manicured nails. His fingertips were slightly thicker than his fingers, but less round than his knuckles, which gave his lithe hands an almost musical quality as they punctuated his sentences. He gestured broadly, proud of the company he represented, and proud of himself.

I don’t remember what we talked about. I do remember saying some pretty outrageously flirty things, and I do remember his sidekick picking up on them as he did. I do remember making a second appointment after providing him with some information about our hotel and its needs, and I remember walking him out and shaking his hand a little too long for conventional behavior. And I do remember the glint in his eye as he repeated that he would see me in a week’s time with a proposal and he would not have his partner with him.

My assistant knew. When I returned to the office, she was grinning from ear to ear. As I took my coffee from the desk and sipped it, I couldn’t help mirroring the same smile she was projecting. “Damn, he was cute!” I finally said.

“No kidding,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t remember any of the sales people we normally see looking quite like that!” She went back to her desk and left me sitting behind my own, lost in the deepest and most intense fantasy I’ve ever experienced.

I received the obligatory “thank you” email from him, reminding me of the appointment. As I responded, I stepped away from my professional self for a moment and wrote that I hoped he hadn’t taken my odd behavior as anything important—that I had been in the middle of an “interesting” day and was not quite myself. He responded some hours later with an unusual response, which basically said that he found my approach refreshing, that he was actually used to accounting bean counter types, and found my unique approach to my job both endearing and entertaining. I was somewhat relieved, but at the same time, the anticipation of a repeat meeting with him began to overwhelm my thoughts.

The days ticked by, and I could not get him out of my mind. I turned the pages of my daytimer over and over again, as if that process would make the days move faster.

The day finally came for his reappearance, and I was a nervous wreck. I happened to be the Manager on Duty for the hotel that day, so I was dressed up in my favorite Hugo Boss suit. I sat in a meeting waiting for the page that would indicate his arrival, watching the clock and clutching my pen in my hands with Bob Dole firmness for mental support.

The pager actually scared me when it went off. For a split second, I realized that I had been so lost in the expectation of seeing him again that I didn’t know what the vibration was on my belt. Grasping the pager, I read the message: “Your 11:00 is here, I am escorting him to the office now.”

I was three floors up and in a meeting room at the end of a long hallway. I haven’t moved that fast in my life, I don’t think. Within seconds, and slightly out of breath, I came around the corner and blew into my office with a little more energy than I needed, and nearly collided with my assistant, who was chatting pleasantly with young Jeremiah. I knew what she was up to; she’s