14

I awoke with a throbbing hangover on the battered leather couch in my office. My shirt was buttoned wrong, so I knew I must have had a good time, but for the life of me I couldn't completely remember how. I staggered to the tiny bathroom and stared at myself in the dingy mirror. Hair: dark and disheveled. Eyes: a shade of green the ladies seemed to like, highlighted right now with busted capillaries and dark baggage underneath. Face: smeared with hot pink lipstick on one cheek and in desperate need of a shave.

I scrubbed my face with soap and ran a comb though my damp mop. I brushed the horrid taste out of my mouth, too, checking to make sure I hadn't vomited somewhere in the office, but apparently I had done that at some other location. I was just re-buttoning my shirt correctly when Coralyn knocked on my office door.

"Mr. Dirkson?" Coralyn opened my door just a crack and let herself slip inside. My secretary was always polite, and discrete. "There's a client here to see you. Shall I send her in?"

"What time is it?" I managed to croak.

Coralyn handed me a coffee, straight up and hot. Good girl.

"It's 1:30," she said. "This client was already by once this morning. I asked her to come back."

"Oh. Well, okay then." I was feeling much better for the quick clean up and the coffee. "Send her in."

Coralyn smiled her toothy smile and scurried out. Before the door even closed, the woman walked in.

"Walked" is far too tame for how she moved. This woman glided. She flowed. She shimmied. She pulsed with femininity. This chick had me before "hello".