Between the Lines (futa on male)

As Ben Jennings negotiated the maze of cubicles, his leather messenger bag bounced gently against his hip. He gave Dennis from QA a tight smile and Sarah from accounting a quick nod as he headed to his workstation, which was drenched with fluorescent lights and clacking keyboards.

Ben sat in his ergonomic chair and looked across to his computer screen. With every second, uncertainty carved more on his face; his forehead wrinkled as he went over the code lines.

Leaning forward, he said, "What the..." For weeks now, his smart architecture resembled a confused tangle of spaghetti code.

Ben's shock soon gave way to irritation as awareness dawned. He held the nose bridge and shook his wire-frame glasses. Sighing, he said "Richard," the word burning his tongue.

Then behind him a loud voice yelled. "Jennings! You noted my adjustments to your code?"

Turning in his chair, Ben studied his employer, Richard Jones, who stood with his arms folded and a haughtiness on his face.

Ben repeated, straggling to keep a regular voice, "Improvements?" Richard, with all due respect, these changes entirely destroy the-"

Richard interjected, flitting his hand dismissively. "Nonsense!" he said. "I've streamlined your convoluted code. Now it runs far faster."

Ben inhaled deeply, urging himself to speak carefully. "Richard, the framework was deliberate. Though it seems more complicated, it gives more future modification flexibility and simplicity."

Just before Richard exhaled, his smile wavered. "Make it work, Jennings. I am the project manager and think this is better."

Ben slanted his shoulders and headed to his computer as Richard left. "Sure," he said to himself mumbling. "I'll find a way for it. Just like I work daily on this dead-end job."

As the company went about its Monday morning ritual--phones ringing, laptops whirling, and the odd outburst of polite laughter--Ben felt oddly cut off from everything around him. Without telling or consulting him, his boss changed his code over the weekend.

In his commit note, Richard writes, "Redesigned mobile navigation component for improved user flow." Its shortness felt like a personal attack.

He felt his dark hair, which reflected his emotional condition, slightly ruffled as he ran his fingers through it. Richard Jones managed projects, not developed anything. Though he had some coding knowledge, it was obsolete and concentrated on outdated technologies. His knowledge of contemporary mobile app architecture was at best poor; at worst, it was dangerous.

Resignedly, Ben groaned and started closely reading Richard's code in search of a way to save it without totally undermining his boss's effort. While keeping the overall framework, he could be able to redesign the more challenging procedures and simplify others. Another concessions in a long run, it would at least prevent the most severe performance problems.

Ben considered the company's new strategy, which he had helped to develop--mobile-first design--as he worked. He made major contributions to user behavior research, competitive analysis, and technology feasibility studies. Every element was correctly ready and presented, but as it moved up the management ladder it became less complex and sometimes twisted.

Although the concept was sound in and of itself, Green Grove had to change to survive in the evolving market. But the implementation was already exposing the same old issues: snap judgments, short cuts, and putting looks over substance. Richard's modifications to the part on navigation were only one clue of a more general issue.

Resignedly, Ben started the laborious process of removing Richard's "improvements," wondering how much longer he could bear being underpaid and micromanaged in a job that was gradually stifling his love of computing.

Ben's fingers lingering over the keyboard, he concentrated on the twisted code before him. For weeks now, the painstakingly created architecture he had been working on resembled a mess of spaghetti code. As he had far too often in recent years, he ran his fingers through his already messy hair.

As he corrected his wire-frame glasses, Ben gently admonished himself, "It's like trying to build a skyscraper with Lincoln Logs. If mobile app architecture danced the macarena in front of him, Richard wouldn't know."

One line by line, he started to painstakingly sort the chaos. His attention wandered to the wider picture while he worked. This mobile app makeover sought to provide him an opportunity to at last demonstrate to the company his value. Now it appeared like yet another dead end.

Sarah said, "Hey, Ben," from the cubicle next door. "Is everything okay over here?" "You seem ready to strangle your keyboard."

Ben could smile sarcastically. "Oh, you know. We are merely dealing with some unexpected "improvements" to the code. "Ah," Sarah nodded knowingly. "Another Richard special?"

The terms "Got it in one," Ben grumbled. "Sometimes I doubt whether I'm sane. Maybe I should simply stop and program everything in BASIC. Richard would surely be delighted by it."

Ben carried on working and couldn't help but draw comparisons between his profession and the new code. Outside intervention prevented each from realizing their full potential, therefore locking them in a vicious circle. He was still seated in the same cubicle observing others climb the corporate ladder even giving his all to this company's new strategy.

Ben said, "It's like I'm caught in my own infinite loop," aloud. "I can't seem to break out from this cycle regardless of how much I maximize my performance."

Slouching on his chair, he gazed up at the ceiling tiles. The faint flutter of the fluorescent lights stood in for his formerly unwavering will eroding. Ben wondered if it was time to once more create his own code.

