SHE WAS A VIXEN, graciously allowing the juice from the fruits of her assets sprawl from her

feet during every step she took forward. Only by her appearance, I was convinced that she could
freely take over my world at the whim of her passive desires. I enjoyed playing with the idea of
it happening, as contorted as that sounds. I insisted, upon my first sight of her, that she was the
woman I was looking for to fill the unimaginably deep gash in the skin of my soul. She was to
complete me.

To my surprise, that woman was a new addition to one of the teams that I was managing.
We were developing risk management software for a number of Fortune 500 companies in the
area, and we had just hired a set of fresh minds. As a manager, I was obligated to an unyielding
oath of professionalism. Affectionately admiring a lesser employee, if manifested incorrectly,
would be deemed completely unacceptable by my peers. It‟s impossible to imagine how
distraught I was once this hit me – which was, luckily, very shortly after seeing her for the first
time right before a project-update meeting with my teams. I would have had a tough time
managing my thoughts with her in the room if I hadn‟t properly reasoned with what was under
heavy consideration -- my job and the possible intimacy between the woman and me.

During the meeting, I was sitting on a tall desk, holding a dry-erase marker, with my
sleeves rolled up to my elbows. “I assume we all know what we‟re doing over the course of the
following week,” I announced. For a few seconds, no one responded. Assuming this meant that
everyone was on the same page, I gently leaped off the desk, dropping my marker along the way.
I quickly retrieved it from the floor, and as I was raising my upper torso, I heard my name
anxiously being called. It was the woman I fantasized about earlier. Nervously, I stuck out my
arm toward her, marker in hand, and quickly snared, “What?” I immediately started thinking
about how heartless I sounded, but she appeared unfazed.

“I‟ve already written the interfacing modules for the new models we just discussed. Who
do I bring the code to for verification?” she asked.

For a few seconds, I froze, gazing at her face. I snapped out of my trance and replied,
“Just post the code on the dev BBS we set up at the beginning of the project. Make sure it‟s
posted under the „VERIF‟ subdirectory. If you encounter any problems, just notify me. That
goes for everyone else as well.” With hesitance, she said, “Okay.” Everyone then looked at me
and I signaled their dismissal.

I walked out of the meeting room with the other employees. As I normally would, I put
my hands in my pockets. Everything in my right pocket felt wet, and when I took my hand out, I
noticed a ton of ink all over it.

“Ah shit!” I yelled.

“Are you okay?” I heard come from behind me. I turned around. It was the woman I had
just answered during the meeting.
 “Yeah, I‟m sorry,” I apologized, “I didn‟t mean to curse. I put my marker in my pocket
without capping it.”

She giggled.

“It‟s okay,” she said. “It happens to all of us.”

I looked at my hand again. “Why did it happen to me,” I asked rhetorically. I let out a
short laugh. She smiled. “Well, I‟d be more curious of how to remove the ink stains.” We
shared a laugh and suddenly paused for a moment.

“I have something that‟ll clean that right up for you. Come to my cubical,” she
demanded. Shortly, I watched her walk away, and then I followed.

Incredible: The woman that shook the confines of my thoughts welcomed me to the
comfort of her designated workspace. There aren‟t words descriptive enough to explain how I
felt as I followed her. The air in the office felt so right. During the entire journey to her cubical,
every part of my body felt fresh. It was like I could defy gravity at will. I‟ll even go so far as to
say that she was my vehicle on cruise control and that I was her driver. To my awareness, she
unintentionally had the wheel.

“Here it goes.” She pulled out a small, green tube that resembled a container that would
normally hold toothpaste. “I know this may seem awkward, and I can‟t believe I‟m telling my
boss to do this,” she giggled, “but give me your pants.” I couldn‟t help but reciprocate her
laughter. I moved close to her, and she gently grabbed the ink-drenched portion of my pants
which clung to my thigh a few centimeters below the right pocket slit. She crouched down and
started applying the solution from the tube to the damaged area of my pants. I can‟t say I didn‟t
feel any sort of anxiety. I mean here I was being tended to by a woman I was willing to let
encase anything I had to offer the world.

