Designed for Me: Book One of the Blue Building Chronicles

by A. L. Freeman

  Designed for Me

  By A. L. Freeman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2014 by A. L. Freeman

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the publisher.

  First edition: February, 2014

  Designed for Me

  I am back. Back at this horrible, soul-less place. Back in the world of billion dollar sales and the people who forgot how they’d come to make them, believing themselves above.

  The lure of easy cash was too great even for me to ignore, especially in the face of dangerously wavering cash flow in my own enterprise. So here I am. Again.

  One unexpected joy awaited me here, though: I get to work with her. Even in my years spent slaving at the computer here previously, I only knew her in passing. Yet every time I managed to catch a glimpse of her, I felt “the spark.” It was ridiculous, but there it was.

  On my last day at work those years ago, I had lunch with her and the others I cared about from the marketing department. This was, in itself, strange -- I was a developer, hardly ever having interacted with any of them for more than quick discussions on graphics needs for various asinine projects.

  We had lunch that day at the local chicken wing joint, and I fortuitously landed a seat across from her at the table. I loved sneaking surreptitious glances of her as she nibbled at her meal during my own ravenous attack at the plate of wings in front of me. We all then rose to leave and say our farewells.

  Her deeply embracing hug and well wishes, then the quick moment during which our eyes met, was unsettling and wondrous. I barely knew her, yet she embraced me as one who’d be missed sorely. Odd. I brushed it off as the natural warmth of the Bohemian soul I knew her to be lest I drive myself mad with wandering thoughts. I had been married at the time, after all.

  And so I came to this afternoon, my first day back on a short-term contract to fast-track a new product for the company I so hate. Of course she was the designer assigned to work with me on the project. Of course.

  Her smile was precisely as beautiful as I’d remembered, flashing bright and sincere below the warm, brown eyes that I had trouble not getting lost in. I recognized the ridiculous descriptions of her that I couldn’t stop inventing, but was too far-gone to make myself stop. A few minutes of vague murmuring about the project and the past few years, and then I was wandering in a daze back up to my assigned cubicle.

  This project was going to be hard to focus on.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Why am I here?

  Ah yes. Money. The house is due for an overhaul, I tend to enjoy having food on the table, that sort of thing.

  As I wrench myself back to typing the umpteenth line of code for the umpteenth time, a new e-mail arrives. She needs to go over the latest iteration of the mockups.

  I begin to steel myself as I walk down the two flights of stairs to her cube. Standing behind her and before I alert her to my presence, I take in the subtle differences between her workspace and my own: subtle pops of color here and there, a small white board with her characteristic, artfully unreadable handwriting, a few books on design and artistic inspiration.

  “Mornin’ Cadence,” I mumble. I hadn’t noticed the white strands of the headphones she’s wearing as she works, hidden as they were behind her shoulder-length chestnut hair; she’s visibly startled as she turns, but smiles. I grin foolishly in return.

  “Hey Frank!” she exclaims. “Come take a look at this,” she continues, turning back to her screen. It’s all I can do not to gasp, but I’m saved by my breathlessness at the feline, utterly vital position of her body. She seems to scream without a word, “I am sex.”

  She’s wearing a loose and very sheer white top over an even more painfully sheer white bra. As she reaches to point at something completely unimportant on the screen, my eyes fasten to the graceful curve of the side of her chest, exposed invitingly by the wide open, non-existent sleeve of her blouse.

  My eyes finally free themselves of this entrancing vision, but dive headlong into an exploration of the rest of her form. Pastel teal pants fit snugly over her thin legs which are folded beneath and behind her in the seat, stopping just shy of her ankles. Simple white flats adorn her feet, and as she stretches, the fair-skinned sole of one gorgeous foot arcs above the low edge of her shoe. I am transfixed.

  Evidently I’ve missed a question. The evidence therein is the questioningly raised eyebrow beneath which she’s now staring into my eyes, the twitch of a knowing smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. I am caught.

  I feel every degree of the warm flush that has scorched my face, and I cough, vainly attempting to hide my entirely indiscreet observation of her.

  “Sorry, what was that?” I ask.

  She laughs and repeats the question I’d missed.

  “I said, I’ve reworked the whole design. Then I asked, is this going to cause any problems to the flow you’d planned for the programming?”

  “No, no, it looks great,” I answer honestly. “Will be no trouble to drop in.”

  She nods and thanks me for saying so, obviously pleased.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Idiot, I think, as I stare unseeing at a wall of code on my screen. Like a horny teenager, I’ve been caught outright in my ogling. At least I didn’t try to deny it like an even greater idiot.