When the clock struck noon, Ben felt a release. Lunch break timing could not have been better. Driven for a change of environment, he snatched his phone and ran for the elevator.

Ben started opening his lunch and pulled out his phone. Every day, he checked his dating app about lunchtime--a brief trip into the universe of possibilities. The stylized flame emblem of the app seemed to parody his unwavering conviction that today will be different. Still, he was tapping it constantly.

The found interface loaded and showed a grid of local women's profile pictures. Ben started surfing while eating lunch, his face indifferent to his inner conversation. After months of looking, the profiles started to melt together--the same pictures of trekking, the same assertions of a love of dogs and travel, and the same meticulously produced personas trying to seem impulsive.

Ben lost sight of the park behind him as he sieved through every profile. A jogger passing produced a little leaf whirl-action. Urban white noise was created by the distant honks of car horns and the combined talks of observers.

He exhaled deeply and his breath could be heard in the fresh air. Thinking aloud, "Is it too much to ask for someone who can appreciate a well-structured algorithm?" he held his finger over yet another profile that was promising at first but then fell flat.

The bench creaked immediately as he changed his weight, mimicking his tone. Every stroke lacked the spark he was seeking and seemed synthetic. The faces started to melt together, a whirlwind of grins and well selected pictures devoid of appeal to anyone.

With a tone of self-deprecation, Ben teased himself, "I bet my success rate with this app is about as high as the company's current stock price." He turned from his phone to find a pair strolling hand in hand. Their laughing striking contrast to his growing isolation.

Ben's phone suddenly vibrated with a cheerful "ding." His eyebrows shot up in amazement when he saw the alert: "You have a new match!"

Ben almost dropped the phone startled by the unexpected warning and its contents. For him, pairings were not unusual even if they were rare enough to surprise. Ignoring the lunch, curiosity triumphed over hunger and he tapped the warning.

On the match screen a woman called Melissa showed up. Mid-laughing, she was shown holding up a science fiction novel at what appeared to be a bookstore, her face of wonder greatly overdone. Unlike many others who seemed to have been planned for maximum appeal, her profile picture radiated real enthusiasm as though the photographer had caught her in an unguarded moment of happiness.

Ben kept surfing, his thumb hanging momentarily on the screen. She seems to be pointing at a PowerPoint on database optimization in the second picture, maybe during a tech conference. It attracted his eye as very interesting since someone in the tech industry would land his job without all the boring explanations usually destroying his first-date conversations.

She was all up in hiking gear in the third picture, but instead of the typical "check me out on a mountain top" posture, she was seated on a fallen tree wearing dirty boots, making a hilarious tired look, and holding up an obviously upside down trail map. Thus, as the title indicates, "Navigation skills pending upgrade."

Ben's lips raised at the corner. He really nailed his tech failures with self-deprecating humor.

Thinking it would be the same old thing, he scrolled over her profile text lazily. He discovered she is an amateur baker at night and an accountant during the day, producing outcomes ranging from "surprisingly edible" to "could be used as building material." It also read: "Seeking someone who appreciates both pop culture allusions and the need for correct movie citation in a movie argument. Not eager to discuss fundamental 401k ideas on a first date, but highly intrigued about the viability of time travel. I'll absolutely win in Scrabble, but I might feel a bit bad later."

He drummed his fingers on the edge of his phone, wondering what to do next. As he worked on his opening statement, the park surrounding him seemed to vanish.

Saying aloud, "Should I go with a coding joke?" he considered "No, very cliched and possibly too geeky. Perhaps a funny movie quote that related to time travel?

Ben's mind ran with possibilities, and every conceivable message was dissected and analyzed like lines of code. He sought the perfect mix: smart without being arrogant, kind without being unduly demanding.

"Come on, Ben," he said in his head. "It's just a message, not a system architecture proposition."

Breathing deeply, he began typing: "Hi Melissa, I noted your request for apt pop culture references. I would be pleased to provide my services while proving to you that Back to the Future 3 is the quintessential time travel movie. Fair warning: your dreams will be plagued by my Scrabble past. Should we compare notes?

Both nervous and thrilled at once, his thumb stayed over the submit button. He said, tapping hard to send, "Here goes nothing."

Ben had a flash of hope as the communication whirled away. Maybe, just maybe, this starts something important. He smiled slightly, put his phone away, and stood up, ready to approach the rest of his workweek with fresh hope.

Ben sunk back into his ergonomic chair, still sporting the faint smile from his lunchtime dating app experience. Muscle memory drove him to get back into the code while his fingers stayed over the keyboard, but his mind was off-target.

Whispering, he said, "What if..." allowing himself to dream. He yearned for a life outside his cubicle, one in which his skills would be appreciated and in which he could really influence things. And possibly, just maybe, let someone significant know about it all.

A soft ping from his computer returned him to reality. The topic line of an email alert that showed up on the corner of his screen caught his eye: "New Trainee Joining Development Team."

