“Ben, what do you think? I mean, even I admit this is something of an unorthodox approach, but I think it would really catch the readers’ attention.”

“Huh?” Ben suddenly realized that Lauren had just asked him a question, and was gazing at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. She smirked knowingly as he hastily dragged his gaze away – again – from the impudent thrust of her breasts.

“Uh, let me look it over again,” he mumbled, quickly scanning the page she’d set in front of him a few minutes ago. “What, uh, does everyone else think?”

Ben exhaled in relief as he bought himself a few extra minutes, and was able to read enough of Lauren’s outline to realize it was as brilliant and innovative as everything she did. She had a natural gift for journalism, for telling a story and bringing it to life, even though she always claimed she hated to write and would much rather leave all of that stuff to Karl.

The meeting wrapped up before one p.m., by which time he was in bad shape. Several hours of watching Lauren sashay around the room had given him a raging hard-on, and had brought back all sorts of erotic memories that were probably best left forgotten, especially given her mostly hostile attitude towards him these days.

George left the room first, as he had a lunch date with Nadine - who didn’t like to be kept waiting. Chris, Karl, and Lauren went back and forth on where to grab lunch before finally agreeing on the Jewish deli two blocks away.

“Want to join us, Ben?” asked Karl. “They make the best Reuben sandwich I’ve ever had.”

He shook his head. “It sounds great but I’m meeting Elle for lunch. Maybe another time.”

Ben didn’t know if it was his imagination, but he could have sworn Lauren’s back stiffened upon hearing Elle’s name. But she kept her face impassive, and he figured he was mistaken in thinking that the thought of Elle bothered her in any way.

“Lauren. A moment please,” he requested as she would have left with the others. “This won’t take long.”

She didn’t bother to disguise her impatience as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “I hope not. I’m starving and there’s a roast beef sandwich calling my name.”

Ben couldn’t help himself from chuckling. “How can you still be hungry after everything you just put away this morning?”

He’d lost track of all the snacks she’d munched on, whether they had been her own or ones she’d poached from the guys. He forced himself not to gulp as he pictured the way she’d eaten a package of M&M peanuts – rolling each piece between her fingers before popping it into her mouth and chewing it with slow, deliberate enjoyment. He had envied every single candy coated peanut, wishing it had been his finger – or another part of his anatomy – that had slipped past her lips instead.

Lauren shrugged. “I’ve got a super quick metabolism, burn up calories crazy fast. And I need some protein or I’m going to crash soon after all the sugar I ate. So what’s up?”

He hesitated, stalling for time as he tried to figure out a way to not totally piss her off. ‘Screw it,’ he told him resignedly. ‘That’s going to be impossible, so just spit it out already.’

“Look,” he began clumsily. “I get it that the weather’s stifling outside today, and that it’s not what you’re used to back in Big Sur. And we admittedly have a pretty lax dress code here. But what you’re wearing now – well, it’s just a little too much, I’m afraid. Or, more accurately, too little. In the future, you need to, uh, cover up more.”

Lauren stared at him for long seconds before bursting into laughter. “Oh, God, this is priceless! How long did it take you to work up the nerve to say something like that to me? And, look, you even broke a sweat over it!”

She teasingly brushed her fingers across the beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Ben took a step back, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to having this conversation, but it had to be said,” he acknowledged. “There’s casual and then there’s – um, underdressed. This isn’t an amusement park or a beach party, Lauren. In future, please don’t show quite as much, er, skin. Okay?”

Lauren was still grinning from ear to ear, clearing enjoying his discomfiture. “You know, you’re starting to sound more and more like my father. But, hey, okay if it’s that big a deal, I’ll cover up from now on. Think a burqa would look out of place here?”

“Nothing that extreme,” he replied, smiling a little at her joke. “And I know it’s probably too hot for jeans right now. What about a skirt or a – a sundress, something like that?”

She gave him an amused look. “This is really uncomfortable for you, isn’t it? You look like you’d rather be walking over hot coals or a bed of nails right now.”

“I would,” he muttered. “But you get my point, don’t you? And I don’t mean any offense, just – well, frankly, you were pretty distracting during the meeting.”

“Yeah?” She batted her eyelashes at him flirtatiously. “Did I distract you, Ben?” She moved in closer, deliberately letting her breasts brush up against his arm. Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper. “Did I turn you on?”

“Lauren. Don’t.” His voice was rough, guttural. “This isn’t – appropriate.”

She stepped back, all hint of humor immediately replaced by a look of scorn. “Yeah, right. Appropriate. Proper. Just like your perfect, ladylike girlfriend. So you think I ought to wear a skirt or a dress every so often, huh? Maybe be more like Elle?”

Ben shook his head, fighting with every ounce of self-control he possessed not to yank her back against him. “No. That’s ridiculous. I couldn’t think of two more opposite individuals than you and Elle. You’re nothing alike.”

“Except for one thing.” She stepped in close again to murmur wickedly in his ear. “Apparently we both have the same taste in men.”

She patted his cheek before giving him a little smile and then strolled leisurely out of the room. And in spite of himself, he couldn’t help staring at her ass in those ridiculously short shorts as she walked down the hallway.

***

One Week Later

“Here’s your wine. They didn’t have Sauvignon Blanc so I hope Chardonnay is okay.”

Elle smiled as she accepted the glass. “It’s fine, thanks. I doubt anything they’ll serve is going to be of very good quality so I’m not sure the vintage matters.”

Ben took a sip of his own glass of red wine. “Well, these office parties aren’t known for having top of the line food and drink.”

Elle made a little moue of displeasure. “We actually have a very good caterer we use for these types of events at The New Yorker. I should give his name to whoever organizes these things here.”

Ben chuckled. “Don’t forget that this is a very different sort of crowd. More like beer and nachos rather than wine and brie.”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, everyone seems to have dressed a little nicer than usual. And you were wrong, Ben. You’re not the only one here wearing a suit.”

Ben took another sip of his wine and refrained from pointing out that having two other men in the entire room wearing a suit hardly qualified it as a crowd.

They were attending an after-work cocktail reception for a recent retiree from National Geographic Travel. Elle had prodded him until he’d reluctantly agreed to wear one of his suits, knowing full well that he’d get ribbed about it from his staff and peers. Fortunately, the weather had cooled off a lot over the past week, largely due to the rain that had swept through the city a couple of days ago. Even so, Ben still couldn’t help tugging at his shirt collar every few minutes.

As they walked around the room greeting and chatting with other guests, Ben noted – not for the first time, of course – how at ease Elle was at events such as this one. She had been a great help to him in navigating through all of the social niceties expected at such occasions, and he knew if he’d been left to his own devices that right about now he would be standing in a corner somewhere alone, or sticking with the same small group of people he felt most comfortable with. Or counting the minutes until he could make a discrete exit.