Tactics

HIM

The girl I liked didn't know I existed, and I was starting to get desperate.

It wasn't because I was gross and absolutely unattractive, or that I lacked manly charm. She was simply too focused on her work. Picture this: cardigan, heels, hair in a severe bun. Oh yeah, that kind of girl didn't spend her free time noticing guys. (Or girls. But more importantly, did she even have free time?)

I knew I had to change that.

So I asked my brothers for advice. We brainstormed long and hard over several bottles of beer, and a game of cards. Bets were also made, which led me to putting the approved plan into action the very next day. To be honest, I wasn't sure it was going to work, but I wasn't going to lose the bet for not following instructions.

Armed with several pieces of papers, I purposely bumped into her (making sure she also had a stack of papers) and not-so-obviously threw my papers into the air.

"I'm so sorry! You'd think a big hulk of a guy named Bob wouldn't be so clumsy. Ha ha." See what I did there?

I proceeded to help her, being the gallant gentleman that I was. I also made sure to slip one of my papers (the one with my name and phone number on the letterhead) into her pile.

"Thank you," she said, looking at me in the eyes. Finally!

"Don't mention it. Are you sure you're okay? I didn't hurt you?"

She smiled. And she didn't look constipated doing it. Phew, thank the gods. "I've been through worse."

—

She never called.

But she came to my cube that afternoon, returned my paper, and demanded coffee as recompense for her hurting foot and for making her miss her next meeting.

HER

I never paid any real attention to him until the morning he barreled through the hall and bumped into me with a stack of papers. Deliberately. I think. It certainly hadn't been enough to hurt me, and if he'd really turned the corner at the speed he'd said he'd been going, we'd have been knocked down to the floor by the impact.

What? I knew my physics. And just because I wasn't actively dating didn't mean I was entirely oblivious. (I was just oblivious sometimes.)

He was a little guy with a loud laugh and a big heart. Funny how he's named Bob, because most of the Bobs I knew were large and hulky. This Bob was different. He was cute, in the fluffy puppy adorable kind of way.

But he already had most of the females in our office enchanted. I certainly didn't need to throw myself into his act, as warm and fuzzy he made me feel. He probably said the things he said to all the women. And the men. And everyone else in between and on the side and around the corners.

So imagine my surprise when I found his paper in my pile.

And the note on it that read:

I like you. You may look serious and boring half the time (and in meetings in the other half, so I wouldn't know how you look, though probably still gorgeous), but I think you're interesting. Coffee?

Gorgeous? Oh, please. The only men this stern face and tidy hair attracted were investors.

But somehow, he saw past that. He must've been looking rather hard, if he'd seen flashes of the girl I'd kept hidden inside my corporate shell.

And he had guts, I had to give him that.