Spencer looked up as Ashley walked past her desk. Her boss was wearing her clacky black leather boots, so she could hear every step on the small office’s wooden floors. She loved those boots. Ashley’s calves filled up the top, making the uncovered skin above even more stark and eye-catching. She would follow the flesh along the delicious rolling canyons of her knees and then into the chasm of empty space concealed by her skirt. Not that she needed more reason to look at her bosses legs. Or arms. Or ass. Or face. She did her best to bury herself in the computer screen, loudly clicking the mouse repeatedly to validate her worker-bee status.

She had been hired two months ago as an assistant. Ashley, who wrote freelance articles and essays about music, had been getting more work recently and needed someone to help out, so she had posted on Craigslist looking for a grad student with good communication and research skills and a sense of humor. With her major in journalism and a minor in music analysis, Spencer knew she had a good shot. When she showed up at the nondescript office building, she navigated her way to the office number she had gotten in the e-mail. She stood outside the door with her hand poised. Should she knock? What if there was a secretary and she was just supposed to walk in? She didn’t want to look dumb. But what if there wasn’t and it was just an office and she was barging in by presuming to open the door. Argh! She hadn’t even started the interview and she was already doing terribly.

She grasped the handle lightly and turned it with trepidation, peering around a partially opened door. Inside, the florescent lights burned brightly on an empty room. One impressive wood desk sat in the back left corner, and closer to the door another less substantial desk sat. A small green couch was pressed against the back wall, facing the bigger desk with the fancier chair. And on every single surface there were papers. Both desks, the couch, even papers perched precariously on the top of the desktop computer on the closest desk. But not a single person.

Spencer shut the door behind her, and, even though she was the one doing it, jumped a little at the sound of the door closing. She stood frozen, afraid if she moved, she’d disrupt something and the entire place would be swept up in a windstorm of incompetance. She checked her watch. It was 2:58 pm, her interview was at 3. She was a little early, she’d give it another few minutes.