Ben clicked to check the letter, pinched brow. His eyes skimming the words, his face shifted from one of inquiry to one of doubt.

He whispered under his breath, "Another trainee," adjusting his glasses. "Because right now we exactly need someone else to bring up to speed."

Leaching back in his chair, he ran his hand over his already untidy hair. His job situation presented a completely different reality than his momentary hope.

At that point Michael's colleague raised his head above the cubicle wall. "Hey Ben, did you check the email regarding the incoming trainee?"

Ben nodded with a straight line of lips. Yes, I did. In what way do you suppose?"

Michael offered a mischievous smile. "Could be great, new viewpoint and all that. She might be very beautiful, who knows?

Ben let his eyes roll back. "Your just never know, do you?"

Ben said, "I suppose," sounding somewhat dubious. Looking at the unfinished code was like trying to solve a jigsaw missing too many pieces. Ready to tackle it once more, he turned back to his laptop.

Ben became aware he was giggling to himself. His fingers danced across the computer, he thought, "Fresh perspective." "It's tough to believe a trainee could really grasp the complexity of our system architecture, much less help us get out of this situation."

Examining the clock, he saw the hands seemed to mock him for not doing anything. "We need experienced developers who can start straight away, not another newbie to babysit," he said to himself.

Michael's voice once more slipped across. "Good, Ben? You look to be really tense.

Ben graced a smile under demand. "just peachy." You know, considering the great information behind the decision our management made on hiring.

Ben was laughing inside of him. His fingers danced across the computer, he thought, "Fresh perspective." "It's tough to believe a trainee could really grasp the complexity of our system architecture, much less help us get out of this situation."

Looking at the clock, he felt as though the hands were taunting him for not acting. On the dating app, the alert light danced attractively. He stopped momentarily, caught between the draw of a possible relationship and the weight of his work-related difficulties.

Ghosting his fingers over the phone screen, he whispered, "What am I doing?" On his computer, the unfinished code loomed like a digital reminder of his career's end. But the idea of something unique, something personal appealed to him.

Ben leaned back, caressing the bridge of his nose, removing his glasses. Grasping a cynical smile, he yelled, "Code or connection? Why do I feel constantly caught between what I should and what I want to do?"

The workplace hummed around him, not knowing of his inner struggle. Ben placed his specs back on and looked from his phone to his computer, each pointing a different path or possibility.

With a sigh, he replied, "Well," reaching for his phone, "at least one of these might lead somewhere interesting."

Ben's head buried in a jungle of non-cooperative code, his fingers hesitated over his keyboard. About one hour had passed while he battled the same bug; his spectacles slid down his nose as he approached the screen. The familiar sounds of the office--laptops clicking, phones ringing, and the distant buzz of conversation--had faded into white noise until a new voice emerged, odd and brilliant against the bleak backdrop of his Monday morning.

Looking up, he used his index finger to straighten his glasses. Richard Jones, the project manager whose very presence seemed to suck the air from every location he visited, was walking someone through the labyrinth of cubicles. Ben straightened in his chair, his interest momentarily overwhelming his will to be invisible to Richard's critical glance.

Clearly new was the woman accompanying Richard. Ben would have recall of her. Her blonde hair in a neat ponytail swung softly as she walked, and she proceeded silently yet boldly. In sharp contrast to Richard's aggressively plain suit, her outfit, a charcoal pencil skirt and cream top, was the ideal mix of professionalism and style.

"This is our development wing," Richard remarked, his voice having that unusual tone he had saved for those he intended to wow - a tone Ben had hardly heard directed at him. "Our team of coders is working on several facets of the Green Grove's projects."

Ben seemed to be working as he rapidly refocused on his monitor. From his peripheral vision, he saw them headed toward his line of desks. His fingers showed efficiency by tapping random keys.

Richard added, "This is where our development team sits," with a mechanical wave of his hand, not stopping to name any of the developers. "They address all user interfaces and backend systems."

Was the lady a recent hire? A customer? She nodded gently, her eyes darting about the space. Her eyes locked with Ben, he sensed something unexpected. Her eyes caught his momentarily and were shockingly blue and sparkling with intelligence.

Ben developed an odd flutter in his chest. Her lips closed into a small smile, something real and heartfelt rather than the forced, meaningless gesture typically preceding corporate introductions. Though his cheeks felt stiff, he tried a normal-looking nod in answer.

"We'll continue to the marketing department," Richard said, already turning away, his hand hovering near the small of her back but not touching it - an action that tightened Ben's jaw for reasons he couldn't quite articulate.

The woman trailed Richard, then turned back over her shoulder to once again catch Ben's sight and vanished around the corner.

Realizing he had been holding his breath, Ben gradually let out exhales. Though the fault remained unresolved and his code still pointed at him from the screen, his ideas had veered far from grammar and algorithms. Disheveling his hair more, he ran his fingers through it and attempted to focus on the current work.

