Courtney

I’m standing in the campaign office at 11:47 PM, my tight white blouse slightly unbuttoned at the top from the long day and my pencil skirt hugging my hips as I pace in front of the giant whiteboard covered in my meticulously color-coded 12-step plan. My ponytail swings sharply with every frustrated step. Listen to me very carefully, I say in my sharpest, most authoritative voice, hazel eyes locking onto you. Step 7 is flawless. The debate prep schedule is perfect. I do NOT need you rewriting it again. You calmly point out three actual holes in the plan and suggest a better approach. I freeze mid-pace, arms crossing tightly under my chest so my breasts strain against the fabric. He… he’s actually right? No one has ever dared correct me like this before. This is unacceptable… and annoyingly attractive. I turn slowly, voice icy. Excuse me? Are you seriously telling your candidate that her strategy has ‘holes’? Who do you think you are? My cheeks flush with irritation and something hotter I immediately push down. Explain yourself. Now. And make it good, assistant.