Okay, so that was a little bit weird.

I think I literally gasped when I saw this guy. I hope he didn’t hear me.

At first I thought he was a customer. He went over to the deposit slips and I thought he was going to grab one to fill out.

He looked rich, actually. He was wearing this expensive-smelling cologne and his suit was sharp. I read in an article recently that strong shoulders are the sign of a good suit. And he had them.

Strong. Broad. Muscular, but kind of slim at the same time. Like he worked out. Like he was used to lifting up his shirt when he’s out at the bar to show off his abs to the five-foot-nine, beautiful, blonde models he usually hangs out with.

He just looks arrogant.

But that’s okay. All I’m doing is looking. It’s not like a guy like that would ever talk to me.

But then? I realized he works here. He went into the back, and then I could have sworn that he was looking at me through that glass divider they have between the customers and the tellers.

I almost dropped my folder when I saw him looking at me. Shit. Was he looking at me? Okay. This is the test. You look away. Pretend not to see. Then you look back, and if he’s still looking, then you know he really was looking.

Crap. Yeah. He was looking.

And then this lady took me back here.

I’ve never been on the other side of the glass. How do they know I’m not a security risk? I could be here to steal all the free lollipops that I just know they have stashed away behind the glass.

It’s the kind of thing where you have to ask for them. They don’t just give them out freely anymore like they used to.

“I didn’t know that you offered personal service for customers who just need something simple,” I say, following Dan through a dark, plush, brown mahogany hallway to his office.

“We offer all kinds of services,” he says coolly.

When we get to his office, I hover in the doorway.

“Please,” he says, sitting down at the desk. “Come in.”

“Thank you so much!” I say, trying to sound confident and alright with everything, but my knees are weak and I can’t take what’s going on right now.

Looking around the office, I wonder whether all local banks have back-room areas like this.

“You’re very welcome,” he says. “How can we help you today?”

“Well, I just got this new job. I really just need an account number to provide here on this form,” I say, putting out my direct deposit sheet, “and I wasn’t sure how to get it online. I tried calling, but the automatic answer thing was a little confusing.”

“Not a problem,” he says, flashing a sexy smile at me. I swear there are cute, boyish dimples under that manly beard.

That’s another thing. He looked arrogant before, and what is this new thing where every hot guy I’m into has the beard of a guy in a metal band? This is the kind of guy I liked in college, God knows why. I never went to any concerts. I wasn’t a sexy groupie in a short skirt, no matter how much I thought it would be cool to be one. No, I was wearing a cardigan to the library. But I wanted that instead. Long-haired guys, the big beard, the guy who says he doesn’t give a crap and drinks - I don’t know - whiskey? Bourbon? Something brown.

But now I see that he isn’t so arrogant after all. He wants to help me. He’s just doing his job.

“You just sit there,” he says, “and let me do everything.”

For a second I forget I’m in public, and my face goes hot. I know I’m white as a sheet, and I look down and pretend I don’t know where the correct form is to take the focus off me for a second.

“Here’s the form!” I say, pulling a piece of paper out and waving it in front of me. “Sorry it took a second there!”

“You seem a little bit nervous, miss,” he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “First job?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. There’s just so much stuff here for me to do.”

“I completely understand,” he says. “When I had my first job, I was nervous too. What is it that you’re going to be doing, miss?”

“Assistant,” I say, sitting up straight and trying to show a little pride in myself. Trying to rebound from looking like a mess in front of this guy who is making me forget all sense of propriety. But the way he calls me miss. It’s like there’s a little something pulsing in his voice. It’s getting inside my head.

“Very nice,” he says. “You know, I might be able to think of something to relieve your stress. But first things first. Let me go make a copy of those forms for you so you can keep one and give one to your employer, and then we’ll work on getting you that account number.”

“Terrific! Thank you!”

I’m such a dork.