Hot Off The Presses

As I stepped past him, I felt the heat radiating from Marshall’s body, and his earthy fragrance tickled my nostrils.

“I didn’t do a nice thing,” Marshall said. “I did the right thing.”

I stopped inside the break room and turned to face the new electronic prepress manager just as he released the door behind us. For a moment, we were alone in the harshly lit room, surrounded by vending machines. I looked up into his dark eyes and discovered him staring down into mine. I reached out and touched the back of Marshall’s hand with the tips of my fingers. An electric tingle shot up my arm.

I was about to speak when the other door opened and a dozen pressmen in blue uniforms piled into the room.

Whatever I had hoped to tell Marshall remained unsaid as I quickly stepped away.

I dropped a quarter into the coffee machine, punched the buttons for cream and sugar, and waited with my back to the room as the machine filled a wax paper cup with the barely-tolerable liquid. By the time I turned around again, Marshall had already left.

My day disappeared in a flurry of phone calls, paper pushing, and hair pulling. One customer, the publisher of a magazine for dog breeders, sent the wrong mailing labels, and another customer wanted me to explain every item on his most recent printing invoice. I worked through lunch, eating a sandwich and a bag of chips from the vending machines, and stayed well past five o’clock to ensure that Bama Today had finished printing and the bindery department had begun collating, binding, and trimming the magazine.

As I bent to retrieve my purse from the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet, I felt a presence behind me. I knew that all the other customer service representatives had gone for the day and no one else should be in our department after hours. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

I turned quickly, finding my boss leaning against a cubicle wall on the other side of the aisle. “What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the view,” Jameson said. He smiled. “I could stare at you all day.”

I stepped past my boss, moving quickly toward the exit.

“It’s been a long day,” he called after me. “I could buy you a drink. Then maybe we could go someplace quiet—” “Not tonight, Mr. Jameson,” I called over my shoulder.

Under my breath I said, “Not ever.”