2 Selfish

Charles grunted as he took another bite from the greasy bacon cheeseburger he orders from down the street. You could see the plaque already building in his arteries.

Isabel peeked over her messy stack of recycled articles and editorials at him. She watched as he wiped the tomato sauce and mayonnaise off the corner of his mouth with a damp napkin they had stuffed at the bottom of the bag. She could see the dried splotches if cooking oil and ketchup that patterned its surface. He impatiently wiped his mouth and took another hearty bite, smacking his lips and taking a gulp from the canned grape soda on his desk.

A slob. The sauce dripped onto the soggy sandwich paper as he took another mouthful and a swallow of the carbonated syrup-water and purple food coloring in a can. His tie was loose and the top button of his collar was undone. His shirt was untucked as he savagely sucked the meat sauce off his fingers and unwrapped another greasy burger. It looked like the inside of a freshly darkened small intestine. The lettuce was swampy with a thick layer of cheese that looked as if it had been purposely air-dried the night before. The tomato was soaked from the over-seasoned sauce that dripped from the spongy sesame bun. The patty was another story. Just a shapeless slab of ground beef off the meat clearance shelf.

Isabel scoffed and shook her head. Charles gave her a questioning look before taking another large bite. He sighed and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

"What?" He exclaimed quietly as he closed his eyes, still chewing. "You know, I can feel you burning holes onto my forehead."

She smirked and quickly covered her mouth with a small stack of papers to stifle her giggle. Charles opened his eyes and swung his chair to face her desk next to him. He leaned over his knees toward her.

"Is this another test to see if I can read your mind? Cause you know I'm good at it," he exclaimed proudly, a goofy grin spread across his handsome face. She sat back slightly and stared at him.

Overlooking the tomato sauce and mayo at the corners of his mouth and sloppy demeanor, Charles was rather good looking. He wasn't a drop-dead gorgeous, hunk with a halo, sexy man but an average, decent and well-mannered man that treated those around him with respect.

She recalled their first encounter like it were a Ron Shelton movie. Dressed in a crisp three-piece charcoal gray suit, a champagne colored shirt and silver studded cuff links with a pair of $108 Calto's. A thin chain near his breast pocket and a divers watch completed the look. Isabel had mistaken him for a wealthy real estate investor. The hard line of his jaw and the soft slope of his nose. His nostrils weren't flared so he didn't give off the dominant vibe but the atmosphere that surrounded him was cautious and kind. He was clean shaven but looking closely she could almost notice how quickly the stubble was growing back.

Isabel had not noticed, however, how much she had been staring at this man that he merely looked back at her unbothered and smiled gently. She blushed, her cheeks turning a dull red, when the small smile lit up his already glowing blue eyes. Two deep dimples could be seen on either side of his cheeks as he gave her a polite nod. She quickly looked away embarrassed and barely registered he had left her side when she turned back.

She had been on her way to work as an editorial writer for the New York Times. She stopped to buy a latte and a buttered bagel from the deli across the street. The line had been longer than she expected. After picking up her order she rushed out of the deli and bolted across the crosswalk. She was late; wearing a teal blouse and a black mid-rise pencil skirt, a thin hand knitted cream cardigan, nude stockings, gloss Gayle Patent leather pumps, and a classic tight bun to tame her kinky curls.

Isabel stuffed the butter roll into her mouth and pulled on the metal handles of the heavy glass doors of the New York Times skyscraper. Once inside she nearly dropped the bread as she stared wide-eyed at the platinum interior. Its effect on her never got old. It was a sparkling glass-and-steel fanciful formation of a condominium that rose forty-three stories above the circus lights of Eighth Avenue in New York City. Twenty-six feet of roaring flames ran along one wall, a deconstructed fireplace whose orange flames danced behind a blue-hued sheet of glass. Enormous plasma television screens decorated the stark white walls as geometric furniture sat surrounded by a bubbling moat. Toward the center of the lobby stood a glass-enclosed garden of moss and birch trees that brought an earthy feel to the space.

Her moment of awe was cut short by the impatient front desk clerk that had unreasonably stretched his arms out to catch her attention. Isabel's cheeks burned with embarrassment again as she walked hurriedly to the elevators hidden around the corner of the exquisite foyer. She pressed the button for the sixth floor. The doors were closing as an attractive tenor voice called out to hold the elevator. She quickly pressed the button to reopen the doors and saw a familiar arm of a charcoal gray suit reach between the doors to interrupt the sensor.