  Since I can’t get her off my mind anyway, I work on preparing the user interface for her latest revisions. I’m woefully behind on the more important aspects of the system I’m building, but at least I’m getting something done.

  A few hours pass in this fashion and then the day is done. I’m out of hell and on the highway home, still thinking of Cadence. Damn it all.

  After a fitful night trying at once to sleep and to stop dreaming of the things I’d like to do to her on her cubicle desk - and there are many - I’m back to work. Her revisions were waiting on me when I arrived and so I quickly mock up the working demo of the UI for testing and feedback from the many salesmen around me.

  If they can use it without spraining the last brain cells available to them, I’ll rest assured that we have a winning design.

  Surely enough, they all manage to use the software exactly as it was intended, and so with delight and trepidation I head back to Cadence’s desk to have her come have a look at the somewhat-working copy.

  Today she’s taken on the guise of a statue. I know she’s moving at least a little because the mouse pointer on her screen is millimetering its way over the curve of a football helmet in a poster she’s obviously preparing for one of the company’s owners and their many, entirely unrelated projects they tend to foist on their employees from time to time.

  “Howdy howdy,” I offer in greeting, trying to be flippant over a slight tremble in my voice.

  Cadence turns, all smiles, and sings, “Morning, Frank!”

  I could get used to her greeting me in the mornings.

  “The design’s a hit. Everyone loves the look except one guy who doesn’t like the contemporary feel, and none of them had any trouble using it upstairs. You did an amazing job,” I ensure her.

  “Oh Frank! I’m so excited! This is my first user interface design! But why didn’t the other guy lik
e it?” she asks, pouting. She shouldn’t do that….

  “Aww, can’t please everyone. Don’t sweat it.”

  “Well, I’m glad I pleased you, anyway,” she says, still smiling widely.

  I manage to keep my face perfectly, stoically still, until Jessi guffaws from her cube behind us.

  “Did you REALLY just say that, girl? Geez,” she huffs, shaking her head as Cadence blushes furiously in realization.

  I grin down at her, firm in my effort not to burst into unrestrained laughter.

  “Well, I am glad to be your first,” I start with an exaggerated wink and waggling eyebrows, “and would you like to come see it in action?” I ask, eyebrows now raised as high as my hopes.

  In a flash she’s up and agreeing, and so we set out for the elevator.

  As she steps in front of me out the door, I notice today’s ensemble - skin tight black leggings with a form-hugging black blouse to create the amazing effect of highlighting each delicious curve in exactly the right way.

  Even more enticing is the grasping, pleading way in which her ass is encased, moving ever so gently as she walks. I nearly stumble into her as she stops at the elevator, and I scramble backwards a step.

  The light turns on, the elevator dings, the doors open, and we step into the dimly lit elevator car for our ride up the couple of floors to my area.

  For some reason, the damned thing reeks of body odor, just as it always has. One of the joys of this place.

  Olfactory intrusion aside, I lean awkwardly into my corner, suddenly and completely without vocabulary. As I struggle to find a semblance of coherent conversational thought, Cadence saves me.

  “Got my new computer last night! SO friggin nice,” she says.

  “Very cool. Just got one that’d power NASA, myself.”

  “Isn’t it great to not have to wait on your machine to get your shit done?”

  “Definitely,” I mutter, once again bereft of anything better to say.

  “I wanna take you into the bathroom and ride you like an animal,” she declares in the sultriest voice I’ve ever heard.

  My head snaps up and I grunt something that must have sounded querulous, because Cadence says again, somewhat more slowly, “I said I need to hit the bathroom before you show me the software….”

  “Ah…” I utter, shaking my head to be rid of the ridiculousness that was taking over. “No problem. Just head around the corner and you’ll see my big head over the top of my cube.”

  “Got it,” she says with a slight shake of her head, that wonderful hint of a smile playing again on her bright red lips.

  Jesus that red is amazing with that outfit, I think.

  I stumble back to my desk, berating myself for a fool and trying to get focused on the task at hand. A minute later, Cadence arrives at my desk and stands behind me, a hand on my shoulder as she leans forward to peer at the screen. I show her a few of the screens, then ask if she’d like to give it a whirl.

  “Sure!” she enthuses, then steps around, kneels beside my chair, and places a hand on my thigh for balance as she leans forward again and takes the mouse with her other hand.

  The scent of her clean, shining hair wafts gently to my nostrils, intoxicating me, even as her hand placed mid-thigh is like a hot brand. It’s drawing my focus to an area of my body that I really, really shouldn’t allow any attention given her proximity to it. This is not going to be easy.