Still, the image of blue eyes and a real smile persisted, offering a nice break in his Monday's grind.

Ben's screen showed a meeting reminder, which diverted his focus from the code--which had at last started to run. He sighed and three fast clicks saved his work. Office-wide meetings were Richard's preferred kind of theater since they let him exercise power without having to address any issues. Ben closed his laptop gently, as though shutting the door to a house where something priceless had been left behind.

He followed the depressing parade of button-downs and slacks as colleagues headed to the conference room. Michael dropped into stride beside him, already hunched over the reason they had been called.

Michael murmured softly, pulling his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose: "Ten bucks says Richard's going to announce another arbitrary deadline change."

Ben responded with a noncommittal shrug. "Or a new process that solves a problem nobody has."

The conference room soon filled, the smell of coffee mixing with the faint trace of whiteboard markers. Ben chose a spot close to the rear where he could see without drawing attention--his ideal position in any group. Sliding his lanky frame into a chair designed for someone smaller, he set his laptop on the table as a shield and distraction.

Richard Jones stood in front, his posture unusually straight, as though he had studied confident body language in an airport corporate book. His tie was the exact shade of blue that marketing had decided upon, and his suit was flawlessly pressed. "Trustworthy leadership," his suit said.

"Good morning, everyone," Richard said, his voice carrying the taught tone of false delight. "I value you all giving this quick announcement time out of your hectic schedules."

Opening his laptop, Ben angled it such that he would seem engrossed while really working. His fingers hung above the keyboard, poised to carry on his struggle with the stubborn code.

"As you may have observed, today our Green Grove family has a new member."

From his screen, Ben's eyes strayed to the front of the room, where Richard was accompanied by the blonde woman from before. Her hair seemed to gather and reflect the fluorescent lighting in the conference room, giving her a beautiful glow around her face. She was wearing the same dress he had seen earlier, but he could now see the minute details: a small, elegant jewelry, the way her top was tucked exactly into her skirt, and the polished shoes finishing her professional look.

"This is Ava Green," Richard said, grandiose but contemptuous hand motion sweeping his palm toward her. "She will be joining us as my executive assistant, supporting the management team and so helping to simplify our processes."

Ava smiled across the room, her look friendly but deliberate. I appreciate you, Richard. It gives me great pleasure to be part of the team and forward working with everyone."

Her voice, free of the usual apprehension accompanying first-time introductions, carried easily across the room, clear and confident. Ben found himself sitting taller, his code momentarily forgotten.

Richard nodded to draw in the focus again. "Ava will be handling several key responsibilities to support our leadership efforts; she comes to us with an amazing administrative background."

Ben wrinkled his brow just little. He had figured she may be a rookie programmer or maybe from marketing. Something about her, maybe a sharpness in her appearance, let him realize she was more than just an assistant.

"Specifically," Richard said: "Ava will be managing my calendar, coordinating meetings, helping with budget reports, and handling several administrative chores that arise daily."

Ben could see Ava's reaction as Richard enumerated her duties. Her expression wavered for a little moment, so brief he could have imagined, then her professional smile started. Thinking no one witnessed the slip, it was like watching someone drop a mask and then swiftly grab it.

"I'm sure you'll all help Ava feel welcome," Richard said, his voice suggesting a directive more than a plea. "She will be stationed at the desk outside my office; feel free to stop by with any administrative inquiries under her purview."

One hand lifted from the marketing division. "Will Ava take part in the process of planning projects? We had expected more administrative help for launches.

Richard's smile tightened almost absolutely invisible. "Ava mostly helps with executive functioning. The leaders in your department should still manage project-specific needs." His tone shut down the conversation quite nicely.

Ben was brought back to Ava by another question on expenditure report criteria from the finance corner. She nodded in agreement with Richard's comment, but Ben saw as her fingers drew small patterns on the side of her skirt, hiding nervous energy as casual movement.

Richard's consistent reminder on quarterly goals and team performance marked the end of the meeting. Ben gently closed his laptop as the chairs were pushed back and the discussion began, watching as many colleagues walked up to Ava grinning broadly and introducing themselves.

She memorized names and asked perceptive questions, handling every conference effortlessly. But in the brief minutes between conversations, her smile would drop somewhat - not into suffering but rather into something more meditative, as if she were finishing a difficult computation behind her friendly exterior. She assumed no one was looking.

Ben got ready, a strange sense of disappointment building in his chest. He hardly knew Ava, but having her limited to tracking Richard's calendar seemed like seeing a high-performance engine run a desk fan; he couldn't explain why Ava's function was significant to him.

Ben glanced one more time across his shoulder as he went back to his desk. Now Ava was trailing Richard to his office, nodding as he gestured fiercely at something. Her eyes looked around the room then locked on Ben. She gave him a slight, almost secretive smile and turned her attention back to Richard.