“Done.”
“Already?”
“Yup!” She and I smiled.
“Do you get things done so promptly all the time?”
“Only at work.” Again, she giggled.
“I like that sort of attitude. I wish your team members would show the same sort of
character. What‟s your name?”
“Layla Sama‟el.” She held out her hand in front of me for a handshake.
“Layla? Well, it‟s nice to meet you, Layla. Thanks for helping me out. Keep up the
great work. I‟m glad you completed your piece of the code so soon.”
“Just doing my job,” she eccentrically uttered.
“Excellent. I‟ll see you around the office. I have some work to get done.”
 I walked away from her cubical with my head held high. I was a new man. Not only did
I learn the name of a girl who I thought was the best animate entity on Earth, but we also got off
on the right foot. For once in my life, everything was moving along smoothly and I didn‟t find
myself making any distinct efforts to successfully execute a task.

Later that day, Layla stopped by my office. It turned out that she had problems getting
her work processed. She did as I instructed which was good for me because I had been trying to
create the perfect excuse to have a personal conversation with her again.

“Ah! You‟re back.”

“Yeah, sorry -- I know you‟re busy.”
“Not at all. What‟s the problem?” I leaned back in my reclining, rotating chair.
“I tried posting my code on the BBS and I kept getting an error.”
“An error?”
“Yeah.” She stared at me in silence, and her face looked tense.
“The error…” I persisted.
“Oh! Yeah! I had something on my mind and totally lost it for a second.” She let out a
coy chortle and placed a stack of papers on my desk.
“Take a seat! Relax. I‟m not going to eat you alive.”
“Okay.”
“I‟d wait „til you‟re dead first!”
“What?”

“I‟m kidding!” I chuckled. Fainted-hearted after considering that I might have deterred
her completely, I hastily started looking through the stack of papers.

“I‟ll forward this to our code verification team.”

“Alright,” she replied, looking down at my desk with her hands resting between her legs.
“Is there something wrong? You don‟t seem as cheerful you were earlier.”
Quickly, she responded, “I‟m just having some personal problems.” She paused. “I
won‟t let this affect my performance,” she eagerly assured me. She went from an outgoing,
helpful person to a shy, disturbed-looking one, and it was clear to me that something happened. I
couldn‟t help but wonder if this was my opportunity to sweep her off her feet. I completely
ignored my position as her manager and took a bold leap forward into the abyss of her world.

“Look, you seem stressed. I know you‟re new and things can seem overwhelming here in
the beginning,” I assured her. “It‟s one. Come out to lunch. It‟s on me.”

She smiled and said, “If it‟s not too much trouble, then alright.”
“It‟s no trouble at all.”

This was perfect. It was obvious that she was emotionally challenged, and I‟m a true
believer in pouncing on the weak in pursuits towards goals. Within just a few hours, I felt like
my life was completely changing for the better, and I wasn‟t overlooking any opportunity to
perpetuate that. I saw that everything was working in my favor. This was it; this was what I was
longing for. I didn‟t know anything about Layla aside from the fact that she was intelligent,
undeniably pretty, and that she was going through something mentally taxing. Yet, I couldn‟t
help but assume she was the love of my life.

We made our way to a local diner. It was a comfortable setting. The blinds were large
and seemed to kindly allow rays from the Sun take advantage of the windows‟ transparency.
Our surroundings linked perfectly with what I was trying to convey to her: that I‟m homely or
someone she could confide in.

A waitress came to our table. “What‟s it gonna to be, yall?” she asked.

“Order anything you like,” I told Layla. I smirked.

“Are you sure? You don‟t have to do this, you know.”
“I know, but I insist. How about you just consider it an act of gratitude for how well you
treated my pants earlier. My pants thank you.” I let out a quick laugh and she and the waitress
laughed too. We both ended up ordering the same thing.

While eating, we spoke about more than just work – which, initially, I didn‟t desire to
talk about anyway. She went into her problems, which enabled me to step out of the position of
a friendly boss and into that of a very personal consoler. To be brutally honest, I didn‟t care for
any of her problems. My interests in her strictly relied on the way she carried herself.
Nevertheless, I couldn‟t believe how open she was with me. I could see her heart beating
through her chest, and I could already see that she was starting to feel the same way.