In strode the handsome stranger she had been gawking at merely 20 minutes prior. Her cheeks turned hot and she hastened to look away as he entered the space ironically standing only a foot away from her. Isabel took an immediate interest in the screen above the button panel to avoid another moment of embarrassment. She glanced in his direction only to find him gazing at her, a small smile plastered on his sexy lips. What?! Stop it, Isabel! Grow up! this isn't college!

She looked away quickly as the elevator pinged for her floor and nearly tripped on the dark carpet as she hastened to get out of the elevator and near sprinted to her desk at the far end of the large room. The red and white staircases cut through the center as they extended to the next floor. She settled in her seat and logged into her computer. She clocked into her shift through the company employee ess portal. She sighed as she barely had a minute to spare before her time was flagged as late. She shuffled off her heels and opened the right desk drawer and exchanged them for more comfortable flats.

The sudden deafening thump of papers on her desk made her jump. It was Ms. Janice Johnson, her best friend, and her managers personal assistant. Janice smirked at the startled look on her face and silently gestured to the man beside her. Isabel didn't have to see his face to know who it was. Charcoal-gray suit, and Calto's dress shoes. It was the handsome stranger again.

"This is Charles Grover, " she said. He nodded slightly gazing at Isabel, a small smile curing at the corner of his mouth. She smiled back and briefly thanked Janice with a sly look. Isabel turned her attention to her handsome new trainee, adrenaline pulsing in thick waves through her veins as she reached out her hand to formally introduce herself. His hands were soft but his grip was firm as they shook.

"Welcome to the New York Times editorial suites. My name is Isabel Perez and I am one of the many editors on this floor," she gestured to the surrounding desks. Charles looked around at the busy atmosphere, taking in the orderly and color-coded stacks of paperwork that littered almost every table. He looked back at the empty desk next to him and then at her.

"When can I get started?"

Those were the first words he ever uttered to her. They were as firm as his handshake, but gentle as his nature. It never occurred to her that he could be anything more than a friend. He unexpectedly became her closest and most reliable male bestfriend.

She moved the papers away from her face and sat up straighter as Gretchen Collins' face was visible through the thick throng of journalists crowding the printer. Her expression didn't do her justice. It was a cross between professionalism and deep annoyance of people. Isabel only wished to take her HR representative off her high horse one day. As though she could read relaxed brainwaves, she looked right at Isabel and glided immediately in her direction, a nasty smile on her heavily glossed plump lips.

"Here comes the shrew," Isabel whispered to Charles who hastened to button his collar and stuff the greasy sandwich into the stained brown paper bag. She would have been too panicked to move quickly in this situation. Within seconds he sat at his desk with a distracted expression; his eyes focused on his computer screen with not a piece of paper out of place. Gretchen reached their desks promptly and glanced at Isabel before turning her attention to Charles.

"Mr. Grover," she greeted in a sensual manner. Isabel eyed him and sure enough she could see his hands flinch as Ms. Collin's continued to address him. Gretchen continued speaking as this small insight went unnoticed. Isabel smiled softly and turned her attention to her own screen. She knew how uncomfortable he had gotten talking to other women who were too foward with him. This happened often, but his ability to physically avoid women became limited as many of our female colleagues would approach us and try to get him alone to ask him out. she smiled to herself as she realized that the deeper their friendship became the more uncomfortable he got talking to any other woman but her.

"If you can do that for me, I'd really appreciate it." Gretchen played with one of the pens in the utensil's can on his desk. She glared at Isabel and smiled seductively at Charles before she left. Isabel looked at Charles before reaching out to gently pat him on the back.

"You only have your good looks and well-mannered behavior to blame for this. Why don't you start being mean to every girl that approaches you?" Isabel said jokingly as she softly rubbed his back. Charles placed his elbows on his desk and put his head in his hands. He let out a heavy sigh and a low groan in response. Isabel patted his shoulder.

"Aww, if you look that way I'll think there is something wrong with all the women here, but me. It's almost like you want to keep me all to yourself," she added to see if she could get a rise out of him or even a smile. However, the look that he gave her as he finally lifted his head from his hands was serious, almost in agreement. He gazed at her with deep blue eyes and clasped her hands softly.

"Do you have a problem with that?"