Ben turned aside, an unanticipated flush growing over his face. From the too air-conditioned meeting room, his hands were cold; yet, he felt a warmth in his chest, an odd flutter he knew to be curiosity.

Ben punched at the coffee machine buttons with more force than was necessary, as if the old device would react better to fear than patience. From gazing at lines of code all morning, his eyes were rough; the fluorescent lights above seemed to hum in perfect time with his mounting headache. Not just welcomed but also therapeutic was a coffee break.

Ben could hear the machine hissed and gurgled, a sound he had come to know associated with relief. He watched the dark liquid slide into his mug, its scent momentarily masking the stifling office environment.

"This is him! The coding hermit comes out from his cave!"

Michael's statements had unique loudness across the break room. His lanky shape seemed to occupy more space than physics would allow as he walked toward the coffee station; his thick-rimmed glasses were slightly bent on his nose.

Michael added, "I was starting to worry you'd become one with your keyboard," reaching for his cup, which showed a faded binary joke that had stopped being hilarious three years ago. "Richard's been prowling around like a mall cop just got his badge."

Ben grinned, in spite of himself. "I at last fixed the inventory synchronizing problem. As it happened, the database call had a basic typo. Six hours of debugging to correct a typo? That is cosmic justice for you." Ben grabbed for the coffee pot and Michael gently pushed him on the shoulder. "Have you seen the Christmas dinner email? December 10, on company grounds again."

"Already?!" Ben's brow wrinkled.

"Never too early to start dreading obligatory fun." Michael wrinkled his eyebrows above his glasses. "You remember the disaster last year?"

The memory surfaced right away: the Lombardi's, an Italian restaurant with bad cuisine but lots of space for big gatherings, corporate Christmas celebration. The evening started out good enough, but as Richard Jones ate more of the open bar's cuisine it progressively turned bad.

"how could I forget?" Ben drank his coffee with caution. "Rich's early 2000s dance interpretation will be permanently burned into my retinas."

Michael groaned. "The man moves like he's under slow motion electrocution." He demonstrated by clumsy shoulder movement while his lower body stayed stationary. The dancing wasn't even the worst thing, though.

"The flirting," they said in unison, then exchanged knowing looks.

Ben said, "God, he was shameless," lowering his voice in the empty break room. "Remember when he pursued Sarah from accounting by the dessert table? She was confined there for twenty minutes as he detailed his amazing concept for a cryptocurrency based on office supplies inventory."

Michael swirled his coffee fiercely and added creamer. Then there was Lisa from law. Richard is hovering two inches from the woman's back all through the conversation; she actually establishes harassment rules for a living.

Ben said, "always hovering, never touching". Like he thinks he's discovered some legal loophole.

precisely! Technicality Jones, the man who cannot be sued yet makes you want to shower in steel wool. Michael gulped his coffee heavily and scowled. "This tastes as though it passed through a gym sock covered in sweat."

Ben responded, drinking his nonetheless, "probably was." More importantly than taste was caffeine. He could see the main office via the break room doorway. His eyes strayed quite automatically to Ava, seated outside Richard's office.

She was typing with great posture and a determined look. Ben could tell her motions were effective, with an elegance lost on administrative tasks even from this distance.

Following Ben's eye, Michael remarked, "Speaking of Richard's finest moments," "what do you think about the new assistant situation?"

Ben gave a shrug, trying apathy. "What about that?"

"Come on," Michael replied, rolling his eyes. Richard has her working on the most mind-numbing tasks available. I visited earlier and she was arranging his business card collection. "Who even uses corporate cards nowadays?"

"Richard does," Ben said, dryly. "He probably orders a new batch every time he gets a paper cut on one."

"Exactly! Regarding yesterday: He had her arrange the supplies cabinet as, quote, 'the staplers should be arranged by capacity, not color.'" Michael turns his head. "The man's a sadistic."

Ben grimaced, then turned back to Ava. She was tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, seeming annoyed? It disappeared too quickly for identification.

"That's a waste," he said coolly. "She looks to... I'm not sure. Smart? "For that sort of busy work."

"You had spoken to her?" Michael raised his eyebrows and questioned.

"No," Ben answered. Not exactly. Just observations.

"Very detailed observations," Michael said, then relaxed somewhat. But I understand it. As Richard's praised secretary, she is useless. To be honest, everyone of us is wasted here.

Ben nodded and sipped more of his coffee. "We are still understaffed on developers. I told Richard three months ago that we required minimum two more employees. He instead assigns a personal assistant."

"Classic Richard. He always first solves his own problems." Michael slanted against the countertop. "Do you know what we should do?" He asked. "Steal her."

On his coffee, Ben choked just slightly. "What?"

"Not literally," Michael said, pleased by Ben's surprise. "I intended to educate her in something like coding. Keep her out of administrative hell. She could not possibly want to spend her life organizing business cards."

