My New Secretary Wanted Me from the Interview

I had spent three weeks interviewing candidates for the personal assistant position, and none of them had convinced me. My design studio had grown too fast, and I needed someone who could keep up with me without asking for explanations at every step. Then Mara walked in.

She was about five foot eight and couldn’t have weighed more than ninety-two pounds. She was very thin, almost fragile, with a chestnut mane tied back in a ponytail that fell to the middle of her back. She was forty-three, had recently divorced, and was raising a still-young son on her own.

She told me she also had an older daughter, married, who was expecting her first baby. She said it with a calm pride that I liked. She was, by far, the most qualified person I had seen in weeks, so I didn’t hesitate: I offered her the job right there and told her she would be working as my personal assistant.

—Good —she said, crossing her legs—. You’ve already asked me all the questions you wanted and offered me the job. Now it’s my turn. And I want you to be honest.

I leaned back in my chair and smiled.

—Go ahead. Ask me whatever you want.

—Are you single?

—I got divorced recently. So yes, single.

—Do you have children?

—A daughter. She’s pregnant with her first baby.

—We have more in common than it seems —she said.

—Looks that way.

—Do you think I’m pretty?

—Yes —I answered without thinking—. Very much so.

—If you saw me in a bar, would you come up and talk to me?

—Without hesitation.

—And after a few drinks, would you try to take me home with you?

—Probably.

She held my gaze for a moment, as if sizing me up. Then she leaned forward, rested her elbows on my desk, and lowered her voice.

—And if I told you I wear padded bras, that I don’t really have breasts? Just two nipples sticking out, nothing else.

—I’d tell you I’d love to see them —I replied—. And kiss them one by one.

Something changed in her face. She stopped being a candidate and became a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

—All right —she said, picking up her purse—. I’ll take the job. I start Monday. But tonight you pick me up at seven. Here’s my address.

She handed me a card with her tight handwriting and left without looking back. I stayed there for a very long time staring at the closed door, my heart pounding and one fixed thought in my head: that night I was going to have Mara all to myself.

***

I got through the rest of the day as best I could. When I left, I stopped by the hair salon, took an endless shower, and chose the dress that suited me best. I rang her bell five minutes before seven.

Mara opened the door, looked me up and down, and burst out laughing.

—You dressed up too much —she said, amused—. Come in, sit down. Give me a minute.

She was wearing a fitted T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and even so I had a hard time taking my eyes off her. She left me on the sofa and disappeared down the hallway.

When she came back, five minutes later, my mouth went dry. She had put on a tight black dress that traced every line of her body, high heels, and her hair was gathered into a beautiful braid. Pearl earrings and a thin choker completed the outfit.

She took my arm and I accompanied her to the car. I held the door for her while she settled in, and when she sat down, the dress rode up just enough to show me a flash of her white underwear. At the restaurant I saw it again when she crossed her legs in front of me.

—I did it on purpose, in case you hadn’t noticed —she said, bringing her glass to her lips.

I smiled. I suspected as much, but I liked that she said it without beating around the bush.

During dinner she somehow made sure I looked down the neckline of her dress too. She excused herself to go to the bathroom and, as she stood up, she leaned toward my ear.

—I’m not wearing anything underneath —she whispered.

She didn’t need to tell me, but she gifted me the image of her nipples pressing against the black fabric. When she came back, she left something warm and damp in the palm of my hand under the table: her underwear. Then she sat back down as if nothing had happened.

—I’m ready to go to bed whenever you are —she said softly—. Take all the time you need to bring me there.

I wanted to take her right there, over the tablecloth, in front of everyone. But she had given me control, and I decided to play a little. I couldn’t remember the last time I had held something so certain in my hands, that certainty that the night would end exactly as I wanted. Not even with my ex had I felt anything like that.

***

We finished dinner and ordered dessert. After that I took her to the cinema, to one of those slow, sad films I knew would make her cry.

Halfway through the screening I slipped my arm around her shoulders and stroked her nipple with the tip of my finger, slowly, over the dress. It stayed hard the whole time and I delighted in feeling it harden even more each time I squeezed.

