Irresistible?. Stephanie Bond

      Ellie scoffed. Manny was tall and slim, with a handsome face. On more than one occasion, female acquaintances of Ellie’s had offered to try to “convert” him. “Manny, you’ve got more dates now than you know what to do with.”

      “But none of them are keepers,” he said, sighing dramatically.

      “What do you consider a keeper?”

      “Anything below eight inches gets thrown back,” he declared, making an over-the-shoulder motion.

      Ellie shook her head, grinning, and pulled a clean glass from the dishwasher.

      Manny’s forehead knitted. “This is what—the fourth day you’ve been taking those things?”

      “Uh-huh,” she said, tossing the pills into her mouth and downing them with a swallow of fruit juice.

      “Shouldn’t something be happening by now?” he asked, watching her face carefully. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he covered his mouth to muffle a scream.

      “What?” Ellie yelled, shoving past him to run to the hall mirror.

      “Gotcha,” he called, doubled over laughing.

      “Oh, very funny,” she said after a reassuring glance in the mirror. “You’re a regular comedian, Manny.”

      “Gotta run,” he said, heading for the door. “Good luck on your last day at the Smithsonian,” he joked.

      Ellie pantomimed a drumroll. “Ba-dump-bum.”

      Friday at last. When she walked to her overflowing closet, she toyed with the thought of wearing something ratty—what did it matter? Then she spotted her pink-and-black-checked mini. Why not go out with a bang instead?

      With renewed vigor, she pulled on black hose, clunkyheeled pumps and a long, white knit cardigan. She buttoned up the lightweight sweater so she could omit a blouse, then added large earrings, funky bangles and a handful of gold chains around her neck. She slicked back her pale hair with gel, then traded her regular beat-up canvas bag for a soft shoulder-strap briefcase and a small silver purse. At the last second, she remembered to skip perfume, lest it interfere with the pheromones. When she stopped in front of the mirror on the way out, she nodded. Not bad for a gal down on her luck.

      She held her head higher than usual when she stepped onto the sidewalk. Not quite seven o’clock on a beautiful May morning, and suited pedestrians already clogged the walkways. A few well-trained individuals even read the morning paper while their feet moved and stopped automatically at crosswalks. Ellie shook her head in determination. She would never get caught up in a seven-to-seven job like a lot of people she knew, like her father.

      It had taken two bypasses to convince him to change his workaholic ways. He’d wasted so much of his life cranking out numbers for a big-eight accounting firm. If not for her mother’s patience and virtue, their marriage would never have survived. And less than a year of the bureaucracy at the hole-in-the-wall arts center where Ellie worked convinced her she wanted no part of a rigid office setting on a long-term basis. Still, the regular, if small, paycheck had paid her rent.

      An oncoming dark-suited banker type lowered his stock quotes long enough to admire Ellie’s legs and whistle. Her spirits rose and she shrugged guiltily. Okay, it didn’t hurt her feelings to be appreciated by the well-heeled.

      With the money from the study to tie her over for a few weeks, she planned to spend her free time updating her portfolio, and pestering gallery managers to take a peek. Being fired might turn out to be the best career move she’d ever made.

      The aroma of bagels and cream cheese reached her, prompting her to dig in her bag for loose change. “Ellie!” old Mr. Pompano exclaimed. “You look good enough to have for breakfast, yourself. Did you get a promotion?”

      “No,” she said smugly to the popular street vendor, pointing to a chocolate bagel. “I got fired.”

      “Well, it suits you.” He smiled, handing her the dark bread. “You are especially—” he made a corkscrew gesture in the air “—appealing today.”

      “Why, thank you, kind sir who wants my money.” She curtsied.

      He grinned and bowed slightly, then patted his right knee. “Something good will happen to you today—I can feel it in my gimp leg.”

      Ellie winked. “Can your bursitis tell me if he’ll be a blond, a brunette or a redhead?”

      “The way you look today, Cara, you might get all three.”

      Ellie flipped him a quarter tip, and munched her bagel the rest of the walk to the musty office building where she worked. Several men’s heads turned, eyes lingering, and she felt her body unconsciously adjust to the attention. Her short stride lengthened to show off her legs. She thrust her shoulders back and her small breasts out, and clenched her buttocks with each step to add a powerful sway to her back view. It worked She’d heard two wolf whistles by the time she reached her office, where a handsome co-worker. Steve Willis, who’d never even glanced her way before, held the door open.

      “Ellie, isn’t it?” he asked, his pale eyebrows arching attractively over his tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses.

      “Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” she lied.

      “Steve,” he said, straightening the knot of his tie. “Steve Willis. I was thinking, maybe I could call you sometime?”

      “Sure,” she said nonchalantly over her shoulder.

      “What’s your number?” he called behind her.

      Ellie turned to eye the man who’d gone out of his way to ignore her when she’d delivered his mail every day for the past year. She almost felt sorry for him—he didn’t stand a chance against the pheromones. “I’m in the book,” she said simply, and left him standing. Once she got around the corner, she brought her fist to her chest in a triumphant gesture. “Yes!” There was something to these pills, after all.

      The flowers on her desk were a nice surprise. She knew they were from Joan even before she opened the card. But before she had a chance to thank her boss, the phones started ringing, and the day began.

      Later, a few co-workers took her to lunch, and Steve Willis appeared out of nowhere to sit beside her. He even managed to knee her a couple of times under the table. Feeling generous, Ellie humored him with a smile. He really wasn’t bad. Maybe Mr. Pompano’s gimpy prediction had been right.

      Joan stopped by Ellie’s desk an hour before closing. Ellie smiled, gesturing to the flowers. “I meant to swing by to say thank you.”

      “You’re welcome. I wanted to talk to you before you left.”

      Ellie turned her swivel chair toward Joan. “What’s up?”

      “A commission, if you’re interested.” Joan leaned against the cubicle wall.

      Ellie nodded enthusiastically. “Sure.”

      “It’s a corporate portrait for a law firm—pretty boring stuff, but good money.”

      “Suit-and-tie picture?”

      “Yeah.”

      “How did you hear about it?”

      “I know the wife of one of the partners. I’ve acquired a few paintings and a couple of sculptures for their office. It’s the same company that bought your Piedmont Park scene, by the way.”

      Landscapes were Ellie’s forte. Although she enjoyed painting portraits, as well, she preferred a little creativity with the subject’s presentation. Still, it was a job. She smiled and nodded to Joan. “Sounds great.”

      Joan handed her a card. “Here’s the name of the firm and the address. I’ve written the agreed fee on the back.”

      Ellie turned over the card and her eyes bulged. “I get to keep this?”

      “Less