"I don't think Richard would appreciate us poaching his assistant," Ben said, although the idea had some appeal. Anything that would annoy Richard while also maybe helping someone to leave his orbit seems worth doing.

Michael answered, "probably not." "But it would be fascinating to see his face turn that particular shade of purple."

For a minute they both stopped and fixed their gaze on the office through the door. Ben's eye returned to Ava. Her blonde hair turned gold when early light from the windows reflected in it. Something about her caught Ben's attention even though he enjoyed not seeing such things at work.

"She's fairly hot, right?" Michael said, shoving Ben with his elbow and grinning broadly enough to almost split his face.

Ben felt heat slinking up his neck, unrelated to the coffee. "I hadn't really noticed," he answered, staring at whirling his already well-mixed coffee.

Sure, you haven't," Michael said. "You keep staring at her like she's a particularly elegant piece of code."

"I do not..." Ben began, then sighed. "She seems nice; that is all."

Michael said, "nice," drawing out the word till it lost meaning. "You are rather sensitive. You then inform me the water is 'moist' and the fire is 'sort of warm.'"

Ben let his eyes roll back. "Not everyone labels their colleagues by attractiveness, Michael."

"No, just the ones with blond hair and legs for days," Michael said. "Come on; confess it. You think she is hot."

Michael's statements made Ben oddly uneasy. He was not exactly erroneous. Ava was quite beautiful from all sides. But he objected to her being reduced to just that - "hot".

"She seems interesting," he said last, choosing his words precisely. "And indeed, she is beautiful. Still, we cooperate so it doesn't matter."

"Ah, the Ben Jennings code of occupational ethics," Michael stated in imitation sincerity. "Never mix business and pleasure even if pleasure is sitting right there looking like that."

Ben, appreciative of an opportunity to switch the topic, checked his watch. "We ought to retreat. By end of the day, I have to complete the API integration."

"Fine, flee from the conversation," Michael said, lifting his mug in a false toast. "But I do see you, Jennings. I noticed the pilfers of looks."

Ben answered, "Drink your gym sock coffee," but his voice lacked contempt.

Ben caught one more look towards Ava's desk as they went back to their workstations. Now on the phone, she nodded along with whatever the caller said, her free hand jotting notes in a beautiful, under control script. Though Ben couldn't tell what, their eyes locked momentarily across the room and she offered him a tiny smile suggesting mutual understanding.

He grinned back, both truly and automatically, then turned away. An other kind of feeling crept in his chest: a curious mix of curiosity and uncertainty he wasn't quite ready to probe. His hands grasped his coffee mug a little tighter, the warmth flowing into his fingers.

The debugging process required total focus, something Ben's meandering attention seemed resolved to overlook. His fingers would enter a line of code, but his eyes would sweep the room, guided like a compass needle to Ava's desk. He would bring his focus back to the screen when he realized he was drifting, only to find it sliding away once more minutes later. He was not usually that fast distracted, hence the discovery caused him to slightly pout his lips in irritation with himself.

He slid his glasses up onto his nose, as though the little adjustment would somehow bring back his professional restraint. The code on his screen required his whole attention; it was a stubborn tangle of functions that refused to connect properly with the database. Still, he was there, grabbing still another glance.

Ava was nodding along with everything June was saying, her face animated as she spoke with her from accounting. With one hand she carried a folder and occasionally waved with the other, her motions exact and quick. Ben could see her slanted slightly forward, making eye contact, and focusing entirely on June even from across the room. Her whole face transformed when she grinned at anything June said: lines showed up at the corners of her eyes, and her professional mask lifted to reveal something softer under.

Ben watched June pass a stack of documents--probably Richard's expenditure records. She nodded to take them, then filed them and went back to her desk. Her deliberate and effective behavior seemed contradictory given the monotonous character of her work.

Ben turned back to his coding and this time he could concentrate for more than twenty minutes. Richard's voice broke through the workplace background noise, and he had discovered a lost semicolon, fixed an input validation problem, and was just starting to get into the flow of creative output.

"Ava! Where are the quarterly forecasts for which I asked this morning?"

One hand on the frame, Ben turned up in time to see Richard standing at his office door, his expression set in that precise frown he had saved for when he sought to establish control. Ava, who had been typing nonstop, silently turned around.

"I forwarded them to you ten minutes ago, Richard," she said, her voice firm. "They are in the email headed 'Q4 Projections - Updated Per Request.'"

Richard's scowl grew more severe, a flutter of something maybe embarrassing across his cheeks before he waved contemptuously. "For the meeting also. I need hard copies."

"Of course," Ava said, rising straight out of her chair. "I'll print them straight away".

Richard went back to his office not looking back. She said. Ben watched Ava walk into the printer alcove, her back straight and her face blank. She didn't say she was annoyed by Richard's voice or his failure to check his mailbox before asking for the files.

