Karla came into the conference room carrying a bunch of files and her Blackberry. She was wearing a loose, white sweater over her light blue blouse, as air conditioning kept the room comfortable for hairy chest-thumping insulated executives, but not her. She smiled when she saw Mark in his accustom chair. "Perfect," she thought to herself.
She came up behind him and bent close, but not too close, to his ear. "I have something to tell you. I'll text it." Then, instead of taking the seat next to him, she rounded the table and sat almost opposite to him; just a little closer to the head of the table. She could see confusion and a little disappointment beneath his composed features. She gave him the slightest smile, and started typing.
Mark casually placed his Blackberry on the table as the others forced to come to this marketing meeting arrived and took chairs. He chatted with the people next to him, but kept an eye on Karla. When she stopped typing and set her Blackberry down, he picked his up. No message arrived. He looked at her, and she held a finger above the "enter" button, but did not press it. She withdrew it when the meeting started.
Mark watched her out of the corner of his eye, while she pretended to watch the marketing guy yammer on. She sat with her elbow on the table, her chin cupped in her hand. She knew he was watching. She parted her lips, ever so slightly. Then she slowly ran the tip of her tongue up the tip of her middle finger. And again. And again.
Mark was stunned. Because of the angle and the way she held her hand, he was the only one who could see what she was doing. He watched as she slowly half-closed her eyes and spread the saliva on her finger over her lips. Then she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, and gave a little smile.
A moment later she changed position, sitting back in the chair with her arms crossed. One hand has wound up inside the sweater, out of sight, and, if Mark were to judge, resting on her breast. Mark couldn't see clearly without staring, but there sure seemed to be movement under the sweater. Like fingers, tracing lines of fabric, lines of flesh. Karla took a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly, almost like a sigh.
Mark shifted position, to make sure his lap was under the table. Karla shifted positions too, picking up a pencil with one hand and dropping the other into her lap. Mark watched her arm, trying to determine if the unseen hand was moving. Perhaps doing something interesting. Her face betrayed nothing. Or did it?
As the speaker started to wind down, Karla reached over to her Blackberry and hit the key to send a message. Moments later Mark's Blackberry indicated he had a new email. He opened it.
"It's rumored I tease."