and she hung up. I gulped, put on my heels, and began the walk with an odd, foreboding feeling.
“You wanted to see me, Ms. Cook?” I asked, poking my head around the door. She looked up and smiled, putting down her pen.
“Well hello, Scarlett,” she said. Her voice was smooth but edgy too. It scared me. Without being asked, I came in and sat down. I did not swish my hips, and I did not cross my legs. I tucked my ankles under the chair and pulled my skirt down. I smiled. She smiled back.
“Ms. Cook, I’m sorry about the phone call,” I began. “I thought you were-”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter dear. I’m sure it was a mistake.” She waved her hand dismissively. She shuffled some papers around on her desk and opened a drawer. She pulled out a thin manila folder with my name on it. I swallowed. I could feel my pulse rising. It was killing me, not knowing what to do. I never didn’t know what to do. If all else failed a little wink or some skin always got me by. She interrupted my panicked thoughts by plopping the folder on my lap. I jumped a little.
“This is your company file,” she said. “Everyone has one. Open it.” I did. “What do you see?”
I moved my hand over the back of the folder and looked up confused. “There’s nothing in here.”
“Indeed.” She stood up and paced around the desk towards me. Her skirt was perfectly ironed and her jacket too. Her blouse came up to her neck. Her hair was pulled back severely into a bun. Everything she wore was steel gray or white, and the pointed toes of her pumps looked like they could cut me easily. She strode around behind me and place one hand on my shoulder, a little too close to my neck. She gripped me like a vice.
“Miss Scarlett,” she said. I could no longer see her, but her voiced seemed to come through gritted teeth. “Your folder is empty, and what should that tell me about you? No accomplishments of any kind. No promotions, no raises, no deals made with customers, no nothing. Not even a disciplinary record.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I whispered. I could feel my pulse slowing. She sounded angry, but she had nothing bad to say, nothing against me. Her hand released me, and she gave a huff. I stood, placing the folder on her desk, and turned to look at her. I gave her the puppy-dog eyes. It might not help, but I doubted it would hurt. “There’s nothing wrong with being a little off-the-radar, is there Ms. Cook?”
She laughed harshly and looked me over. “You call this off-the-radar?” she mocked. She pulled at the collar of my blouse and flicked my curled hair. “Plunging neckline, short skirt, fake eyelashes, ruby red lips and heels? That’s hardly off-the-radar.”
She advanced upon me. Frightened I took a few steps back, but she had me cornered against the shelves. “Do you know what this says to me, Miss Scarlett? This says you’re the office slut who’s got a rack just nice enough to avoid a pink slip.” She pointed a bony finger right at my neck, and I flinched away.
“I’m not unfair,” she whispered, “I won’t fire you here and now. But if I don’t see something of merit from your desk by the end of the week, you can pack your things.” She pushed me out the door and slammed it behind me.
I had to lean against the wall for a moment to recover myself. I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like I did horrible work, but I was aware I never did anything spectacular. I didn’t expect awards or anything, just to keep my job. I had never done more than adequately on anything, and I supposed I didn’t know how to. I calmed myself, smoothed my skirt, and fixed my blouse. It was okay. I just needed a little help was all. I straightened myself up and lifted my chin. I strutted to the only desk I thought worthwhile. He was a condescending jerk, but he did good work. I knew he did.
I snuck into his cubicle and behind his chair. He had his head down on the desk and was snoring lightly. I began massaging his shoulders. “Scoooott,” I whispered soothingly in his ear. “Scotty wake up. I have a question for you.”
He grumbled and groaned but lifted his head. “What are you doing?” he asked drowsily, followed by a gaping yawn. I put my chin on his shoulder and pressed my cheek against his.
“Scott I need a little assistance with something,” I breathed.
He straightened quickly and swiveled in his chair. Facing me, he had a hungry look in his eyes. “Oh really?” he said. He cleared his throat. “I could probably help you with that.”
I was a little pissed off at his assumption, but I smiled and pretended I wasn’t. “Oh nothing like that, silly,” I said and bopped him on the nose with one finger. He slouched down and looked uninterested.
“Oh. Then what the hell do you want?”
“Oh Scott,” I sighed. “Why is it always one thing with you?” I hopped up onto his desk and crossed my legs. My skirt pushed up past mid-thigh. His eyes watched it. I leaned over, pretending not to know about the view I was giving him. He stared.
Scott talked a big game, but honestly he was just like everyone else. He wanted me, and probably more than most since I regularly shut him down. He was a smart guy, but presented with this possible opportunity, I knew he would not be thinking straight. I took full advantage of that fact.
“The boss wants a project from me,” I said and pouted my lip. “I don’t know what to do.” I sat up and uncrossed my legs, poking his knee with my toe. “Can you help me? I know you wouldn’t want me fired. You’d miss me, wouldn’t you Scott?”
I batted my eyelashes at him. I thought it might be a little over the top, but he went for it. He sat up and adjusted his tie. He gave me this suave look like he was my knight in shining armor or something. It was hard not to roll my eyes at his lack of understanding. It’s a wonder that no one ever knows when they’re being played
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Don’t worry your pretty, little head about it. I’ll take care of it. Tell you what sweetheart, I’ll do the whole damn thing for you. You just need to sign your name at the end.” He placed his hand on my knee and slid it up a little. I glanced down and realized my skirt was higher than before. I hadn’t meant it to go up so much. I pushed his hand aside with a fake giggle and hopped down. I did a little shimmy to get my skirt down again and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“You’re the best a girl could hope for, Scotty!” I said girlishly. He seemed clearly proud of himself and brushed me away, feigning modesty. It made me a little sick to see him so stupidly proud.
“Don’t worry about it, really. Just maybe one day you can do me a favor,” he said as I was walking away- hips swishing of course. I pretended I hadn’t heard him. I didn’t really want to know what he had in mind for a favor. I wanted to throw up just thinking about it. I wiped my lips repeatedly as I sat back in my seat, as if to rid myself of the implications of “a favor.” Well, at least the boss issue was taken care of.

