Early morning. 8:30. As I drive, I look up at the gray sky. Gloomy. Gloomy but hot. Manhattan is as crowded as it always is. Men and women moving up and down the streets, traffic high, the smell of food coming in through my window. Start of summer. June 2nd. Nearly a week after my graduation from NYU. And now, I'm on my way to my new job. A secretary at a law firm. I saw the ad while reading the newspaper. 'Secretary needed.' That was all, along with an address and a phone number. I called. He gave me the job almost immediately, no questions asked. All he said was: you're hired. Along with his name and the address. John Reford of Redford Law Inc. 117 Broadway, Upper West Side. I look back and forth at both sides of the streets, trying to spot the office. There! Right side of the street. Very nice looking. Big. Free spot at the front. I turn into it, parallel parking, taking my time. Parked in front of me is a BMW. Pulling the visor down, I make sure my hair isn't too crazy. Running my fingers through the waves, sighing at the frizz. Humidity really does a number on me. Closing the visor, I grab my purse, getting out of my car. Walking quickly up the steps, opening one of the glass doors. Cool inside. High ceilings, very nice. Light from the front windows shine in, hitting white linoleum. The walls are light gray. An almost completely bare desk sits at the right side of the room, chairs lining the wall opposite from it. I stay where I am for a moment, suddenly realizing how quiet it is. The only sound is the air conditioner, whirring very quietly. With a sigh, I move, my heels hitting the floor, making an echo. I stop at the desk, staring at the things which sit on top of it. Stapler, a small lamp, and a single, yellow pencil. My eyes catch an opening in the wall. Three steps and I'm at it. Peering down. Dark hallway, a door at the end of it, light shining onto the floor from under it. Is he here? Looking down at my watch. It's 9:00. I look back up, down the hallway. Hard swallow. 

"Mr. Redford?"

I stare, looking to the front doors, the windows. Sound of a knob turning. I look quickly, staring down the hall again. The door stands open now, a figure silhouetted in it. 

"Yes?"

"I'm Elizabeth King... Your new secretary," I say quietly.

"Oh, yes. Please, come to my office."

I begin to move slowly, and somewhat awkwardly, down the hall. When I reach him, he steps back, letting me pass him. I don't get a look at his face.

"Take a seat in front of my desk."

Big office. I move to where his desk is, at the left side of the room, and slowly sit in the chair in front of it. He's sitting down behind it. My eyes go wide when I see him, confusion coming over me for a moment. He can't be Redford. He's young, attractive, handsome. I expected an old man with white hair and fake teeth, but him... He's the exact opposite. Dark brown hair, light at the top, neatly kept. Dark brown eyes, strong jaw, expensive suit. I'm shocked, to say the least.

"I forgot you were coming in today."

He says this as he opens a drawer in his desk. I notice a slight accent. 

"Ms. King."

Holding a paper in his hands. A smile over the top of it at me. It makes me blush, my cheeks slowly becoming hot. Good teeth, straight, white. He looks even more attractive when he smiles. How old is he? And then he's setting the paper down, leaning forward, hands flat on the desk. I stare down at them. They're nice, big, nails manicured nicely. A closer look at them reveals an oddity to me: they're clubbed. The nails curve under the tips of his fingers. Ring on his right pinky.

"All I need is a typist. Someone who can type letters that I will send out to clients."

I stare for a moment, then nod. 

"Okay. I can do that."

"You will only use a typewriter. And I don't want any errors whatsoever."

A typewriter? 

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"Good."

Grabbing the paper, putting it back into the drawer, closing it quickly. I stare, waiting for him to speak. Ringing. He grabs the phone quickly.

"Redford?"

Stern. Covering the end of the phone, grabbing a gray mug which sits on his desk, holding it out to me.

"Get me a cup of coffee, please."

I take it from him. It takes me a while to find the coffee maker. It's in a room along the hallway that leads to his office. 

"Here you go, sir."

I set it on the desk. He grabs it without a word. Taking a sip, his face twisting.

"Too much sugar. Make it again."

