“You look especially lovely today, my favorite receptionist,” said the young man, flashing his Hollywood smile.
The woman in her early thirties was discreetly trying to dab the sweat off her forehead. Summer had hit too suddenly, too cruelly, for someone constantly battling extra weight. According to her plan, she should have lost twenty kilos by now with the help of a strict diet—but instead, she’d gained four more. Even last year’s light summer dresses betrayed her for the slightest gain—cutting into her underarms, leaving painful marks and unflattering bulges. She had no choice but to throw on a batwing-sleeved sweater—comfortable, yes, but a full-body sauna in disguise.
The handsome, muscular real estate agent, always dressed in tight-fitting shirts, rented an office on the fifth floor. And not just any office—a spacious, river-facing one, equipped with the most modern furnishings. One of the priciest in the building.
The receptionist adored him. He always had a kind word for her. Every morning he made a beeline for the front desk, even asking how she’d slept.
“So tell me, darling… did they let you get any rest last night?” he’d say, raising one perfectly shaped, thick eyebrow—making her blush every time.
The idea that he imagined her spending the night making love was intoxicating. She was used to people assuming the opposite because of her weight—that no one wanted her. Which wasn’t exactly true. Strictly speaking, her struggles with dating weren’t about the weight. They were about the sweating. Either she sweated from the heat, or from the panic that she might start sweating. A vicious cycle. No way out.
“So, what’s on the menu today? What would you recommend?” the agent asked with a wink when it was finally his turn at the self-serve restaurant in the building.
The mother-of-three behind the counter, with dark circles under her eyes and the permanent look of exhaustion, didn’t answer right away. Blushing, she giggled and pointed to the stuffed turkey.
“You made it?” he asked.
“You know they just deliver the food. We just put it out,” she replied, waving her hand as if calming down a child.
“Well, I always like to imagine you cooked it just for me…”
The woman covered her mouth with a fist, clearly flustered. She lowered her eyes, waiting for the rush of heat that overtook her body to subside.
“I hope there’s no dessert today,” he added, lowering his voice, “because I took a good look at myself naked last night and, well…” He tilted his head suggestively.
Her body flushed again as the image of the naked real estate agent filled her mind. With trembling hands, she reached for his favorite dessert—canned peaches with vanilla ice cream.
“You’re trying to kill me,” said the man with the perfect smile, clutching his chest dramatically.
The building manager—a tall, athletic woman in her sixties with a slightly masculine look—waved him off.
“Don’t try to charm me. You could be my son.”
“I wouldn’t want to be the son of such a hot woman,” he replied, locking eyes with her as she sat sunk deep into her comfortable office chair. “Especially not one who comes to work in red stilettos and a leather skirt.”
His gaze slid down her elegantly crossed, toned legs.
“Well, this is just what I grabbed this morning…” she said, her voice catching—an uncharacteristic crack in the armor of the usually sharp-edged businesswoman.
“When can I finally take you out to dinner?” he purred.
“And where would you even take me?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. She just needed to hear it.
“What do you think?”
The way his voice softened—almost sensual—made her entire body shiver.
As the elevator doors closed behind him, the Hollywood smile faded. With a tired sigh, the agent leaned back against the cold metal wall and pressed the button for the parking garage. Just a few more weeks.
That’s how long he could still count on the guest parking pass from the receptionist, free lunches from the woman at the food counter, and a bit more time on the overdue rent.
After that… he’d either sleep with them again. Or find himself another office building.