bathing suit across the conference table, and said, “You can change in the ladies dressing room down the hall. Then come back here and I’ll take you up to the pool.”
Kate stared at him. “Surely you don’t expect me to parade around here wearing only this—” she waved a box so thin it couldn't contain more than a bikini.
Ben eyed her with undisguised annoyance. “Our models do it all the time." As he said the words, two tall, slender women in bathing suits paraded past the open doorway.
“I’m not one of your models,” Kate snapped. “In fact, I can’t imagine that you expect every artist you hire to go through this.”
Bracing his palms against the conference table, Ben eyed her steadily, and said, “Every artist I’ve hired has gone through this, but none bitched about it. Most welcome the chance to swim in a rooftop pool instead of pitching ideas in a stuffy conference room." When he said nothing more, Kate realized she’d been dismissed.
She turned and made her way down the hallway to the dressing room. Un-tucking the flap at the end of the foil box, she pulled out a one-piece suit and held it up. The plain, satiny suit with its high-cut front and wide straps seemed reasonably modest. It wasn’t until she slipped into it and viewed herself in the mirror that she realized how revealing it was, with its leg holes cut high on her hips. It was obviously a racing suit intended to glide through the water without resistance. The slinky fabric clung to every curve and angle of her body like an iridescent-green skin, delineating her breasts with their puckered tips, and the sharp angles of her hips, and the abs in her tummy, and even the slight mound of hair at the juncture of her thighs. And as she stared at her all-but-naked image, and imagined Ben’s eyes scanning the length of her, a shiver of anticipation coursed through her, settling below her belly.
She also realized Ben’s attitude toward her had changed since their kiss. No more bantering, no more teasing, just irritation and indifference. So maybe his demand that she test the fins was nothing more than that, and she was being emotional . Still, she had no intention of parading down the hall and into the elevator with Ben, where she'd stand all but nude in her iridescent-green skin, while the elevator crawled up to the twenty-sixth floor of the building.
She looked around the dressing room with its tile floor, line-up of make-up vanities, and glass-enclosed showers, and spotted a full-length cabinet. Inside, she found shelves lined with white towels and wash cloths, each carrying the Stassen Sports Gear logo. Taking a bath towel, she draped it around her shoulders and returned to Ben’s office. When she stepped into the room, he barely took notice of her, and she found it oddly disturbing, though she couldn’t reason why. He was, after all, the enemy. Although she was quickly making her way up the ladder as an artist, she was definitely at the bottom rung with Ben in convincing him to find another location for the corporate office. She also noticed that he still wore his tee-shirt and sweats, which annoyed her. She’d barely conjured the words in her mind, when she found herself saying, “Obviously you expect women to parade around here half-naked, while you do as you please.”
Ben eyed her with irritation. “Let’s just set the record straight then." He yanked off the swim fins and shrugged out of his tee-shirt and sweats, leaving her staring at an iridescent-blue Sealskin suit that hugged his narrow hips and dipped low on his belly, drawing attention to the blatant, packed-in bulge of his well-endowed male anatomy. “Are you satisfied?”
Realizing she was staring, Kate raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and replied, “Uh... yes... I mean... I’m satisfied that... men… uh… parade around here like that too...”
“Good.” Ben grabbed both pairs of fins, tossed a towel over his shoulder, and left the room, Kate close behind.
Kate stared at him. “Surely you don’t expect me to parade around here wearing only this—” she waved a box so thin it couldn't contain more than a bikini.
Ben eyed her with undisguised annoyance. “Our models do it all the time." As he said the words, two tall, slender women in bathing suits paraded past the open doorway.
“I’m not one of your models,” Kate snapped. “In fact, I can’t imagine that you expect every artist you hire to go through this.”
Bracing his palms against the conference table, Ben eyed her steadily, and said, “Every artist I’ve hired has gone through this, but none bitched about it. Most welcome the chance to swim in a rooftop pool instead of pitching ideas in a stuffy conference room." When he said nothing more, Kate realized she’d been dismissed.
She turned and made her way down the hallway to the dressing room. Un-tucking the flap at the end of the foil box, she pulled out a one-piece suit and held it up. The plain, satiny suit with its high-cut front and wide straps seemed reasonably modest. It wasn’t until she slipped into it and viewed herself in the mirror that she realized how revealing it was, with its leg holes cut high on her hips. It was obviously a racing suit intended to glide through the water without resistance. The slinky fabric clung to every curve and angle of her body like an iridescent-green skin, delineating her breasts with their puckered tips, and the sharp angles of her hips, and the abs in her tummy, and even the slight mound of hair at the juncture of her thighs. And as she stared at her all-but-naked image, and imagined Ben’s eyes scanning the length of her, a shiver of anticipation coursed through her, settling below her belly.
She also realized Ben’s attitude toward her had changed since their kiss. No more bantering, no more teasing, just irritation and indifference. So maybe his demand that she test the fins was nothing more than that, and she was being emotional . Still, she had no intention of parading down the hall and into the elevator with Ben, where she'd stand all but nude in her iridescent-green skin, while the elevator crawled up to the twenty-sixth floor of the building.
She looked around the dressing room with its tile floor, line-up of make-up vanities, and glass-enclosed showers, and spotted a full-length cabinet. Inside, she found shelves lined with white towels and wash cloths, each carrying the Stassen Sports Gear logo. Taking a bath towel, she draped it around her shoulders and returned to Ben’s office. When she stepped into the room, he barely took notice of her, and she found it oddly disturbing, though she couldn’t reason why. He was, after all, the enemy. Although she was quickly making her way up the ladder as an artist, she was definitely at the bottom rung with Ben in convincing him to find another location for the corporate office. She also noticed that he still wore his tee-shirt and sweats, which annoyed her. She’d barely conjured the words in her mind, when she found herself saying, “Obviously you expect women to parade around here half-naked, while you do as you please.”
Ben eyed her with irritation. “Let’s just set the record straight then." He yanked off the swim fins and shrugged out of his tee-shirt and sweats, leaving her staring at an iridescent-blue Sealskin suit that hugged his narrow hips and dipped low on his belly, drawing attention to the blatant, packed-in bulge of his well-endowed male anatomy. “Are you satisfied?”
Realizing she was staring, Kate raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and replied, “Uh... yes... I mean... I’m satisfied that... men… uh… parade around here like that too...”
“Good.” Ben grabbed both pairs of fins, tossed a towel over his shoulder, and left the room, Kate close behind.
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