He inhaled sharply at the sight of her; this was not what he'd been expecting from the new marketing team. This was…stunning. This was 5'11 in heels, tight skirt, a clearly stylish robe (that did nothing to hide her short skirt), cascading red hair. This was way better. His morning was suddenly looking up.

Straightening in his seat, he kicked at the person closest to him beneath the table, this time coming into contact with Al (although Adam or maybe Fred would probably have been a bit more appropriate). Turning his head, he widened his eyes, brows following in an upward pattern, and cocked his head toward the new girl—err, woman. If he hadn't been at least a little bit afraid she might hear him, he would have said 'check her out!'

Al's response lacked enthusiasm. His eyebrows rose as well, but he simply shrugged before looking away.

'Well, Al's loss, my gain,' he thought to himself, assessing Adam's reaction to their new marketing team before looking back to the front of the room. 'Also lukewarm. Score.'

"Good morning, everyone," she said, smile spreading across her lips and lighting her eyes as she placed her bag down on a chair, rooting through its front pocket before looking up. "I'm Ash Barrow, and this is my colleague, Marc Bart."

Ash gestured to the older man beside her before coming around the table and shaking everyone's hand, dropping business cards before them as she went. He wanted to hold her hand longer the moment she placed it inside his, wanted to stare into her eyes longer the instant he caught them. She did not seem to notice, only smiled again and released her grasp, handing him a business card before moving on to Al.

Aisling G. Barrow. Senior Account Manager. Aisling? Hadn't she said Ash? Or was it like Albus being Al or Roxanne being Roxy?

Looking up, he was about to open his mouth and ask about her name when he noticed she'd already begun to speak. Thinking better of interrupting just yet, he sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and put on what he hoped was his sexiest smirk, one eyebrow raised.

Twenty minutes later, he was not listening to a word that was being said around him. Mostly Aisling had been doing the talking at first, presenting her concept for a new campaign to lead up to the next quidditch season. He'd almost been listening at that point, but even then it was primarily for the purpose of waiting for lulls in the conversation so he could interject with some smart or cute remark. He wasn't listening to learn anything, which was for sure. But then the question and answer period had begun and he'd actually stopped listening entirely. He was too busy coming up with an alternate plan of attack. Aisling had all but completely ignored his witty remarks for the entire meeting. Clearly, this plan—his usual—wasn't working. And frankly, he wasn't sure what else to do, because his usual attack always worked. So instead of listening, he stared her down as he brainstormed his next steps.

This was completely new for him. And not just in an 'I usually go for blondes, but she's a redhead' sort of way. No, lately, girls had been falling all over him. It took exactly zero effort to get their attention, for them to be putty in his hands. And even if the occasional girl took a few seconds to crack, he always knew what to do, always got to them in a matter of moments, inside a few sentences. She was not taking the bait. If playful remarks and flirtatious smiles and flattery were getting him nowhere…well, then, what would get him somewhere? His arsenal was fairly empty otherwise.

Although, if he were honest, she wasn't his usual type either. She was obviously older than him, perhaps considerably. And she was aggressive and confident and commanded attention in an almost intimidating way. She was not looking to him for approval.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about her that attracted him. She was certainly stunning, but in his line of work he met stunning women all the time. Beautiful girls too. So it wasn't just her looks. He considered for a moment that it was because Aisling so obviously believed she was out of his league. He did always want the things he could not have. But then, he didn't believe that was it either. Didn't believe that could be it. There had to be more. This was something different than he had ever felt before. He felt as though he genuinely needed to get her attention. Needed her to laugh at his jokes and cast her smile in his direction. It was a compulsion. It felt beyond his control.

He found himself momentarily distracted from his plotting when Aisling did actually laugh at something. He didn't hear the joke, if there had been one, and he did not laugh. But the sound of her laughter, loud and unchecked, was striking.

His breath caught in his throat when her eyes were suddenly on him. His stomach felt like it had dropped straight to the floor. Her curious gaze was intoxicating, her eyes a shade of almost blue, almost green that he was sure he'd never seen before in nature. And then, before he could even catch his breath—let alone a thought—she looked away, quizzical expression still on her face.

Al elbowed him.

"What?" His head snapped around to his brother.

"Didn't you hear—ugh, never mind." Al shook his head and looked back to the front of the room.

He suddenly regretted the fact that he hadn't been listening, feeling as though he must have missed out on something good. She'd developed a decent rapport with his manager, and the coach was eating out of her palm. Whatever she'd said or suggested during the course of that meeting, they'd bought it: hook, line and sinker. And he had no idea what it was, or what he was in for.

Regret notwithstanding, once again, he wasn't listening. Instead he found himself casting about for anything that could have filtered into his brain while he'd been too busy trying to hit on her to listen to her. Trying to figure out what he had missed. Moments later, the meeting seemed to be coming to a close around him: people were flipping their notepads shut and Aisling was packing her belongings back into her bag. He noticed then that her nails were cherry red. A detail that had managed to escape him as he'd focused on her eyes and the dip of her waist beneath her fitted robe and the way her hair seemed to move in the light, even when she was still.

He felt the words leave his mouth before he considered them, "Will we see you again? Because, if not—"

She cut him off, "We have another meeting in a few weeks," her voice was firm and frustratingly emotionless. He could not get her to react the way he wanted. "It was very nice meeting you all," she said, moving towards the other team members for a handshake, "I look forward to working with you guys.

Aisling shook Al's hands before reaching him. He felt a rush of anticipation as he watched her hand move toward his. His body felt bottomless once again as they made contact, like his insides were plummeting. He held on for dear life.

"Have a great afternoon," she said, actually yanking her hand back. He hadn't realized how tightly he was grasping her palm or that he'd stop shaking it long ago.

She turned to leave and for a moment, he could do nothing but watch, dumbfounded. He knew instantly that he needed to see her again. Needed to feel that rush of blood through his veins, that twisting of his insides at her nearness. She did not look back as she followed her co-worker out of the conference room. And though he did not know what to do, or how to get to her, he could not let her leave.

Reaching into his bag he grabbed hold of a promotional copy of the teams poster (bearing the signature of all the players) and ran after her without a word.