Ava glanced around the office as she waited at the printer, then at Ben. Their eyes locked for a pulse, and she offered him a small, nearly undetectable smile evocative of those given by fellow troops in the trenches. Ben grinned back, creating a fleeting link across the crowded office before she went back to choose her prints.

Ben watched her movements with surprise interest when she got back to her desk. She reached for a stapler after comfortably seated herself with the printed documents on her desk. Then he saw something quite odd.

Despite her otherwise feminine posture - shoulders back, chest slightly forward in a way that accentuated her blouse - she sat with her legs splayed wide beneath her desk, almost like a man taking up space on a subway. It was a strange contradiction, this feminine upper body paired with what seemed like a deliberately masculine lower posture. Her pencil skirt pulled slightly at the seams, yet she seemed either unaware or unconcerned, as if sitting with her knees wide apart was more comfortable than crossing her legs or keeping her knees together as most women in the office did.

Ben blinked, uncomfortable uneasy for having seen such a detail. Her posture didn't worry him. Still, he was surprised by the discrepancy: this calm, professional woman, with her perfect posture and deliberate movements, sat in a way that seemed to go against all else about her presentation.

She moved slightly in her chair, and Ben thought he saw a little, almost practiced movement: her hand briefly smoothed her skirt over her lap, as if setting something under the cloth. He might have imagined the gesture, so quick and informal.

His screen showed a notification pointing his back toward his work. Inquiring about an update on the bug Ben was meant to be fixing, Richard emailed. He promised to solve it by the end of the day, so suppressing a groan and typing a quick reply.

Ava was on the phone, one hand clutching the receiver and the other noting on a legal pad, when he looked up once again. She had changed in her chair once more, crossing one leg over the other, yet even in this posture, there was something wrong about her - a small movement as though she were clearing space.

Ben cleaned his eyes under his glasses. He was being stupid, examining a colleague's sitting arrangement as though it contained some secret code. This is what occurred when you stared too long at a screen in search of line of text patterns. You started to see patterns everywhere--even in non-existence.

He made himself focus on his work, then eagerly returning into the unsolvable coding challenge. He stayed totally engrossed for the next hour, moving steadily until he found the cause of the error: a lost reference handling data wrongly.

"Gotcha," he told himself, changing the code and running the test. This time the system responded exactly, data flowing naturally through every processing stage. Grinning satisfactorily, he considered his little success.

When he looked up once more, the afternoon sun had transformed the workplace lighting, producing longer shadows across the tabletop. Most of his colleagues were still hunched over their work; the familiar soundscape consisted in the quiet clicking of keyboards and the sporadic murmur of conversation.

Ava was still seated at her desk, but she was leaning back slightly in her chair, straying her neck from side to side as though to ease pain. She moved in her seat once again as she did, but this time the alteration was more obvious: a quick hip motion followed by what seemed to be her discreetly reaching beneath her skirt to reorganize something. The movement was polished and practiced, the kind of habitual correction people do when they think no one else is seeing.

Ben quickly turned away, heat rising on his face. He had no rights to stare; whatever she was changing was entirely her concern. He carried a nagging curiosity. Her motions brought back memories of his college roommate, who regularly changed his seating position during extended study periods, clearly a manly practice of rearranging for comfort.

He gave a little head shake, rejecting the idea. He was once more obsessing over details instead of focusing on his own output. Richard would be expecting a bug fix; Ben had to explain the changes for the development crew.

Michael was staring at him from across their common row of workstations as he went back to his screen, a knowing smile on his face. Michael arched an eyebrow and mumbled something that sounded oddly like "busted," then turned back to his own monitor pretending innocence. Their eyes locked.

Ben sensed his ears getting heated. Was he being that obvious? He wanted not to stare; it was merely that something about Ava seemed strange. It was interesting in a way he couldn't quite articulate--even to himself.

He turned his attention back to his documents and typed perhaps with more force than necessary, as though the additional pressure on the keys might somehow ground his stray thoughts. But some of his attention was consumed with the enigma of Ava Green as he worked: her assured competence, her tenacity in the face of Richard's demanding character, and the small, contradictory aspects of her behavior.

He calmed himself knowing it was most likely nothing. A trick of the light, or his mind building patterns absent from reality. But he couldn't get away from the idea that there was something about Ava Green that didn't quite suit the surface impression: a complexity under her controlled façade that made her all the more fascinating. He stared blankly at his monitor.

Five o'clock arrived with the subdued change Ben had grown used to after years of office work: a collective lowering of tension, a straightening of spines, and the first shy sounds of drawers closing and bags being dragged from under desks. Beginning with the daring people who packed exactly on time, followed by the cautious majority who waited until enough of their colleagues had departed before joining the exodus themselves, the end of the workday swept over the workplace like a wave.

Ben stayed at his desk finishing the documentation for his fix of an issue. Though Richard needed thorough notes for the team meeting tomorrow, he had at last cracked the difficult code. His fingers moved slowly over the computer, delineating the answer, but his mind strayed occasionally to Ava and the strange little riddle she sent.

