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Rated: E · Short Story · Thriller/Suspense · #2273816
Peggy the secretary pines for her boss… or so he thinks
         Peggy’s deft fingers danced over the files in the cabinet, occasionally stopping to pick something out and feign interest in it’s contents. If she kept it up long enough, Mr Thomson would eventually look up from his desk and acknowledge her. Her feet ached in the ridiculous heels, but she had worn them – and the fitted blue dress – just for him. Weeks of subtle looks and flirting had led to this moment, weeks of batting her lashes and standing just a little too close. He liked it, she could tell from the way his eyes lingered everywhere but her face when they were together.

She glanced at the clock. He stayed late most nights, but never later than 7pm and he let out a predictable sigh as the clock struck the hour. His shoulders dropped from where they had been up around his ears and he slipped folders into his desk drawer, locking it with a jangling set of keys.

Peggy pretended to be interested in her filing cabinet. If she was busy, then she was invaluable, and then she would be trusted. He would keep her around for as long as she needed to be there.

“Don’t you have someone waiting at home, Peg?” he asked, stretching his arms before reaching for his coat from the rack. “Damn shame that no one else gets to see you in that dress.”

“Oh, there’s no one at home except my cat,” she shrugged and leaned against the cabinet with a sigh and toyed with the low cut collar of her dress. “Gets a little lonely, you know.”

Thomson stepped in closer as he slid his arms into his coat. His cheeks were red, and the tremble in his hands as he tried to button up his coat contrasted with his attempt at flirting back. “Well, that’s a shame. I would offer to fix that for you… but there’s nothing I love more than getting home to my wife every day.”

Peggy’s face fell, and she crossed her arms across her stomach to hide from him. “Oh. She’s a very lucky woman, then.”

Thomson put his hands on her shoulders, but she caught the barest glimmer of self-satisfaction cross his features. “Now Peg, I’m sure there’s a great guy out there just waiting for you, and then you’ll be able to give up mooning over me all day and make a nice home instead.”

She looked up at him through her lashes and sighed wistfully, reaching out to straighten his tie. “I hope so, Mr Thomson. There’s nothing I want more. I’m sorry, but your wife really is a very lucky woman.”

His hand cupped her face, and she could see his battle with temptation. She made his decision for him with a playful push against his chest.

“Don’t let silly old me keep you here – why don’t you run on home to your wife and I’ll lock up when I’m done?”

She thought perhaps she had pushed her luck too much when he looked back over his shoulder at his desk. But then he shrugged and handed the keys to her, smiling as she playfully ran her fingers along his wrist before taking the keys from him.

“Don’t stay too late, it’s not safe out there for a sweet little thing like you like you on her own.”

She giggled like a schoolgirl. “I can handle myself. Now get home to your lucky wife and I’ll lock up when I’m done.”

He headed off, whistling as he walked down the hall and she waited until the elevator bell rang before shuddering. She shook off sweet little coquettish Peggy like an old coat and kicked out of the awful heels. It was relief that seducing him hadn’t worked. She had always hated having to go that far, especially when wives and children were involved. But pretending that she had wanted to had been enough to accomplish the same goal of stroking his ego and turning him into putty in her hands nonetheless.

She crouched by his desk and tried each key to open the drawer, letting out a little hiss of joy when the second one worked. She pulled out the files and spread them out on the desk, scanning them for names she recognised. Oh, sweet Mr Thomson had been very naughty indeed. It wouldn’t be an affair that pulled him away from his wife but probably some very serious prison time. She reached into her bra and pulled out a tiny camera and began taking pictures of each page.

“It’s not safe out there for a sweet little thing like you,” she snorted and rolled her eyes. She almost wished she could come up against a female target, just for the challenge.

Finished taking pictures, she put everything back in its place and locked up. Before the elevator reached the ground floor she pinched the skin of her inner arm to make her eyes water, and handed Thomson’s keys to the night-watchman on the front desk with a sniffle. When she didn’t show up for work the next morning, Thomson would assume she was embarrassed by his rejection. He’d have about twenty-four hours of puffed up pride before the CIA showed up at his door. She wondered if he would think of her in that blue dress when everything had been taken away from him.
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