Free Office Toy by Cleo Peitsche

Elle gripped her portfolio in both hands and tried not to criticize her reflection in the glass-paneled elevator. That morning Mama had rolled herself off Elle's couch long enough to declare Elle's new business outfit too tight. The week before she'd been chastised one day for dressing like a "frumpy hausfrau" and the next day for looking like a "colorblind lumberjack."  
    The sad part was that her mother had a good point; she needed to dress more like a businesswoman and less like an artist. But apparently she'd gotten it wrong. Elle squared her shoulders and focused on what she had going for her. The work in her portfolio was good. Really good. On the other hand, she'd been so busy working two crappy retail jobs that she hadn't been able to create new ad samples.
    Not that she could get work done with Mama lurking about. She sighed. Mama showing up a month earlier had ruined her life. No dates, no having friends over. She'd buried her dildos and vibrators in the back of the closet because Mama was a nosy snoop who even busted into the bathroom when Elle was in the shower. Elle had needs, and four weeks was too long to refrain from sexual release. As a result, she'd gotten in the embarrassing habit of staring at every man who was remotely attractive, silently pleading to be taken into an alley and fucked out of her misery.
    Elle stepped out of the elevator and was surprised that the office took up the whole floor. She made her way to the unmanned receptionist's desk and peered over the top. A half-eaten sesame bagel sat on a napkin, so she decided to stay put, certain that someone would return soon. She looked around, trying to imagine what it'd be like to work there. The furniture was trendy but functional, and plants gave the area a personal touch. The walls were painted a warm off-white, and they were decorated with framed ads that Elle recognized immediately. Geometric-patterned rugs covered much of the floor. Taken individually, none of it was really her taste, but together it just worked. Comfortable but professional.
    An attractive man of the dark, messy hair variety came around a corner and stopped short. He stared intently at her, his dark blue eyes mesmerizing. "Can I help you?" He slid behind the desk and bit into the bagel.
    "I have an appointment—"
    His eyes hardened. "Ah. You're early." He said it like it was a bad thing.
    "I don't mind waiting."  
    The receptionist didn't say anything in response, so Elle sat on the sofa and thumbed through a trade magazine. When she glanced up, he was staring. Didn't he have anything else to do? She tried to focus on the magazine, but between his stare and the butterflies in her stomach, she couldn't concentrate. Finally she gave up. "Excuse me? Where could I get a coffee?"
    The receptionist looked at her as if he wished she would disappear. "Fine. How do you take it?"  
    She would have been happy to get it herself, but apparently that wasn't how it was done at Cunningham & Associates. "Lots of sugar and cream, please." She smiled, hoping to soften his mood.
    With a little grimace, the receptionist dropped the last of his bagel and stalked away.
    So much for this being a happy place to work. She adjusted her tight skirt and licked her lips. She needed to get her confidence up. Her meeting was with Brian Cunningham. Their phone interview had sent her racing to the website to scrounge up a picture. He was even hotter than his sexy voice had suggested, and if she was being honest, his photo was the reason for her crimson lipstick and the big, loose waves she'd coaxed into her reddish-brown hair.
    Having a silly crush on the boss was not a good way to go into the most important interview she'd snagged. But his voice, low and gravelly … she could have gotten off just listening to him talk about the company's history and future—that is, if Mama hadn't been there, watching suspiciously.
    Elle was so nervous that she couldn't stay seated, so she studied the framed newspaper