Chapter Eight
Scouting

The use of the company gym was free. It went against Mina's ethics to have something free offered to her, and turn it down. That's what being poor will do to you. I hate exercise, and here I am.

Well, she wasn't actually exercising, she was guy watching. Anyone who knew her would have been shocked. And probably amused, she thought sourly. Just because I'm an old maid it doesn't mean I don't like to look.

Mina was a virgin. Oh, there had been opportunities, but no one she was even remotely interested in had ever made advances, and she had no intention of having sex just to get it out of the way. If fate decreed that she die untouched by mortal man, so be it. She'd have them bury her in a wedding gown, since she'd be legitimately entitled to wear white.

Still, she enjoyed watching the courting rituals of others. It could be highly amusing. And she had no objection to watching a good looking male strut and preen. In this she subscribed to the male philosophy that there was no harm in looking. So she looked.

There was a lot of guy watching opportunities in the gym. Sure, some of them wore sweats, but usually it was shorts and T-shirts. Sometimes she'd get lucky and one that was worth looking at would take off the shirt. Tucked out of the way on an exercise bicycle, Mina could pretend to read a book propped on the handlebars, and look to her heart's content.

She sometimes wondered if they knew. There were times when she got the impression that one or the other was pushing himself just a little harder, exerting himself just a little more. She suspected that they had instinctively known that a female was watching them, and their egos drove them to put on a display, even if they weren't sure WHO it was for. Certainly none of them had shown the desire to strut for her.

Today she'd once again brought her book to the gym, and done a couple of miles on the stationary bike, darting sideways glances at the man from customer relations on the weight bench, and the boy who delivered the mail on the step machine.

When she figured she had done enough to justify her presence, she headed for the locker room. She didn't really need a shower, maybe a quick rinse, just to be fresh.

There was a crowd gathered around the sunken handball court. That didn't happen often. They must be having a good match. She found an open spot, away from the others, at the rail, and peered down. Her eyebrows rose. Well, that was unusual.

Stephen Baxter was beating the socks off one of the vice presidents. That didn't bother Mina at all. The man had sent her a totally necessary, nasty memo once about her production levels when she was just starting out. She had been getting used to the software, and she wasn't quite as fast as he would have liked. He said so in a calculated, cutting manner, hinting that she could be easily replaced. I suppose so. There's always someone desperate enough. No, watching him get physically humiliated didn't hurt her feelings at all.

She was a little surprised by Baxter. He had struck her as a bland sort of person, not very remarkable. He played like a demon, streaking around the court and smashing the ball with vicious energy. I shouldn't be surprised. He runs this corporation, and runs it well. He'd have to be a bit of a shark.

When the ball was in motion, he was focused single mindedly on the game. Between the action, though, he looked up, scanning the audience. Guess he likes to be aware of what's going on around him all the time. Good quality. It can keep you safe, I know.

She noticed him noticing one of the other women: Sulynne Liang. No surprise there. she thought wryly. Su-lin, a petite Eurasian woman, was one of the company beauties. She could probably have worked as a runway model, if she was about eight or ten inches taller. Just over five feet tall, she had the blue-black hair and slightly almond shaped eyes of her father, and the grey eyes and pale skin of her mother. Mina felt a little kinship with her. She was a quiet, reserved woman, who didn't mingle much in office society. She had two or three close friends, whom she stayed close to.

Mina turned her gaze back to the court...

and found herself looking directly into a pair of sea green eyes. He's looking at me, she thought in astonishment. Why is he looking at me? She was afraid that she had been staring. Stephen Baxter was a good looking man, and she had been enjoying the way he moved.

She looked away quickly, not daring to turn her eyes back to the court till she heard the thump of ball and squeak of rubber soles that told her that play had resumed. But Baxter quickly made the point and, while his opponent was retrieving the ball, looked right at her again.

His expression was unreadable. He took the towel stuck in his waistband and wiped his face. Then he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the sidelines, and began to wipe down his torso. There were admiring wolf whistles from some of the bolder women. Stephen was in his forties, but he took care of himself. He looked good.

And he knows it, too. But it's not like he's showing off to the crowd, somehow. Mina watched the rough white terrycloth pass over his flat belly, then up to his chest. It dragged across dark brown nipples that looked pebbled. Did exercise do that to you? Or was it the excitement of the competition? Or knowing that the women were looking at him, and speculating.

Mina could feel the blush rising in her face. She turned away abruptly and headed for the locker room.

Down on the court, Stephen smiled faintly, tucked the towel back in his belt, and finished thrashing his competitor. He made a mental note to find out what kind of security Mina O'Connel had in her building. Shy girl.

Mina was grateful for the privacy stalls in the showers. She never would have used the gym if the showers had been communal. She just couldn't deal with exposing herself, even among her own sex. She was all too aware of her own physical inadequacies without having to worry about a judging glance.

She showered quickly, even washing her hair. Mina had not need for a blow drier. A quick tousling with a towel, and a sketchy comb out, and she was ready to go. The hair would dry in less than a half hour, springing into natural curls that were both crisp and soft. Along with her eyes, her hair was her best feature.

She returned to her cubicle for the last two hours of work, feeling refreshed. She even hummed quietly to herself as she booted up her computer and opened the folder of inventory reports from 1968 that she was transcribing.

Mina typed steadily, and found herself singing under her breath, a ridiculous little ditty about walking on sunshine, and didn't it feel good? God alone knew how that had managed to get stuck in her subconscious. It probably had been a commercial on television last night before she went to bed. The only way to get rid of it was to sing it all the way through. Unfortunately, she didn't know all the words to it. She was tempted to get on the net and do a quick search for the lyrics, but her self-preservation instinct told her not to.

It was right again. "It's nice to see someone in such a good mood."

