Quickies

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I never gave much thought to Miya until she was on her knees. Is that awful? I guess it is. But she was a very unobtrusive sort of woman, expedient, efficient, compliant in every way. She made the perfect legal secretary and I was certainly beyond grateful for her services. She’d managed to pull of miracles the night before client meetings I thought saints couldn’t perform, and would stay late to do them, too.

But she did it all with a sort of easy grace that left you feeling as if she were invisible, and I guess in some ways she was.

Until I found myself standing in front of her, pulling another huge law tome out of my stacks, and looked down to see her kneeling on the floor beside me. Miya was incredibly petite, probably no more than five feet tall if she was an inch-even in heels, and she wore those every day-her long, dark hair sleek and pulled back from her rounded face. I knew some guys had a “thing” for Asian girls, but I never really had a type. I was an equal opportunity lover that way-if a woman interested me, it was about the woman, not her type.

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