“Can I get you anything else?” Melissa asked, as she hovered over my desk expectantly. When she’d en

“Can I get you anything else?” Melissa asked, as she hovered over my desk expectantly. When she’d entered earlier - asking to chat - she had closed the door to my office behind her and laid a thin manilla folder down near some books. She had decided on a white cardigan sweater over the rust-red, skintight dress I’d seen in her post this morning, rather than a jacket. It provided some modesty to her outfit but even it hugged her tightly. I was doing my best not to stare.“No…I’m fine…” I replied. It had been years since I had a hangover like the one I went to work with that Thursday morning, and Melissa had been doting on me like a sick child. Maybe it was the vitality of youth, but she seemed as vibrant and strong as ever, though I know she’d drank just as much as me last night. Something was certainly on her mind, but it didn’t seem like the night of out had set her back a bit. As for me, though - my head pounded, I felt drained, my mouth was terminally dry. And I didn’t need anything else making me feel crummy, seeing how lousy, really, I’d started to feel over the past few weeks. I had been chalking it up to the stress - the lethargy, the weight loss. Of course this morning I could blame the hangover on the cheap whiskey the cowboy bar was slinging, but I now know how much more there was going on, with my body. Anyway…“More water?” she offered, leaning over the desk for my glass and giving me not only a healthy eyeful of impressive cleavage, but also another lungful of her magnificent perfume.“Uh, sure,” I answered, making sure to sneak a glance down her top and a grab a deep breath of the scent coming from her warm body, watching her take my glass and fill it from the tumbler of ice-water she had brought me earlier.  Melissa always smelled wonderful - today, it was sandalwood and cupcakes.I stole another peek through her sweater and asked her to have a seat, gesturing to the empty chair on the other side of my desk. “So, what’s up?” I asked, sipping my water and doing my best to sound strong, watching her sit. I inhaled deep again, and swear her perfume was actually helping to relieve my headache. Ahhhhh…. She smiled patiently as I settled. “You wanted to talk?” I asked.Was this about last night? I had wondered with trepidation. Does she know what ended up happening between Randi and me, in the car outside the condo? Of course I assumed Melissa, being Randi’s friend, probably knew everything…but maybe not? Was she going to confront me on it? Was it bothering her?I swallowed hard as she removed her sweater. My heart skipped, my already erratic pulse quickened in anxiety. I had to steel myself against the sudden appearance of that shockingly big bosom as she draped the thin cardigan over the chair behind her. How could I be expected to function with the hourglass of her figure seated this close to me, in that skintight dress? Had she peeled off her sweater specifically for that purpose, this effect? To distract me? Her manner, though, seemed contrite, and as I breathed in more perfume a wave of concern settled over me, beginning to replace my agitation. My eyes flitted unseen down again to her womanly chest, for a brief second, as she reached for the manilla folder she’d brought in.“Dr. J,” she said, obviously a bit nervous as she pulled a sheet of paper, a photo printout, from the folder, “I have to show you something.” She placed the paper down on the desk and slid it across to me…“Whu-what’s this..?” I asked, immediately shocked as I realized what I was looking at, secretly a little relieved it wasn’t about Randi. But what was this picture? That was - oh jesus -  Melissa, on the sales poster…’Mega Milk’?“I…I found this posted in the breakroom, on the bulletin board this morning…” she said, a strange sadness settling into her voice as she drew a deep breath and began to speak…Melissa began to explain, describing a bit of an ersatz modeling career in her past. None of it was a surprise to me, privately remembering with a flush the racy pin-up pics of her I’d been sent anonymously over the past weeks. It was all years ago, she claimed; she hasn’t modeled recently, hadn’t wanted to get by in life relying on her appearance. She spoke of her previous jobs, her recent management degree, all with lucid pride. But apparently she had in years past gathered a good number of followers on an old, now defunct, Instagram account and had been paid to do promotional posts for “Mega Milk”, some sort of workout supplement/performance beverage. The campaign, obviously taking advantage of Melissa’s astounding endowments as a play on the product’s name, had a brief flash of popularity and the company took advantage by sending some advertising posters to stores. It’s years later now, but obviously there are still some posters up in shops.“So…I guess everyone here knows I’m the ‘Mega-Milk’ girl…”She seemed chagrined by the whole thing, and especially mortified that she was having to discuss this with me, show this picture to her boss. For my part, I was doing my best to keep a straight face, hide my true reaction, appear both surprised and concerned. I was concerned, of course, but far from surprised. “So, how did this show up in the breakroom?” I asked, with feigned incredulity, all the while thinking: those little bitches. There was some brazen person…or persons…in the office bedeviling me with the anonymous pictures; they were now evidently bold enough to harass Melissa as well.“I don’t know…” she breathed, setting her trim shoulders, looking to me for help, “Maybe they think it’s funny? That it’s a joke? Maybe they think they can embarrass me with it?” The trepidation in her voice was slowly turning to exasperation. She seemed frustrated, like this was something from her past she thought she had moved beyond, and it was now haunting her again.“I don’t know why they didn’t just come to me, talk to me about it…” she said.“I, um…agree…” I…agreed. Her eyes brightened, reading me, seeing me nodding. I drew a deep breath, smelled her again. “I mean…it’s no big deal that you did these photos, earned some money,” I said, emboldened by the encouragement in her face, “I say embrace it. Don’t worry about your past. If someone here has a issues with it it’s more their problem than yours.”She sat up straighter. “Yeah,” she said, picking up on my line of reasoning, “I mean…I made more from that photoshoot than most of them make in a month!” She was allowing an old anger to surface, here behind closed doors with me. But there was still a sadness there. “I just thought that we were all getting to be friends…”Ooof. “Melissa, look,” I said, reaching across the desk. DId I just offer to hold her hand?? “You’re great. Don’t worry about this. You’re a friendly person but you don’t have to be friends with everyone… She had already taken my hand, in both of hers. She blinked those big bright eyes, waiting for me expectantly.“…you’re their boss.”That made her smile. She sat up straighter, proudly.“I mean, it’s probably just one person, one jealous person, jealous of your…uh…” I continued, looking down at our clasped hands but finding myself glancing elsewhere, “…accomplishments.” I could feel it. I was already half- bedazzled by her, and trying to keep myself together. “But, whatever it is, remember: I’ve got your back.”“Omigod Dr. J, do you mean it?” she immediately replied, gripping my hand more tightly, pulling it towards her, smile growing and growing until it swelled to fill her face, until it swelled to brighten the room. Her chest, likewise, rose up between her shoulders proud and strong.“O-of course…” I stammered, suddenly unsure as to whether I’d said too much and…...had I just been played?Thank you so much to the ever-astounding Topographic Society for the ‘Mega Milk’ images. -- source link

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