He leans back in his chair, surveying the meeting's attendants. His prematurely-graying hair is longer than usual, giving him a more boyish, cute look rather than the normal handsome. He's dressed casually, in jeans and a blue polo shirt that accentuates his blue eyes, the normal new-business attire. For a moment, with his eyes looking around, I'm able to admire him the way he should be admired, for his sense of humor, his casual style, his friendly voice, his intelligent mind. I admire him, and I'm stunned by him.

Our eyes meet, and I force a friendly, noncommittal smile. I also look around the room, pretending to study the occupants as he has. Most people aren't even paying attention to the speaker. Their eyes are down, on their notebooks, writing something down or drawing something to pass the time. The others are staring longingly out the window, wishing they were outside able to enjoy the unseasonable good weather. A few people, no more than three out of the group of twenty or so, are staring at the speaker, giving her their undivided attention. I feel sorry for the speaker, and turn to look at her, at least pretending to be interested in whatever ridiculous crap is coming out of her mouth.

When she says something about the new ad, I glance at him again. As the team's manager, he's in charge of everything we do, but she's his manager, so he's not going to oppose her. Still, I'm curious about his reaction, and the reaction of my co-workers. Instead of appearing phased by the new information, he is also looking about the room again, to gauge the other's reactions. His eyes meet mine again, and my heart skips, but I again continue to look about the room, forcing my cheeks to stay pale and not flush.

When his manager is finally done talking, he cracks a joke and everyone laughs. I scribble down his joke as we all laugh--I keep almost all of his memorable quotes. I have a journal I copy them in to, as well as detailed descriptions of the conversations we have together.

He concludes the meeting, and as I'm walking to the door, slightly slower than everyone else without trying to draw attention to myself that I'm stalling, he says, "Melanie, can you wait a minute?"

I would wait forever for him. I smile at him and say, "Sure! What's up?" in my most normal, friendly tone. I don't want to scare him off or hint at my feelings towards him. He is, after all, my boss, and that isn't something I can afford to have on my career rap sheet. Fired for inappropriate conduct with a supervisor. Fantastic.

"I was just wondering if you've got some free time to work on a project for me." He's gathering up his notebook and papers. I admire his strong, smooth hands, staring forlornly at his wedding ring. "It shouldn't be too much work, and we can take some other stuff off of your plate if need-be, it's just a big deal, and I need someone who I know will get the job done right to work on it."

Briefly, I wonder if he's taking advantage of my feelings for him so that I'll take on extra work, but I doubt that. He's not that kind of guy. "Of course," I agree immediately. "I'm happy to. There's not really a lot going on in my current projects anyway."

He flashes a grin; his lips are a little thinner than I like, but on him it seems to work. "Great. Thank you! Let me know if it gets to be too much and I'll give some of your other projects to someone else."

"No problem." We're standing by the open door. Damn open door--why does it have to be open? "What's the project? When's it due? Who should I contact?"

"You'll actually be working with Gary on it. He'll be sending you meeting requests to get you up to speed."

Gary? The dirty old man who everyone but me loves? I cringe inwardly. "Great," I agree, smiling. It was probably silly of me to wish that he would be my contact for this. He's no one's contact for any project. He manages the team flawlessly, and he cares about all of us but would never cross that line. Why would he? He has a beautiful wife and two kids at home. He doesn't need to look somewhere else, and I'm a horrible person for wishing that he and his wife would split up. I know it, but I can't help but feel the way I do anyway.

"Thanks, Melanie," he says, patting me lightly on the arm as he heads out of the conference room. I stare after him for a moment, then sigh to myself and exit the room. Another meeting... Another chance to fall deeper into unrequited love. Awesome.