He sets it back down, not looking up at me, only continuing with his writing. Seriously? I slowly grab the mug, remake the coffee, then bring it back. Slow sip. Setting it down, giving me a thumbs up with both his hands. I try not to smile, unable to help myself. And then I'm being handed a piece of notebook paper.

"Type this for me."

I only stay where I am. Nothing to type with... He stops writing, looking up at me.

"What?"

"I don't have anything to type with."

Standing slowly, moving from behind his desk. I follow as he starts for the door. Into the room where I made his coffee. Opening a cabinet, pulling out a typewriter, going back into the hallway. Again, I follow behind. Front room. He sets it on the desk. Eyes on me.

"There," he mutters. 

My eyes follow as he moves, disappearing in the entrance to the hall, his footsteps sounding on the linoleum.

      Two weeks pass. Mr. Redford becomes something that I think about more and more. When I'm at home, when I'm at work, when I'm out with my friends. It's all the time, really. How handsome he is, the way he dresses, his smile, his voice. The suits and the ties, how expensive they must be. I make myself look as good as possible, dressing in skirts and heels and stockings. I've wondered if he thinks about me, if I'm attractive to him. I wonder if he thinks about me when he goes home, when he's at work, out with his friends...

*

June 19th. Extremely hot day. But it's cool inside. I sit at my desk, staring out of the front windows at the people who pass. So boring. Sound of a door opening, his footsteps loud and fast on the linoleum. As I turn to look, he's behind me, a paper being slapped onto my desk. I gasp, jumping. Hands on the desk, arms at my sides, pressing against mine.

"Look at it," he whispers.

So quiet, breath hot in my ear. Jesus.

"Do you see that?"

"What?"

"This letter has three typing errors, Elizabeth. One of which, I believe, is a spelling error."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. 

Dry mouth, heart beating so fast, thumping loudly in my ears.

"This isn't the first time either."

Anger. He's gone, moving, standing at the front of my desk, staring into my eyes.

"There have been others that I have let go. But that was when you had just started working here. This can not, and will not, go on. Do you know what this makes me look like to the people who receive these letters?"

"I'm sorry."

"Type it again... and get it right."

He's gone quickly, disappearing down the hallway, the door slamming. I jump, sighing heavily. What the hell was that? As I retype the letter, my hands shake. Reading it over and over, no mistakes whatsoever. I'm up, carrying it down the hall. A woman I sent back there while I typed the paper passes me, going toward the front. Hand on the door knob, I hesitate for a single moment. My heart is in my throat. I tell myself to calm down. Closing my eyes, opening the door. He's sitting behind his desk, head down, hand moving as he writes. Moving slowly across the room, setting it on his desk.

"Here you go."

"Go give that woman a bill," he mutters.

I eye him.

"Aren't you going to read the letter?"

Slowly, he looks up at me, shaking his head.

"No."

What? I turn, starting slowly for the door, closing my eyes tightly. I stop at the sound of his voice, turning around.

"Elizabeth, you are a visual representation of my business. When people come into this building, you are the first thing that they see. You are attractive, young, and charming. But some of the things that you do are disgusting."

I blushed at the word attractive. I'm burning from embarrassment at the word disgusting. I clear my throat.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

"You are constantly biting your nail and what the hell is it with your tongue when you're typing?"

My mouth falls open at this, closing quickly. He really says what's on his mind. I've never seen someone who's so forward, honest. And... and hurtful.

"I'm sorry. I hadn't realized, sir. I won't do those things anymore."

I whisper this, then leave his office as quickly as I can. It's like I can't breathe as I go down the hall, hand over my mouth, bottom lip trembling. I can't believe that he said that to me. When I get back to my desk, I write her a bill like he told me to. Once she's out the door, I begin to cry, trying so hard not to.

    That night, I make a silent vow not to bite my nails anymore. As hurtful as he was, I know he must be right. He's my boss. I work for him. I am a visual representation of his business. And I've been wanting to break the habit for years, anyways. Now, at 7:00, my friend Chrissy has called, begging for me to come out. 