She flinched at the sudden voice, startled. No one ever came to her cubicle. The work she was doing wasn't important enough for direct messages, and memos always appeared at the beginning or close of each day. Who had decided to come speak to her?

She looked up to find Stephen Honeywell Baxter filling the little doorway. And he literally FILLED it, top to bottom and side to side. He was smiling at her, green eyes bright and friendly.

"Oh. Sorry about that. You know how it is when you get a song stuck in your head, and you just can't get rid of it."

He nodded. "I'm familiar with the phenomenon. I went through a particularly bad spell when 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' was popular."

She winced without thinking. "Oh, ick."

"Yes, ick. How is your work going, Miss O'Connel?"

"Well... it's going. That's about all I can say for it."

"Fair enough."

He looked at her silently. She felt the urge to fidget, and quashed it. Visible nervousness was not good, it attracted attention. Finally she said, "And speaking of work, I'd better not lose my momentum on this file." He didn't take the hint. He doesn't have to. she thought sourly. He's the boss.

"I was looking over a list of new building employees for the past year, Miss O'Connel, and I almost didn't find you."

"Yes?" Oh, no. Not the name. Please tell me he didn't latch onto the name.

"Yes, I couldn't find a listing for any spelling of Mina at all. I didn't locate you till I tried your last name and first initial."

"Ah. Well, I usually don't go by my real first name. I've tried before, and everyone just calls me Mina or Ann anyway, so I figured I might as well head them off."

"But it's a shame. It's really a lovely, lyrical sounding name. Miann." It did sound almost melodic the way Baxter said it.

"My father was from Ireland. He named me while my mother was still knocked out by anaesthesia. She was irritated when she woke up, and she was the first one to call me Mina." Though it wasn't as if she actually cared. If she had cared, she wouldn't have left me when I was eleven.

"I like to look into the meanings of names. Yours has a nice, feminine meaning, as well as sounding pretty. Do you know what it means?"

She didn't want to talk about this, especially since she was worried that he might move on from her first to her middle name. Surely not. It's so unusual, it isn't easy to find a translation of it. "I've heard different interpretations."

"A shy girl. Were you shy when you were a little girl, Miss O'Connel? I think you were."

What's going on here? I haven't seen the man but once in the six months I've been here, and now he's having a cozy little chat with me. "We moved a lot when I was a child. It wasn't easy to make friends. It was easier..." She trailed off. Why am I telling him this? I don't tell anyone this.

"It was easier to just fit in, wasn't it? I can understand that. It must have seemed safer. Children can often be cruel to anyone they see as different."

"I wasn't different. It wasn't too hard."

He smiled, as if he understood perfectly, then shifted the topic abruptly. "`Aiteag."

She made her face blank. "Yes, they really picked an obscure one for the middle name."

"Not so obscure. Have you had it interpreted?"

She knew what it meant well enough. More than once a neighborhood bully had somehow (she was never sure how) found out. Her life would be hell for a time after that. "No. I'm sure it's something pretty mundane."

"On the contrary. It means 'desire'. You didn't know that?" She shook her head. Mm. You're lying about that, Miann. I can't say I blame you.

Isn't this beginning to skirt sexual harassment? I think it's borderline. Who am I kidding? I'm not going to say anything unless he grabs my tit, and that isn't likely to happen. Not with women like Sulynne around.

He came a step into the room, and suddenly it seemed very crowded. "Am I making you nervous, Miss O'Connel?"

Oh, hell no. I'm used to giants talking suggestively to me. No, that's unfair. He hasn't really done anything, has he? It's probably my imagination. "No, sir. Not really."

Oh, you're lying again. I'll only play with you a little more, Shy Girl. You're too much fun to let out of the net too soon. "I saw you in the gym this afternoon."

"Yes. I doubled up my breaks."

"You didn't stay to see the finish of the game."

"I had to get back to work."

"That wasn't necessary. I could have given you... dispensation."

"Other employees tend to resent that sort of thing, sir." Use the title. Put a little more distance between you and him, at least verbally, because there isn't much physically right now, and my God that man is big!

"Understood. But next time..."

Next time?

"...stay to see the set out. I'd like your opinion on my style of play."

Your style of play? You crush people. How much style is there in that? "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Baxter." Title and surname. That should get it across. He smiled. Maybe not.

Time to let her loose, for now. "Well, I won't keep you any longer." He stepped back to the doorway. She gave a little sigh, and he had to fight to keep the smile from broadening into a grin.

"Oh, no trouble, sir." Please go away. Hollachuck, shouldn't you have noticed him and come over to fawn and toady by now?

So very uncomfortable. You're about to crawl out of your skin right now, aren't you, woman? A very satisfactory reaction. "Good day, Miss O'Connel."

"Have a nice day, sir." He left. Thank God, finally. He was almost as hard to get rid of as Axel. She thought for a moment more. No, I lie. No one is as hard to get rid of as Axel. The man is oblivious. Mina shook her head, going back to her work. Baxter must have been bored, that had to be it. A little amusement from observing the peon, eh, Padrone?

She typed steadily. In a moment, she was humming again. And then she was singing softly, "...and dun't it feel good? All right, now..."

Just outside her cubbyhole, his back to the flimsy wall, Stephen Baxter stood and listened to the woman singing softly to herself. He relished the thought of listening to her when she was unawares, when she was acting unselfconsciously.

The outer office was nearly empty, all the other employees on errands, or break, or having left a little early (he'd made note of that). The only one there now was a file clerk, and the woman was quietly swearing at a recalcitrant data sorting program. She wasn't paying any attention to Stephen.

That was good. It was just as well that no one was watching him, because he was getting hard, just knowing that the woman was going about her business on the other side of the wall, unaware of his interest.