David knew he owed Ginger an apology. She'd taken his temper tantrums in stride for the past couple weeks, unlike the first two girls the temp agency had sent over since Penny's departure. Neither of them had lasted more than a day. At least Ginger understood not to take it personally.

She'd been nothing but a model of professionalism. Punctual. Efficient. Organized. Typed 60 words per minute without a single typo. And polite too. Polite to a fault. She was two weeks into the job now, and she still insisted on addressing him as 'Mr. Powers' without so much as a hint of irony. He knew he shouldn't hold it against her. Mr. Powers. That was his name. It wasn't her fault that every time she said it, he could hear the echo of those syllables in someone else's voice - with a different tone entirely.

This morning, he'd asked her to dig up a file from a deal he'd worked on a couple years ago. Leo wanted to go over the records. He'd sat across Leo's desk with the thick folder in his lap, thumbing through the papers as his eyes skimmed past the dates. 2010... 2011... 2012.... He'd stopped as he came to a sheet of lined notebook paper, torn from spiral-bound steno pad. December 29, 2012. The date was scrawled at the top of the page in handwriting that was sloppy to the point of illegibility. Handwriting he knew, at this point, almost as well as he knew his own. 

He'd lost his train of thought for a moment - just sat there in front of his boss, staring at the paper. Without even realizing what he was doing, he'd lifted a finger and traced across where Penny had written 'MEETING MINUTES' in big block letters. Leo had to clear his throat to bring him out of his trance.

Maybe it was just the surprise of finding it there. Maybe it was the way it recalled to his mind how she had looked that day. She'd been wearing a candy-apple red cableknit sweater. She usually stuck to pastels, but that day she'd worn red. She should've gone with red more often. Or maybe not. Maybe she could tell how it made it hard for him to focus. That damned sweater.  It looked expensive. A Christmas gift from some admirer? Cashmere, fine and smooth? He'd dug his finger nails into the palm of his hand, resisting the urge to touch it and find out.

In any case, she'd worn red that day. He'd brought her along to the meeting with Hancock Interactive, and he could have sworn he saw one of the other men at the table staring at her chest. She'd taken a seat beside him when they came into the conference room, but he'd muttered in her ear for her to go sit in the corner and take down minutes from there - out of that asshole's line of sight

On the elevator ride afterward, he'd taken her steno pad out of her hands and flipped to the first page, mainly to give himself something to look at other than her sweater. He'd shaken his head in disbelief as his eyes had skimmed over the handwritten notes.

December 29, 2022

Meeting with Hancock Interactive

ATTENDEES

- David

- Leo

- Guy in grey suit #1 (kinda cute)

- Guy in grey suit #2 (wimpy looking)

- Guy in grey suit #3 (beard)

MEETING MINUTES

Leo: Welcome everyone yadda yadda yadda

Cute guy: Something about $. Not enough $$$?

David: Bridge loan

Cute guy: Good

Wimpy guy: Sounds risky (see I knew he was wimpy just looking at him)

David: Get a grip, wimpy guy (you came across very trustworthy there. Nice going)

Cute guy: Agrees with David

Beard guy: Looks nervous. Says nothing.

David: Makes a joke. I think it was a joke? 3 of 5 attendees laughed.

Leo.....

He'd had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from cracking up as he stood next to her in the elevator, reading. "Penny, what the hell is this?"

"Minutes," she'd responded. "See." She'd pointed with her finger to where she'd written the words 'MEETING MINUTES.'

He placed his hand over hers and shifted her finger upward on the page to the list of attendees. "You didn't catch a single one of their names?"

She hadn't responded for a second. She'd just looked down at the page where his hand was resting on top of hers. He flicked his eyes sideways and saw her bite her lip. A flush crept over the expanse of pale skin at the v-neck opening of her collar, and he watched the color slowly deepen  until it nearly matched the shade of the sweater's red wool. He realized he wasn't breathing. Why was his hand still on top of hers? He'd pulled his hand away and stuffed it in his pocket.

"False," she said without looking up from the paper. "See, there's your name." She pointed. "And Leo's name."

"And cute guy and wimpy guy."

"And beard guy," she nodded. "He didn't actually say anything, but I felt like I should write him down."

"Seriously?"

"OK, forget beard guy." She clicked her ballpoint pen and crossed out the final attendee from the list.

He turned his head to look at her. "So a couple years from now when I ask you to pull the file on the Hancock deal, I'm somehow supposed to remember which of the guys in the grey suits was the cute one and which was the wimpy one?"

"It's not my fault everyone in finance wears the same color suit." She ran her eyes meaningfully down the full length of his own slate grey ensemble.

"Penny, I know we joke around, but this is an actual place of business. Sometimes I need you to-"

"Ted Severs," she interrupted.

He looked at her in surprise.

"And Alex Goldsmith," she continued.

"OK." He nodded slowly. "And you chose to refer to them as cute guy and wimpy guy because...."

"Because two years from now when you ask to see the Hancock file, you're going to look at me all confused and say, 'Penny, do you remember which one was Ted Severs and which was Alex Goldsmith?' And I'm going to say, 'Why yes, David. Ted Severs was the cute one and Alex Goldsmith was the wimpy one.' And then you're going to remember exactly who was who, and you're going to say, 'Thank you, Penny. Thank you. See, I knew there was a reason I keep you around.'"

She said this final sentence with such conviction that the laughter he'd been trying to suppress broke free. He covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking helplessly as she smiled back at him. Smartass. "That's what I'm going to say, huh?"

She screwed up her face at him, contemplating. "Either that one or your line about how you have a romantic soul. But you usually only make that joke when we're talking about your love life."

The elevator dinged as it came to a stop at their floor and the doors slid open. He handed the steno pad back to her. "Type this up," he said. "With names, please."

"Yes, Mr. Powers," she'd responded.

But she never had typed it up, apparently. There were her handwritten notes stuck in the file folder, just the way she had left them. He'd practically shoved the piece of paper in his new assistant's face when he came to her cubicle this afternoon. "Ginger, what the hell is this?" he'd demanded.

She'd looked flustered as she took the piece of paper from his hand. "I-I don't know. It looks like it's from the Hancock file you asked for-"

"This file's a mess." He'd thrown the whole folder onto her desk.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Powers. My predecessor left it-"

"Why aren't the notes typed up?"

"I didn't-I don't know-"

"Well, type them!"

"OK. Yes sir." She'd picked up the folder and looked up at him hesitantly.

"What?"

"It's just - the handwriting is a little hard to make out."

He'd lost it then. He'd raised his voice, loud enough that he saw heads peeking out all down the adjoining row of cubes. "I know the goddamn handwriting is a little hard to make out! Why do you think I want it typed?"

"Yes sir."

"Goddammit! Why do I even have an assistant? Why?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Powers. I'll get right on it."

God, what an ass he'd been. As if she had any way of knowing about about the handwriting.

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