A stapler: black and standard. This one isn't sitting on the middle of her desk. Other staplers had demanded her attention plenty of times in the past, but this one does the opposite.
It's...well, ordinary. Rachel slowly sits down in her chair and focuses her attention on this situation.
Normally, she will pick it up, place it in the drawer, and try not to see how many of them are already there. They never stop coming, a never ending supply of plastic and steel. Every new one hopes that Rachel will contact its buyer. She never answers. She just isn't interested in any kind of relationship beyond work.
She narrows her eyes. She doesn't know if she should compliment them or snort at their lack of originality.
She forgets this little mystery when she sees the stacks of papers and the many post-it notes that hoard her desk. The little break she had taken five minutes ago seemed hours ago now.
So, Rachel nudges the stapler aside and starts to work. But for such a plain thing, her eyes focuses on it more times than she wishes.
The stapler might be from Mike. But Mike is easy to read. He is so transparent that, when Rachel catches him while she is taking a quick coffee refill break, and holds him in place with a stare and the million dollar question – is the stapler yours? – he shakes his head numbly. She sees the truth in these blue eyes. She also sees how he is still absolutely besotted with her.
She doesn't have time for this.
Donna appears then, before she can dismiss Mike and see the hurt on his face, saving him and giving Rachel the opportunity to ask her. Rachel should had done this in the first place: everyone knows to contact Donna if they need information. Or a favour.
She doesn't know. Also the truth. Donna doesn't lie about these matters – flirting and dates.
"It must be from another sad person, ignore it, is my advice," Donna says. "But they can be a genius too."
And, since it's Donna, she leans closer to Rachel and can't resist fishing for more information. "Why, has someone finally caught your attention?"
Rachel only gives her a look and returns to her office, hoping that after this break things will get better, and she can finally get things done.
It doesn't last long. Potential names and faces swarm her mind and kill her focus.
She doesn't realise what she's done until she notices several pieces of metal holding the papers in place. She stares at the stapler as if it has grown an own will and has enticed her. She pries them out until one staple remains, but Jessica will notice the small holes on the upper left corner of the pages.
She pushes the offending thing away and glares at it.
She glares at Jessica too when she comes in, before she realises exactly who has entered.
Jessica only raises an eyebrow and lets her eyes fall on the documents, probably the reason why she's here. Well, too late to hide the holes now.
Too late to tidy her desk and hope Jessica will not realise how she has wasted a day. She probably deserves any judging stares. But honestly, this isn't Rachel's fault, it's the mystery person's. This might all even be a prank. The other may have already forgotten about it.
Jessica's gaze halts on the stapler sitting in the corner of her desk, hidden in plain sight.
Just Rachel's luck. Perhaps now she can hide it in the drawer, chuck it in with the rest.
"Nice stapler," Jessica says as she leans on the desk.
She catches a whiff of that subtle perfume Jessica wears – tailored exclusively for her. Rachel doubts one can buy it at a regular store.
Elegant fingers pick up the stapler. Jessica inspects it. The expensive watch on her wrist catches the light and flashes at Rachel.
"Do you like it?" Jessica asks.
"I...uh..." Rachel is so surprised she doesn't know what to say, the words trapped in her throat.
"I like it," she continues, ignoring her stammer. She nods once and places it carefully back to where she's found it. Rachel wonders if she knows the implications of what she has just held in her hands. Not likely.
But Jessica has all seeing eyes that cause grown men in suits to shiver and capitulate before the game has even started. Jessica manoeuvrers herself in intricate minefields every day. She makes decisions that influence thousands of employees and have global consequences. She juggles with millions of dollars and can easily add or retract zeros without batting an eye.
So, something as subjective and personal as love – or lack thereof – of an employee in the lower section of the ladder isn't of any interest to her. It only becomes a problem if her productivity staggers enough that it shows in the numbers.
Jessica perches on her desk in one smooth movement, managing to not disturb even one piece of item on the smooth surface. She moves in such a way that she seems even more alluring. It's practised to perfection to make it appear an easy feat. She pulls the stapler towards herself and rests it on a her thighs.
"So, do you?" Jessica asks as she gestures to it.
Rachel might not understand what Jessica's thinking about – no one probably knows, the chess level at which she playing is out of reach for most people – but she doesn't miss the pointed glance and how she crosses her legs, long and smooth, and peers down at her.
This question is loaded. Maybe Jessica does know.
"Perhaps I do," she answers, surprised her voice isn't shaking. The rest of her surely is, not from cold, or fear, but something else.
Jessica hums, as if she approves of this development.
This is dangerous game, even Rachel understands this. There is a reason office romance is frowned upon, especially if they are between a boss and an employee.
This is the first time a woman, not to mention a woman of her calibre, has given a stapler to her. It usually are associates or lower.
Jessica doesn't smile, but Rachel feels that something has changed, as if she has caught something. She seems pleased, showing a similar expression whenever she has won a case on her terms and will profit from it greatly.
Rachel only realises too late, when she's already trapped.
"Be ready at six. I'll have you picked up."
Rachel has lost the stapler game. That has never happened before. It explains the sinking feeling in her stomach, but also the excitement rearing in her mind. For once she isn't disappointed.
Jessica's eyes take in her throat and her bare arms. The fine hairs on the skin stand up.
Rachel nods once.
She hums again, a small smile appearing.
"Don't be late," Jessica says.
If Rachel doesn't know better, she thinks Jessica is teasing her.
She stands, hands smoothing her tailored dress. Her long hair, curly today – but as shiny as ever, and likely soft to the touch – swishes as she turn. Rachel catches another cloud of perfume as she departs, leaving the door open.
Rachel feels as if Jessica has stamped on her too, the same way she collects papers and leaves a thin metal staple through the sheets, to hold them – her – together. Rachel wonders what she has agreed to. Wonders how her father will react if she tells him she got hit on by her boss, and has agreed to a date outside office hours.
She picks up the item that has started this all and lays it beside her other office equipment. Her fingers tremble, not just from anxiety and shock, but from anticipation too.
She glances at the clock ticking on the wall. She has a few yours to spare before six. The documents she will shred: she has a backup saved on the computer. She'll print another copy and this time make sure there's no flaw. If she's lucky she might even surprise Jessica when she'll knock on the glass door and enter her office – before six o'clock.
Two can play the game. Besides, she can always play the 'pretend to be daft' card if strategic retreat is needed – if she has read the cues wrong.
Somehow, Rachel doubts it.