Take a guest badge

I realize I could be waiting around all day for Doris to have the time to issue me a proper identification badge. Recognizing that I can always come back later and get a personalized one, I grab one of the purple visitor badges from the desk and hang it around my neck.

I begin to make my way to the Human Resources Office, but as I turn from the receptionist desk, I am too distracted by putting on the guest badge that I fail to look where I am going. I bump into another person and am immediately rewarded with the smell and feel of a mocha latte as it spills on me and the man who is holding it.

“I am SO sorry!” I exclaim, reaching out and brushing the spilled drink off the man’s shirt.

“It’s quite alright,” he replies. “Are you ok? Did you get burned?”

It’s only after I take stock of my situation and establish that I am unhurt that I take the time to look in the face of the one who is asking me the question. His blue name badge identifies him as “Clint.” He is about 6’3”, about 25 years old, and looks like he just came from posing for the cover of a magazine about men’s fashion. He is, quite frankly, gorgeous. His short, black hair and finely-chiseled features, combined with ice-blue eyes make me immediately wonder if he is one of the studio’s stars. A quick visual appraisal of his fit body makes me want to find out what movies he might have starred in so I can see how well my imagination matches up with what is really under the tight-fitting sweater and khaki slacks.

Realizing that I still haven’t answered him, I avert my eyes from his body and look into his piercing eyes. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going! Oh, look at you! I spilled your coffee all over you!”

He laughs easily and says, “Don’t mention it! I’m just glad you are ok. You got a fair amount of coffee on your clothes, as well. Come with me; I know where you can change. You won’t want to be covered in coffee when you have your meeting.”

“My meeting?” I look at him, blankly.

“Yeah... I saw your guest badge. What are you here for? A job interview? Meeting with the executives? Is this your first time here?”

His questions help me realize that he has no idea who I really am. Why should he? We’ve never met, and I’m wearing a guest badge. On top of that, I’m acting like an awkward junior high girl who can’t take three steps without tripping over some guy.

Clint is looking at me with those gorgeous eyes, and with raised eyebrows, awaiting an answer to his questions.