"It'll be fun!" 

I don't know if I've ever felt less like going out. I'm agreeing reluctantly. Maybe it'll make me feel better.

"Okay, I guess... but I have work in the morning. So I'm not staying out all night."

"Alright, alright."

Downtown Manhattan is crowded. As I park my car, I wonder why I even bought it. There's never anywhere to park, and I'm constantly stuck in traffic. A small restaurant that my small group of friends has frequented since we met in our freshman year of college. As I walk in, Chrissy is sitting at a table with our friends. A man sits beside of her that I've never seen before. Her eyes catch mine. She's standing, pulling him up with her, waving me over. They both come toward me as I start for the table. She's gesturing between us.

"This is Peter. Peter, this is Elizabeth."

God damn it. Blind date. I glare at her, angry and shocked. She only smiles. I glance at him. Glasses, dark hair, tee shirt. Smile, his hand coming out to me. I sigh, closing my eyes. As I open them, I hold my hand out, too. Short hand shake.

"How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just fine."

Awkward, of course.

"So... what do you do?"

Chrissy suddenly disappears. 

"I'm a secretary at a law office. What about you?"

I'm thinking of Redford, wishing he was the one I was on a date with. No, no, no... I push the thought away quickly.

"I work in fast food. Wendy's."

As we sit at one of the tables, I shoot Chrissy another glare. Peter continues to talk. At 8:30, I've told him he's a nice guy, but that I just don't feel like dating anyone right now.

*

"Ms. King?"

His voice comes over the small intercom that sits on my desk. I press the small button, leaning down to it.

"Yes, Mr. Redford?" 

"Come into my office, please."

I'm up quickly, moving down the hall, smoothing my skirt out. At the door, sighing, opening it slowly. He stands at the right side of the room,  in the sitting area. A couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. 

"Elizabeth, come over here."

I start across the room, eyeing him. Black, pinstriped suit. Gray tie with small, maroon colored dots on it. White collared shirt. I stop when I've reached him, thinking of how handsome he really is. Gesturing toward the couch.

"Take a seat."

I do, watching as he sits down beside of me. His hands, fingers, touch his tie for one moment, his eyes on me when they leave. Small smile. I'm blushing, scolding myself for doing it, instantly embarrassed. 

"Elizabeth, did you have a date recently?"

Huh? Peter suddenly comes into my mind, only for a moment. 

"Yes."

"With whom did you have a date?"

"Peter. His name was Peter."

Single nod.

"Peter. Did you have sex with him?"

I jump, staring closely at him, having to look away. What in the world is this? I'm looking again, only able to stare. His eyebrows raise.

"No?"

"I don't know... no," I say quietly.

Another smile. It's bright, his teeth showing. Again, I'm blushing, cheeks burning up. Damn, it's hot in here. 

"Are you shy?"

I bite at the inside of my cheek. Head tilting to the side, eyes slanted now, smile still there.

"You're shy. I can't tell."

I'm smiling now.

"Oh? How?"

Shrugging his shoulders, his head untilting itself, eyes on mine.

"I just can. Would you say you are?"

"Yes. Maybe."

"Maybe," he mutters.

Nodding again, sighing. 

"Elizabeth, I know that you're my employee and I'm your boss. That means our relationship is proscribed. Do you know what that means?"

Not allowed to have certain types of contact with one another. Behaving in a manner that's inappropriate. 

"Yes."

"Good. Well, you just graduated from college and that can be a tough time for anyone. Has it been a tough time for you?"

I shake my head.

"No, not really."

"That's good."

"What is this about?"

"I just want you to know, a boss to an employee, that you should feel free to discuss any problems that you may be having."

Huh?

"What do you mean? I'm not having any problems, Mr. Redford."

Both his hands come up, waving dismissively at me.

"Nothing. I just wanted you to know that if you ever needed to talk to someone, I'm here."

I stare. He slowly begins to stand, sighing, staring down at me. Smile. It makes me blush, feel nervous. Nervous and shy.