After a mix of various emotional moments, I felt like things were too monotonous. I had
already established that she was comfortable, but I wanted more, and my mind became
unbearably restless. Just when I was about to spew an ounce of stupidity from my dry lips
primarily out of impatience, she revealed something golden.

“And I‟m slowly getting over my ex-boyfriend,” she innocently claimed.

“I see,” I said as I tried hard not to submit to my elation. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. He‟s a thing of the past. You don‟t talk about old code once a stable version
of it‟s been released, right?”

“Right, but sometimes old development techniques can be discovered, which might help
developers update the stable releases.”

“You think old techniques are valuable?” she inquired.

I took a sip of what was left of my tall glass of Coca Cola. I glanced at Layla‟s bracelet
and then looked into her eyes. In an attempt to be suave, I tried to display intense concern for
what she was going through with her boyfriend. I knew that what I was about to say would set
everything in place for a successful attempt to have her wrapped around my finger.

I responded, “In many cases, no; but, sometimes such methods prove to be quite
effective.”

She slightly tilted her head, possibly out of suspicion. “What do you mean?”

I briefly looked away from her. I assume I was subconsciously cracking under the
pressures of careful contemplation of my next moves. That‟s probably why I couldn‟t make eye
contact with her for long periods of time at that point. I had to continue to seem profound.

“Sometimes old approaches to problems can shed light on the cause for our current
success. Other times, they can show why certain mechanisms might fail.” I sipped some more of
my drink and gently placed the half-empty glass down. “If we were to talk about your ex
boyfriend, you might discover where everything went wrong, why, and how to prevent a
recurrence.” I noticed that her shoulders seemed to sink a bit. She was more relaxed and more
willing to expose herself. She sighed and said, “That makes sense. There isn‟t much to discuss
though. He didn‟t seem to care about me all that much. Nothing I did was ever correct in his
eyes, and he never told me he loved me. We were together for well-over two years and I
expected more – that‟s all.” I leaned over the table between us, and laughed before saying,
“Sounds like a regular story!” Unsurprisingly, she giggled.

The waitress who served us our food came over to us and placed the bill on our table. “I
guess that‟s our cue to head back to work,” said Layla. “Yeah,” I replied. I paid for the meal
and we headed back to the office.

***

When work was over, I walked to my car. I noticed that for the entire day, I was thinking
about Layla. I felt like I was about to embark on the greatest adventure known to man. But there
was a problem. I realized that I hadn‟t learned anything but her first and last name, which didn‟t
give me any way to communicate with her other than in person.

I sat in my car in the parking lot, watching other cars pass by me. After a few minutes, I
figured out how I‟d get in touch with her from home. Being the manager of software
development teams meant that I had access to plenty of employee records. This meant that I
could use any employee‟s information to find them on social networking websites on the
Internet. I knew that this was illegal, but I needed to work fast. If I waited for the next day to
arrive in order to ask her for her contact details, the personal trust she felt towards me would
have probably been jaded by something as meager as a night of sleep. I couldn‟t bear the risk of
that happening. I simply couldn’t. She was everything I could ever want, and I felt I needed her,
even if I had only spent an afternoon with her. I believe the acquisition of necessities must not
be overlooked if one desires to survive.

Quickly, I rushed out of my car and headed back to the office.

My boss, Julius Paine, was still in the building. He was talking to one of the security
guards for some reason unknown to me. I tried to avoid him because of how urgent my situation
was, but no one could avoid a man as annoyingly-pompous as he.

“It‟s Wednesday morning already?” he said, obviously feigning a gaping smile.

“No. I just forgot to wrap something up for one of the dev members.”

“How‟s that new program coming along? Are the new workers we hired helping at all?”

I tried not to show my disgust and squeezed out a pleasant response. “Everything’s
coming along great!” He looked at me more seriously. “That‟s what I like to hear! Let‟s hope
everything‟s done before the deadline!” he said. Then, I hastily fled to my cubical to get away
from the annoying bastard.

Once at my computer, I accessed our company records. Instantly after finding Layla‟s
file, my insides started to tremble. The joy! The anxiety! I couldn‟t help but succumb to just the
sight of her name; her ability to sleekly trigger all of which spawns from the most desirous
sensations within me was inescapable.

Why‟d she delete my comment?

In court, I wouldn‟t win the jury, but I‟d win the judge.