Her name’s Kara.

It suits her.

I’ve stayed late every night for the past two weeks and I’ve only ever caught glimpses of her in the hallways. That shouldn’t be possible. It’s like she’s a ghost haunting the building. I begin to think I’m imagining her, but the building is getting cleaned by someone.

She’s avoiding me. She comes into my office every night to empty the trash can and clean the desk. Without fail, she times it for the few minutes when I’ve popped to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee or gone to the bathroom for a piss.

I suppose I didn’t make a great first impression although it was hardly my fault. Okay, maybe a little bit. I could have ordered that blonde girl out of my office, but I try not to yell at people while at work. It isn’t a great look, especially not at a party.

I shake my head aggressively and then rub my temples as if that will get all thoughts of Kara out of my head. Thinking about fucking the cleaner isn’t exactly conducive to reviewing sale and purchase agreements. No wonder I’m having to work late so much now. Maybe if I didn’t have to read each paragraph seven times I’d get more work done.

Kara’s got a great ass, but my firm just won the work on a $250 million deal and it needs my attention even more than she does. The firm has never worked on a deal this big; it’s the sort of work I promised to win when I made my pitch to take over as managing partner. Now I have to deliver. The SPA has already been through three rounds of back and forth between me and the purchaser’s attorneys, so there are nowhere near as many markups on the latest version. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the remaining markups are all on areas that we can’t agree on.

Every time I try to type out my revisions, I end up stopping after about six words, unable to continue without getting lost in my thoughts. One thought in particular. Kara.

Fuck it. My opposite number is almost certainly working late. Might as well give him a call.

He answers after just one ring. “Damon, what can I do for you?”

“Hey Phil. I want to discuss this definition of ‘gross misconduct’ in the termination clause.”

“Thought you might. I’m not an expert in that stuff, but my employment guys tell me the language we’re using is industry standard.”

“My guys said the same thing about our proposed language.”

He laughs. “Yeah, fair enough. What do you want to do about it?”

“I can get my client to agree to your definition, but your client needs to agree to release some of the contingent payment early if my client were to be dismissed.”

“So you want your client to be rewarded for being fired?”

“He can’t help the company meet the contingencies if he’s not there. Look, we both know the company will hit those numbers easily anyway. This way, my client will be vaguely satisfied, and so will yours.”

There’s a brief pause. “I’ll talk to my team and get back to you first thing in the morning.”

“Thanks, Phil.”

He’ll agree, I’m sure of it. That’s one problem sorted. There’s still a hundred more, but at least I’ve accomplished something today. The low hum of a vacuum cleaner starts up outside. Kara. She’s just a few doors down the hall.

I step out of my office and sure enough, there’s Kara vacuuming the carpet at the far end of the hall. I stare at her for a few seconds, but she either hasn’t noticed me or is just ignoring me. Both seem equally likely.

Hmm, I wonder if…

I head in the other direction towards the kitchen and stop when I’m out of sight. A few seconds later, the vacuum cleaner powers down and my office door opens. I dash back to my office to find Kara hurriedly emptying the trash into a bag.

Last time I saw her she was wearing a sensible knee length skirt and baggy top. Now she’s wearing a tight-fitting pair of white jeans and a black top which clings to her mouth-watering curves. It’s far sexier than what I’d expect a cleaner to wear and could only be topped by a kinky French maid’s outfit. Her ass is fucking phenomenal; I can’t decide whether I want to spank it or sink my teeth into it. Or perhaps both.

She’s made an effort to dress up and yet she’s avoiding the only person in the office who can see what she’s wearing. Unless… oh crap, I bet she’s going to hit the bars with some friends after work.

That’s why she’s dressed up. It’s not for my benefit. Not every woman is obsessed with my cock. Most of them, but not all of them.

“Evening,” I say calmly, just as she’s about to turn around and see me anyway.

She spins around and drops the now empty trash can on the floor. That tight fitting black top is surprisingly low cut, revealing juicy and tender breasts that I could squeeze for days.

Kara stares at me for a couple of seconds and then bends over to pick up the trash can. She gives me a decent view of her ass this time, but only for the briefest of seconds. It was a teaser. Enough to know I need more.

A semi is making itself known in my pants; the more I fight it, the more prominent it becomes. I quickly move around to sit behind my desk. Kara makes a beeline for the door, but I’m not done with her yet.

“This office needs a thorough clean,” I say, as dispassionately as possible. I don’t even know what a ‘thorough clean’ entails to be honest.

“I’m not here to tidy up after you.”

It’s been weeks since I’ve heard her speak. I’ve missed it. Her voice fits her body perfectly. It’s sexy, but normal. She’s not trying to sound young or mature, slutty or virginal. She just sounds… perfect.

“Excuse me,” I say sternly. “You’re a cleaner, aren’t you? I’d say tidying up falls within your job description.”

She meets my gaze and for one sweet moment, I think she’s about to challenge me. I want her to talk back. I want to discipline her.

“Sorry,” she replies through gritted teeth. I can tell she’s pissed at me, and she’s not great at hiding it. “I just meant that I don’t want to make a mess of all your files.”

“I assume a cleaner can keep files tidy.”

I’m sure I hear a quiet sigh escape her lips before she responds. “They might be confidential. I wouldn’t want to see anything I’m not supposed to see.”

Time for a little test. Let’s see just how angry she can get.

“It’s okay,” I reply. “You wouldn’t understand any of it anyway.” Oh yeah, definite flaring of the nostrils there. She stares at me in silence. “Don’t let me keep you from your work,” I add, motioning around the office. It doesn’t really need cleaning, but even just a couple of minutes staring at her ass will be worth it.

I grab a court motion from the pile of papers and pretend to read it. Actually, I should read it properly given that it needs to be filed in a couple of days. For every paragraph I read, I allow myself a long look up at Kara. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. My dick’s rock hard and not even this damn motion can redirect the blood flow.

I focus on the citations in the motion. That will kill any erection. Sure enough, I start to feel my cock soften. Thank God for case citations. I circle a few that don’t look right. A junior attorney did the citations, so it’s possible she made a couple of mistakes.

I look around for my trusty Bluebook to find the citation rules for quoting foreign cases. The Bluebook is usually on my desk, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself. “Where is it?”

“Can I help?” Kara asks.

“I need to check some citations, but I can’t find the citation bible. Can you keep an eye out? It’s called the—”

The Bluebook appears in front of me in her outstretched hand. That was quick.

“Thanks,” I reply, as I begin thumbing through the well-worn pages. I shouldn’t still be doing this shit, but young associates always make mistakes. Besides, it’s keeping the stonking erection at bay, so it’s serving its purpose.

One more sneaky look at Kara. She’s polishing shelves that almost certainly don’t need polishing.

I’ve got something she can polish. Yeah, real mature Damon. Junior attorneys might not be great with citations, but at least they aren’t fantasizing about fucking the—

Hang on. That’s odd.

“How did you know which book to pass me?” I ask Kara.

“Excuse me?”

“You passed me the Bluebook without me even telling you what it looked like.”

There’s a slight pause and her eyes flick up to the top right. Does that mean she’s thinking up a lie? Or is that when you look up and to the left? I can never remember.

“It’s called The Bluebook,” Kara replies eventually. “It seemed safe to assume it would be the blue one.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Now I feel fucking stupid. I’m so used to calling it the Bluebook that I forget it’s also a literal description of the book. What an idiot.

Except… did I ever tell her the name of the book?