The Business Meeting

The man shows up on time.

He is a freelance illustrator. The woman is a company account manager. When the lift doors open in reception and he sees her for the first time, he has to remind himself of this. She's young, good looking, smartly dressed and sexy. Her handshake is firm, her manner professional, but the man has to refrain from gazing into her green eyes. In the short lift ride to her floor, he stares at the buttons, glancing occasionally at her in response to polite small talk.

The woman shows him into a small meeting room and leaves him to fetch papers and two coffees. There is a rectangular table and the man takes a seat near the corner, curious to see whether the woman will sit next to him. The woman returns, smiling and talking, and she takes the seat opposite. The man busies himself with his coffee, the woman rifles through her papers—all the while they talk as though nothing is happening. She slaps a sheet of paper before her and the man opens his notebook and clicks his pen ready to write.

The meeting begins.

A half minute in and the man no longer has to remind himself not to gaze. He listens to what the woman says with a professional ear, asks questions to clarify and notes down information, his mind totally on the job in hand. When the time comes for him to tell her the cost, he looks into her eyes with no thought of their colour and states his price.

The woman looks unhappy. The price is higher than expected. The man suggests she reduce the number of illustrations she's asking for. The woman looks down at her papers, thinking. The man waits.

When the woman looks up, it's as though he's the most wonderful thing she's ever seen. As she talks, she reaches across the table to touch the back of his hand. She gathers up papers and changes seats, taking the chair next to his. He feels her arm brush his as she points and gestures. She holds his gaze as she explains how this is her first important assignment, how she really wants to create a good impression and how much his help would mean to her. The man feels every nerve in his body scream: 'Yes! Say yes! Make her happy and she'll be grateful and you know what that means!'

But the man realises that he knows exactly what it means. His body is keyed up, hopeful, aroused—heart thumping and mouth dry—but there is also a sick feeling deep in his guts. A feeling he knows well. A feeling he was not going to ignore this time. He waits for the woman to finish speaking. Then he takes a deep breath, looks at her with cold eyes, smiles and says:

'Nice try.'