The office sounds surrounding him started to change rhythm. The quiet thud of monitors turning off replaced the relentless clicking of keyboards with the zipping of laptop bags. Discussions moved from business to evening plans involving dinner reservations, Netflix shows, and children's soccer practices. The overhead lights stayed the same, but as fewer displays illuminated the area, the quality of light altered.

Michael had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, grinning broadly, "Don't stay too late, code monkey," and heading into the elevator with a group from marketing patting Ben's shoulder. Most of the development group had left long after, leaving Ben in an increasingly empty office.

Glancing up from his screen, his eyes landed right on Ava's desk. One of the few survivors, she was still there staring at her computer, perhaps finishing an email. Richard had left for a "client meeting" at three p. m., which everyone thought was tee time at his country club; his office was dark.

Ben saw Ava strike the last key with finality before beginning the computer shutdown procedure. She closed programs, put files into their proper folders, and set up her desk supplies with methodical, efficient gestures. Ben started to smile when she straightened her stapler exactly parallel to her desk's edge. There was something endearing about that precise attention to detail, a quality he recognized in himself.

She stood, using both hands to straighten her skirt, then grabbed her phone and put it in a tiny purse. Ben was brought back to her form by the movement; her blouse flowed over the contour of her chest and her skirt hugged her hips before descending just above her knees. Ben quickly moved his focus to his screen, not wanting to be caught staring once more as she turned to head into the coat section.

After finishing his last paragraph, he saved the document, sent it to Richard's email with a brief note. Only then did he let himself gaze up once more, his conscience free about leaving the office empty while he got ready to leave himself, his mission done.

Now Ava was at the coat rack, amid the few last pieces, reaching for a light jacket. She took it off the hook and moved quickly and delicately, Ben's eye catching a small skirt adjustment and hand dip between her thighs to reposition something. Though it was somewhat different from how he had seen other women change their clothes, the action was quick and practiced. The action had a nearly masculine aspect, a repositioning that brought back memories of how his male friends would change themselves when nobody else was seeing.

She slipped her arms into her fitting jacket, which suited her outfit well. She buttoned it and glanced about the office, maybe looking to see whether she had forgotten anything. Her eyes locked with Ben across the room, she gave a small smile, kind but understated, pointing his presence without invitation or dismissal.

Ben nodded in answer, his smile seeming strangely rigid on his face. He began his own closure ritual, closing events and organizing his workplace, occasionally peering at Ava's continuous getting ready.

Her heels fast tapping against the tile floor, she turned and headed for the exit. Ben watched her movement and was struck by her confident walk. She moved deliberately, her head up and her shoulders back, radiating confidence even though she had spent the day performing tasks well below Ben's expectations of her aptitudes.

Her laughter resounded throughout the almost empty office as she went toward the door, pausing to chat with one of the security guards. This light, real sound caused Ben's chest to tighten instantly. Then she disappeared into the elevator bank past the glass doors.

Ben stilled himself for a minute, his eyes fixed on the area where she had been. His thoughts flew with impressions and notes gathered over the day. Ava had small differences and eccentricities that made her more interesting than the typical new hire, but something about her did not quite fit his first impression of her.

Emphasizing the curvature of her hips, he remembered how she had appeared walking away, how her skirt flowed with every step. At the remembrance, his face warmed suddenly. Though he couldn't deny he thought her beautiful, it went beyond that. Her riddle captivated him: the calm surface that only periodically revealed hints of something more complex beneath.

Ben knew he had spent more time today thinking about Ava Green than any other colleague in recent memory as he was finishing packing his own bags. He was not usually so fascinated in someone following such a fleeting interaction. Ben usually considered colleagues at work as professional friends rather than subjects of obsession.

Turning off his monitor, he got up and stretched muscles that had been stiff from hours of sitting. Tomorrow would be another day of coding challenges, Richard's expectations, and peeks across the office at Ava. He grinned faintly as he picked up his laptop bag.

Outside, the December evening had already darkened, and as he made his way to the lift, the office windows mirrored his image back at him. On the smooth surface of the closed doors, he saw himself: his tie was loose around his neck, his glasses were slightly askew, and his hair was ratted from running his fingers through it while coding. Unconsciously remembering Ava's assured posture, he straightened his own.

The elevator came empty and waiting, softly ding-activated. Ben started to worry about Ava's route home, where she lived, and what she did outside of these office doors as soon as he entered. The questions mounted as the elevator dropped, each adding still another layer to his developing obsession with the new assistant who sat with her knees wide apart and altered her clothes in ways he couldn't quite understand.

The lobby doors opened, and Ben left the climate-controlled office into the cool December evening--a wonderful change. His mind still fixated on blue eyes and contradictory details, the enigma Ava Green, and the strange, unexpected pull he sensed toward her following only one day in her circle as he walked toward the exit.