Abbie invents a story about a woman working at the concierge table

Abbie looked around again. "How about her?" She pointed toward the concierge table where a tall Black woman stood, calmly and placidly taking in the views of the lobby, on call in case anyone needed her assistance. She was about thirty, dark skin, long black hair, and piercing green eyes. She wore a black dress that was tight enough to accentuate her body, yet remain professionally appropriate for her position.

"Obviously," said Jake.

"You think it's obvious she just had sex?" said Abbie.

Jake chuckled. "I was just playing the game."

"Oh, and I thought maybe you saw something that looked like a clue." Abbie turned back to watch the concierge. "Her hair isn't at all out of place, and her dress is immaculate. If she did just have sex, she got cleaned up pretty good."

"Go on," said Jake.

Abbie watched for a while. The concierge was people-watching too, but fortunately didn't notice Abbie's stare.

"Of course, she's always very careful about this sort of thing."

"About cleaning herself up?"

Abbie nodded. "People walk in, come into this lobby from all over the world, and they need to see her and feel like they're in the right place. She knows she's the face of the hotel -- and quite a beautiful face."

"You think so?" said Jake.

"Oh, I definitely do. She's absolutely gorgeous." Abbie turned and gave Jake a puzzled look. "You don't agree?"

Jake was staring at the concierge. "I definitely agree. She's fucking stunning. I'm just glad we're on the same page about that."

"We are." Abbie smiled and turned back to the concierge. "She works very hard to keep up her public appearance. Her hair has to be just so. Her dress ... she has a wide array of clothes in her closet, and they each showcase the curves of her body in different ways. Her shoes are sleek, tall, but not too tall, and the right angle to give her legs length, line, and leave a little to the imagination."

"How can you tell?" said Jake, his brow furrowing. "I was with you on the face and on the dress. But the shoes? She's behind a table."

Abbie shrugged. "It's either my creative imagination or I know how women dress. Or both."

"Okay, but you haven't gotten to the part where she just had sex."

Abbie nodded in agreement. "You're right."

Just then a man approached the concierge table. He was in his forties, bald, wore glasses, and was dressed in a business-casual way -- sport coat and slacks, but not a suit. He didn't wear a tie. He set his overnight bag on the floor as he talked with the concierge. She smiled warmly, offered him some papers she had on the desk, and pointed out something of interest, to which he nodded. He took the papers, folded them, and slid them into his coat pocket. He extended a hand to her, which she took in a cordial handshake -- though the clasp lasted a little longer than one might expect. As they held their hands together, her smile broadened a bit and her breath expanded. He put his other hand on hers. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she was trying to read something more out of him. Once they released their handshake, the man picked up his bag, nodded to the concierge, and walked away toward the elevator.

"Now some of the clientele here, they make a slightly bolder impression on her," Abbie said, continuing the story. "This gentleman, he was friendly, but I imagine there are some who come here and get a personal tour of the business facilities."

"The business facilities?" asked Jake.

"Mm-hm." Abbie watched the man for a moment longer and then turned her attention back to the concierge. "A hotel like this has plenty of perks for folks who come here for work. Conference rooms, computer centers, printing, probably even faxing, for those still living in the 20th century. And when a businessman arrives and needs to know about the resources that are available, our able and willing concierge will gladly show them the options."

"What kind of options are there, do you think?" asked Jake, curious where the story might be heading.

"Well, you know all about what a conference room might provide," said Abbie, remembering the fashion show she put on for Jake before they left on this trip. "And I'm fairly sure the last client who came in here looking to use the space got the full tour, if you know what I mean."

"Tell me more."

Abbie took a breath. "He walked up to the concierge desk and asked about the facilities. She told him everything that they offered, and invited him to see the rooms. She led the way, through that door over there." Abbie pointed at an unmarked door along the wall. "Very nondescript. Doesn't draw attention. She led the way, walking grandly toward the door, her legs looking very elegant, her long hair swishing gently behind her. The businessman followed, fantasizing about the woman."

"I thought he was following her because they were going to have sex in the conference room?"

"Jake," said Abbie, turning back to him. "They are, but he doesn't know it yet. When I took you into the conference room so I could try on dresses, did you think we were going to have sex in there?"

Jake smirked and blushed a little. "Well, yeah, I did."

Abbie rolled her eyes. "Okay, well, that doesn't count. You can't look at me without wanting to have sex with me."

"Abbie!" he exclaimed. "I think it's the other way around!"

"You think it's me that always wants to have sex ... with you?" Her eyes twinkled as she teased him.

"I mean -- that's what's true, isn't it?"

Abbie wiggled, a mischievous grin on her face. "Yes, yes, that's what true." She grabbed Jake's lapels, pulled him closer to her, and kissed him. "Now listen to the rest of the story."

"She shows him around the back hallway, pointing out the restrooms, the printing station, a bank of phones, and then of course, the conference room. It has a touch of elegance that feels inviting and upscale without being over-the-top. The walls are adorned with tasteful artwork, and the soft lighting creates a warm and cozy atmosphere. The polished marble floor gives the room a sense of sophistication, while the comfortable leather chairs add a touch of practicality."

Jake stared at Abbie, astonished. "Do you work here? You could sell this place."

"Yup, I'm pretty good. But our concierge friend is better. She leans over a chair at one end of the table and watches him while he's looking around. She's fingering the leather, feeling the rough fabric and the detailed stitching along the seams. Her fingers idly move up and down. She's eager to get her hands on something."

Abbie paused, perhaps for nothing more than suspense. At the same time, she was watching the concierge, fantasizing a hundred different scenarios, many of which were far more graphic, and some of which probably involved herself on the receiving end. But for now, the story she was inventing for Jake, that would focus on the imaginary businessman.

"The businessman looks around, takes in the whole room. He looks at the table, the chairs, and envisions his corporate event. He looks back to the concierge, smiling, prepared to simply say 'thank you,' and be on his way."

"But she has other ideas," offered Jake.

"Mm-hm, she does." Abbie ...