Mara slid her hand toward my thigh, searching, but I stopped her and put it back where it belonged. If she touched me now, I was going to lose control too soon, and that night was about her.

I slipped my other hand under the hem of her dress. She parted her knees for me in the darkness of the theater. I found her freshly shaved, soft, and already very wet. I slid one finger between her lips and began drawing slow circles over her clit. She watched the movie, cried over it, and came more than once without making much noise, biting her lip so we wouldn’t give ourselves away.

When the lights came on, she turned and kissed me. I kissed her back without caring about anything. The usher had to ask us to leave so they could close; we were the last ones out of the auditorium.

I thought about dropping her off at home. Instead, I took her to mine. That way I’d have her for as long as I wanted, without clocks, without goodbyes until Monday morning.

***

As soon as I closed the door to my apartment, I took her in my arms. She kissed me hungrily and pressed her body against mine, her hip seeking mine.

I lifted her dress slowly, up to her waist, and then pulled it over her head. Mara raised her arms to help me take it off. I stepped back to look at her, standing in the middle of my living room, wearing only her heels.

She had no breasts. Just two hard nipples, surrounded by large dark areolas that contrasted with her pale skin. Her sunken stomach made every rib visible, and yet there was something magnetic about that fragility, about the way she offered herself without shame.

I walked around her and she stayed still, letting herself be looked at. In profile, the bone of her hip jutted out and the curve of her back ended in two small dimples just above her ass. I ran my hands over her shoulders, down her smooth chest, brushed her nipples, and descended to the wet mound between her legs while she nestled against my back.

I turned her toward me again and lowered my head to catch one of her nipples with my lips. I licked it, sucked it, nipped it lightly. Mara threw her head back and moaned my name for the first time all night.

—That’s not fair —she protested between gasps, laughing—. You’re still dressed.

I said nothing. I picked her up in my arms, light as a rag doll, and carried her to my bedroom. I dropped her in the middle of the bed and she rested her head on my pillow, watching me as I took off my dress and underwear in front of her.

—Now that’s better —she said, and opened her arms.

I climbed onto the bed and gently parted her legs, opening them wide. Her body was so slender that it fit entirely between my hands. I bent down kissing her sunken stomach, her bones, the trembling insides of her thighs, until I reached her sex again.

This time I wasn’t in a hurry. I licked her all over, from bottom to top, and stopped at her clit to suck it slowly while I held her waist with one arm. Mara tangled her fingers in my hair and pushed her hips against my mouth, shamelessly, asking for more.

—Like that, don’t stop —she gasped—. Please, don’t stop.

I sank two fingers into her without stopping licking her. She was tight and burning hot, and each slow thrust made her tremble. I felt her tense, hold her breath, and then she came against my mouth with a long cry, clutching the sheets with both hands.

I didn’t let her have a break. I slid over her, hooked one of my legs between hers, and brought our sex together. I started moving slowly, rubbing against her, skin against skin, feeling how wet we both were. Mara held my hips and set the rhythm with me, looking me in the eyes the whole time.

The pleasure rose in waves, faster and faster, until I could no longer tell her gasps from mine. We came almost at the same time, locked in each other’s arms, my forehead resting against hers, her fragile body trembling beneath mine.

***

Afterward I fell onto my side and pulled her toward me, holding her against my chest. I kissed her temple and, without thinking too much about it, said:

—I think I’m already in love with you.

—Me too —she replied, curling up—. And I’m going to need a little love at work every day. Let’s say at noon, in your office.

I laughed into her hair.

—Only if you let me make love to you before breakfast and again after dinner.

—If you want it at bedtime too, I’m going to have to move in with you —she said—. Or you move in with me.

—That’s exactly what I was thinking —I answered, and kissed her again.

We made love for the rest of the weekend, without a clock and without rushing. Monday began with her as my assistant and turned out to be, truly, the best decision I ever made: at the studio and at home.

Years later, when our two grandchildren had already been born, we got married in a small ceremony, just the two of us and the kids. And, against all odds, we remained happy.