Today was no different, although I could sense him in my periphery, staring at me with particular intensity while I went on pretending to work. Maybe, I speculated, he was waiting for me to look up from the computer because he had something to say. Or maybe he was just doing what he always did. Noticed people. Noticed things the rest of us didn’t.
What could I say about Kai except that he was the kind of person you either wanted to be or wanted to be with? Twenty-nine, handsome, and good-humored, he could start up a conversation with anyone and at any time. Colleagues, delivery guys, the postman, the girls at the reception who always perked up and fixed their hair whenever he entered the lobby. I couldn’t escape the image of their enamored smiles when he asked about their day or what they did over the weekend, even if I tried.
Yes, how unfairly magnetic was the casual intimacy of his personality, the ease with which he navigated the world, that pivotal quality that made me feel invisible in comparison to him.
Everyone at the office loved him, and although he did seem to reciprocate the sentiment, he still managed to maintain a span of privacy that was as subtle as uncrossable.An air of mystery, Betty from marketing called it. He knew everything about everyone, but no one knew a single significant thing about him. Which, in a way, was why I distrusted him so much.
Now he leaned over the divider, resting his elbows atop the thin plexiglass in his usual, effortless grace, and like all those other girls, I felt myself crumble under the influence of his presence. My fingers paused on the keyboard. My back straightened. My legs uncrossed. In my sudden self-awareness, noises I could previously ignore seemed to multiply. The clacking of heels, the humming of the operating computers, the commercial-type jingle of the elevator, the skirls of the fax machine, and the fragmented grunting of the photocopier all boomed in my ears.
Then Kai’s deep, sensuous voice: “Are you feeling alright?”
I glanced up at him, pushing back from the desk and blinking against the overhead lights, their brilliance magnified by the large windows rounding the space.
“What?” I mumbled. “Why?”
His brows met in concern over the narrow slope of his nose.
Not a day went by that I didn’t catch myself admiring the beauty of his face. His eyes were dark and intelligent, the bow of his mouth full and unexpected. And there was something so charming about the way a few strands of black hair tumbled over his forehead and the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. He had a nice smile too, confident and irrepressible.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You look a bit unwell.”
“Unwell?”
“Flushed.”
Touching self-conscious fingers to my cheek, I lied, “I probably overdid it with my makeup.”
Doubtingly, he went on examining me. “It isn’t makeup,” he decided.
Scrambling for escape, I affected busyness, taking a quick sip from my coffee and rearranging the heap of papers before me. “It’s nothing,” I clipped. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Oh, really?” he asked in a gorgeously intrigued manner. “Did you have a date or something?”
I chanced another glance at him.
Pleased with himself for having finally snagged my attention, he offered me one of those charming little half-smiles of his. But there was tension in his eyes not even he could hide. Tension I wasn’t sure how to interpret. Or maybe I was sure but didn’t really want to. After all, it was one thing to find something desirable and quite another to think this desire was a good idea.
Curtly, I replied, “That is private.”
“Ah,” he sighed. “So you did have a date.”
“And what if I did?”
“Good for you, I guess. If you had fun.”
“That—”
“Is private, I know. But did you?”
“Okay, enough with the interrogation,” I grumbled, tipping my chin towards his desk. “And give me back my post-its. How many times do I have to tell you not to take things from my desk? The supply closet is literally right there.”
Leaning further over the partition, he asked in a low, private tone of voice, just between us, “Are you this possessive in general or just with your stationery?”
“Kai,” I warned, my face heating.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed. Amused. Indulgent. Grander than life itself. “Here.” Gently, he placed the stack of pink sticky notes next to my coffee cup and withdrew his hand before I could admire its beauty.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