The week dragged on maddeningly slowly. I desperately avoided Ms. Cook, even to the point of hiding in the supply closet. Meanwhile I teased Scott as much as I could without actually taking my clothes off. A few times every day, I made my way to his cubicle and checked to see how he was doing. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he’d always say, and I tried not to, but it was just so frustrating not knowing what was going on. I liked having the control, and I sort of still did, but he had more than I wanted him to. On the whole, I tried to carry on as usual.
On Friday morning I went to see him. It was supposed to be the last time before he submitted the project. Apparently it was “promotion material,” or so he told me.
“Scotty,” I sang as I walked up to his desk. I leaned against it and looked down at him. He was typing away, but he looked up and grinned.
“Almost finished, sweetheart,” he said.
I hooked one finger under the knot of his tie and tugged gently. “Great,” I whispered. I bit my lip for added effect.
He tapped a couple more keys and made one triumphant click of his mouse. “All done!” he said, and he closed his laptop. He stood and put his hands on my hips. “Now,” he said quietly, not looking at my eyes, “about your favor to me.”
I sharply pulled my hand from his tie. I leaned away from him, but he pulled at my hips. He bent his head towards me, and I turned mine away. A jolt of fear shot through my chest as I felt his slimy lips come in contact with my neck. It hadn’t been meant to go this far. I looked desperately around.
“Scott, there are people,” I said, trying to think of some way to get away.
“True,” he mumbled, and he grabbed my hand. He practically dragged me to the supply closet and pushed me inside. He closed the door, and I felt the lightning bolt of fear again. The control had slipped through my fingers. I didn’t know what to do. My breaths started coming shallow and quick, but Scott misunderstood.
“So,” he whispered, lingering on the word too long for my taste. I tried to move to the door, but he blocked my way. He grabbed my hips again and tugged me close.
“Scott,” I protested, turning away from him. He kissed my neck again and undid the top button of my blouse.

“Scott!” I shouted and shoved him away. “Stop it!” This was too much. I quickly fixed the button. He stood against the shelves opposite me looked angry and confused.

“Oh what the hell, Scarlett! I busted my ass for you! You won’t even pay me back?” Tears stung my eyes. How dare he? He tried to move toward me again, but I threw at him anything and everything I could get my hands on. He flinched and yelled, and I burst out the door.

Not like that! I thought shaking angrily. With clenched fists and hot tears running down my face, I ran to the bathroom and hid in a stall. The game was over. He’d never send her the project now.


When Monday morning rolled around, I knew what would happen. I had already started packing up my desk when Ms. Cook called. She brought me into her office and made me sit through several long lectures on the advantages of hard work, of appropriate workplace behavior, and of not skating through life on looks. I drifted in and out while she talked. Ultimately, I was fired. As I packed my final things, I heard someone walking over.

“Hey.”

I clenched my teeth at hearing his voice. I wanted to say something snide, but my mind was blank. I wanted to scream and shout and push him down and kill him, but honestly part of me still wanted to flirt. He took the control and power away from me, and I wanted it back. But I also wanted Scott to know I was better than him. I didn’t make a sound, and I did not look up.

“Scarlett, hey,” he said, sounding so indignant, and he bumped my arm with his mug. I moved it away from him hotly. “Look, sweetheart, it’s hardly my fault, is it? You don’t get something for nothing you know. I was just trying to get what you owed me.”

I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut. If he wanted to pull that self-defensive crap on me, then I was going to play with him. I bit my lip hard, and tears from the pain clouded my eyes. Then I looked up at him and shook my head in the most pathetic way I knew how. I could see grief and regret flash across his face. It gave me enormous satisfaction.

“Scarlett, hey,” he said again, but this time his voice was soft and tender.

I picked up my things, turned on my heel, and left without a word. I thought I heard him apologizing behind me, but I ignored it. I could care less- I was on top again.



“You wanted to see me, Mr. Coolidge?” I asked, my head poking around the corner of the office door. He looked up from his desk.

“Ah, Miss Scarlett, is it?” he said and shuffled through the applications on his desk. “Ah yes, here you are!” He pulled one from the pile. “Please, sit down.”

I crossed my legs as I sat down so that my skirt rose a few inches. He paid no mind. I crossed my arms under my chest and leaned over a little. His eyes flicked up momentarily. He swallowed.

“So?” I said innocently, using my puppy-dog eyes. “Do you think I will be a good fit?”

“Well,” he began, and he started describing the company and the position. I could’ve cared less. I ventured out a foot and touched his ankle with my toe. I rubbed it up and under his cuff a little bit. He faltered in his speech and his eyes widened, but then he resumed. After a while I realized he was just staring at my chest. I pushed it out a little, and he swallowed. He stared for a long time and started getting a sort of glaze over his eyes. Eventually he handed me a packet of papers, a job description or something I think. I leaned over and placed my hand on his, leaving it a little too long but finally taking the papers. He swallowed again.

“Does that mean I would be a good fit, Mr. Coolidge?” I asked quietly, putting on a sultry tone. He was still staring at my chest. He licked his lips. I could practically feel him wrapping around my little finger.

“Yes, Miss Scarlett,” he said, his eyes never meeting mine. “Yes, I think you’ll fit in quite nicely around here.”

I smiled.