It all started because the washing machine broke.
Kelsey had exactly five skirts that were appropriate for work, with mix and match blouses and jackets, every one of them wash-and-wear. She refused to buy anything that said Dry Clean Only on the tag. Of course, the washing machine broke on a Sunday night, after she’d procrastinated doing laundry all weekend, leaving her desperately searching her closets for something, anything!
That’s how she ended up in a black mini-skirt, black and white striped tights, and a camouflage t-shirt, feeling like a cross between Beetlejuice and Beetle Bailey.
“Kelsey, coffee.” Oliver breezed by her, swinging his briefcase and looking at his watch.
She hid behind her computer screen, mumbling something to the affirmative, and waited for him to go into his office before heading towards the kitchen. Putting the coffee on was the very first thing she did every day, and it was already full and warm and just the right amount of strong for her critical employer. She had to measure carefully, or she’d hear about it.
Making a face—she had never been a coffee-drinker and even hated the smell—she poured him a cup. He took it black.
“Here you go.” She put the mug on a coaster on his desk. He didn’t glance up from his computer screen and she was glad. She turned to go.
“Kelsey, can you get me the—” Oliver’s voice stopped dead and so did Kelsey, wincing already, her hand on the doorknob, so close to escape. She waited, her face scrunched up as if she were waiting to be pummeled, but was greeted with the longest silence she had ever endured.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it, and turned her head to look. He was staring at her legs in the black and white striped stockings, transfixed, the papers in his hand forgotten and floating to the floor.
“Yes?” she prompted, clearing her throat and shifting back and forth in her heels. At least those were work-approved—black pumps.
“The Lockheed file…” he went on, his voice sounding far away. “The whole account file. The red one… you know…”
“Yes,” she agreed, inching her way out. “Is that all?”
He nodded, his gaze following her stockings around the edge of the door. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was on the other side, amazed that he hadn’t admonished her, or even sent her home. She wouldn’t have put it past him. Although that expression on his face… she’d never seen Oliver look like that before.
The Lockheed file was in the main office, and she went past the reception area, where her own desk was, and peeked around the corner to see which employees had arrived to work this early. Just a few of the telemarketing girls, she noted with relief, and she made her way to the wall of filing cabinets, kneeling down to open it—the L’s were at the bottom of the third in a row of six.
“Nice stripes,” said a voice right behind her and she jumped, nearly spilling the entire Lockheed file onto the floor. “Should we call you zebra-girl?”
Kelsey winced, looking up, up, up, into the face of the carefully made-up and perfectly coiffed brunette. “Excuse me, I have to get this to my boss.”
“Are you the receptionist?” the woman inquired, blinking at Kelsey’s short skirt and festive stockings. “There was no one out there and Oliver’s door was closed.”
“Oh… I…” Kelsey moved around the woman’s tall frame, edging along the filing cabinets. “Yes. You are?”
“Helena Lockheed!” A male voice called out and Kelsey glanced over her shoulder at Matt from sales coming toward them. He was always smiling like a salesman—but she still liked to pretend he was smiling just at her. “You look great! Have you lost weight?”
Of could he was talking to the brunette, who smiled and simpered and let him shake her hand and Kelsey realized with dawning horror that this woman was the head of the company her boss was so concerned about today. And as far as Kelsey knew, she didn’t have an appointment.
Crap.
It wasn’t easy being young and inexperienced and new. Most of the time she had no idea what she was doing, even after two months at the company. She just followed Oliver Pierce’s orders like he was God. And hell, face it, around the office, he kind of was.
“I like your stripes, doll.” Matt winked at Kelsey as he passed, his pleasantries with Helena Lockheed at an end.
“Thanks.” She tried to think of a way to keep the conversation going, even with Mrs. Lockheed watching—he was the office hunk, the biggest flirt in the company, and it was hard to resist when he turned his attention, however briefly, to her—but Matt hurried by. “Your tie… nice stripes too!”