The Virgin Intern(2)

Okay, apparently it’s more than just a paper jam. I blink to get the toner out of my eyes. Of course this would happen on my first day, on my first assignment. It’s so perfect I can’t even think of an appropriate swear word. At least I see what the main problem is. A bunch of papers that got stuck together have snarled in the gears, twisting to make everything come to a full stop. Toner be damned, I am going to get this machine working again.

The only problem is, the paper doesn’t want to move. I mean, it’s really stuck. I keep ripping off little pieces accidentally because the mess just doesn’t want to budge. Finally, I shove both arms into the machine, grabbing whatever pieces of paper I can get a grip on, and pull.

The paper releases all at once and I go sprawling backwards onto my butt. Over the machine making chirping and clicking sounds of resetting itself, I hear laughter. Male laughter.

Dear god, just kill me now.

“If I had known what kind of view I’d be getting, I’d visit this floor more often.”

I turn my head and…

Staring. You’re staring, Naomi.

But when someone looks like that it’s almost rude not to stare, right?

Wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and cheek bones that belong in a magazine and not in the copy room. The copy room.

Suddenly I realize what he’s seeing—why he’s smiling. I’m barefoot, sprawled across the floor with my skirt hiked up almost to my hips, my face and chest covered with a fine spray of toner powder. I can feel all the blood run to my face.

Say something, you definitely say something right about now.

Nope, of course not. There’s no voice there. He still looks amused though.

“Do you need help?” he asks, reaching out a hand.

I grab it, using his firm grip to get to my feet less than gracefully. “Thanks,” I say, pulling my skirt down to normal.

He chuckles, “No problem. But I have to ask, was there really a problem with the copier or were you gearing up for something more intimate?”

“Um…no,” I say, my pulse kicking, “It was a paper jam. Really bad one.”

“Well, if I ever get jammed up I’ll call you to help me loosen up.”

He’s still holding my hand. My fingers run along his wrist and feel the taut, smooth muscle under his skin before I can stop myself, and he grins. I force my voice out. “I’m not really that good with copiers.”

“Who says I was talking about my copier getting jammed?” He goes to the water cooler and fills one of the paper cups, and then hands it to me along with his handkerchief. He actually carries a handkerchief. “Here. Looks like you might need that.”

I look down. Crap. I quickly brush as much powder as I can off my shirt, knowing that if I touch the toner with the water it will be a complete disaster. My skin, however, is a different story. I wet his handkerchief and quickly clean my chest and neck. Nothing says professionalism like ink all over you.

“What’s your name?” he asks, and I glance up to find it’s his turn to stare. At me. My entire chest now damp, my button down shirt pulled wide open at the neck.

I step into my high heels, and try to pick up the paper trays as smoothly as possible, though I can’t ignore that I’m giving him yet another view of my ass. “Naomi,” I say as the machine comes back to life again now that it has paper.

“Here, wait,” he says, and takes the handkerchief from my hand.

Then he moves into my space and when I look up into his eyes I suddenly can’t breathe. “What are you doing?”

He smirks a little as he raises the cloth. “You’ve got some toner on your face, and I don’t see a mirror in here.”

“Right.”

He gently wipes my face with the damp cloth, across my cheekbones and down to my chin. He drags it across my lower lip, and I think my heart stops. I haven’t been this close to someone in a long time. Okay, maybe I’ve never really even been this close. I find myself looking into those blue eyes again, and I allow myself to get a little lost, to think that this moment means more than it actually does.

The cloth passes over my lip again, and his gaze drops to my mouth. My heart picks up and I think for a moment that he might actually kiss me. That would be…

Who are we kidding here, that would be amazing.

Instead, he says, “There you go, beautiful.” He gives the wet hanky to me.

“Thanks.” I swallow and take a step back, breaking that connection. Wow. My flirting brain kicks on, and I smile at him. “It’s always nice to know a man who isn’t afraid of a little cleaning.” Really? That’s what you come up with, brain?

He laughs. “I’ve had more than one bad experience with a copier, myself. The ones here are especially picky.”