  Her eyes are intent on the screen, a smile known only to those who create and get to bear witness to their creations curving her lips.

  Damn those lips.

  Damn that hand, I scream in silence.

  With a satisfied sigh from us both, Cadence stands.

  “Thank you so much, Frank,” she says, “it’s so cool to get to see it in action.”

  I nod.

  “No problem at all. I’ll probably be bugging you with all kinds of tweaks as we go, so I’m glad I’m on your good side for now.”

  She laughs, bids me farewell, and heads back to her desk.

  I breathe a deep, deep lungful of air, then let it out in a rush. An intense few moments, those were.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  After a few more people have had a chance to try the software, and true to my word and suspicions, there’s a decent list of tweaks and color changes and such that I pass on to Cadence. I e-mail them to her, but receive no reply. Not a major concern.

  Thankfully, I am able to stay focused on my work for the rest of the day and manage to complete a large number of items on my task list, so I am contented as I leave. The rest of the evening passes without event or obsessive thoughts, and I sleep well for once.

  The next morning, I’ve thought of a few more minor tweaks that need to be added to the design, so I head down to Cadence’s desk to let her know and maybe chat with her and Jessi for a bit before diving into my software world. I tap on the edge of her cubicle and she turns. She’s smiling, but today it seems… detached.

  “Mornin’. Got a few more tweaks for you. The main issue is the layout of the on-screen keyboard. We’ll need to add a few keys, shuffle some of the others around, that sort of thing. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  I didn’t fail to notice when her smile began to fade from her face. I’m concerned, now, that I’ve overstayed my welcome with her.

  “Can’t you just fix that yourself?” she snaps out at me, then stares coldly, waiting for my answer.

  Somewhat dumbfounded, it takes me a moment to respond.

  “Uh… sure. I’ll do that,” I answer. “Have a good one, Cadence….”

  I turn to go, still somewhat in shock at the way she’s just spoken to me.

  I head upstairs and dive into my programming, trying to drown out the thoughts that are threatening to ruin me.

  Did you really think she liked you? they demand in a sneering, superior mental voice.

  I had thought so, in fact, but I’ve been corrected.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  My phone vibrates as a new e-mail arrives. Still moody, even these few hours later, I snatch it up, swipe, and read the subject line from Cadence: “Revised keyboard”

  Hey Frank -

  Here’s the revised graphic you asked for. Sorry about earlier. We’re under a LOT of stress right now - didn’t mean to snap. :/

  - Cadence

  Thank God.

  Whatever my delusions, at least she wasn’t actually upset with me this time, or at least not with me personally.

  Exhaling a breath of relief, I reply.

  Cadence -

  No problem, dear. I understand completely. Sorry to have been a pest.

  - Frank

  I try not to complain too much on Facebook, but every now and then, I just need to bitch.

  I should NOT be sitting in this damned building at 12am with a couple of hours of work left for the night. Dammit dammit dammit.

  Back to work. The demo for my billionaire benefactor is tomorrow, and I’ve still got quite a few tasks to accomplish before I can go home and pretend to sleep. I code.

  And I code.

  1:00 AM rolls around, and I think I hear the elevator ding on my floor. Probably just the security guard. I crank the music up in my headphones, pop a mint to keep me awake, and bear down on this last task for the evening. Someone touches my shoulder and I scream like a girl.

  Then I see that it is a girl. It’s Cadence, in fact. What the hell is Cadence doing here at 1:00 AM?

  I ask her as much.

  Smiling rather tentatively, she answers, “Saw your Facebook post. Figured you might like a cup of coffee to finish the night?” then sets the cup of local coffee shop goodness on my desk.

  “Thanks,” I say earnestly, “I could definitely use the break.”

  Unwillingly, my eyes look her up and down. She’s wearing a simple white v-neck tee and a Bohemian, ruffled green skirt the color of old military camo. How can those skirts be so enveloping and yet hint so seductively at the curves beneath, so easily a
ccessible?

  Hoping I didn’t take as long as it felt like I took in my appraisal, I turn my chair and stand, but she doesn’t move. I end up standing mere inches away from her body, close enough to feel her warmth and staring down into those intense brown eyes.

  “Uh…” I start, then she chuckles and takes a step back so I can exit the cube. My mind is racing. I want her badly, and I’m fairly certain she could have seen that in my face if she were blind. I haven’t moved, and I’ve forgotten why I stood to begin with.