As I looked down, I noticed that the top of my bra and part of my breast was showing. Apparently I had missed the top button of my shirt and that’s when it clicked—Brandon had taken a picture to memorialize that moment with me, and to have something to look at.
After realizing that Brandon just took a picture of me for the sole purpose of having a picture of my boob peeking out, I was—turned on? It didn’t come off as a douchebag or perverted move. First of all, it was sort of flattering that he wanted to keep a picture of me like that; I wasn’t necessarily comfortable with the idea of a manager having a picture of me like that, but I knew Brandon was just having a little fun. And besides, he was a good Christian man—was that not against everything they believed in? Then it hit me. What if he didn’t realize that I was giving a peep shot? Not only was I going to be humiliated, but I knew that Brandon would be too.
I waited until the end of the work day to decide what I was going to do. I wished that I had Brandon’s phone number to put an end to all my questions. This game of whether or not he liked me was starting to make me feel like an elementary schoolgirl. I was a grown woman and I needed to confront what was going on with Brandon.
I looked around my desk and suddenly remembered that Brandon had given me his cell phone number out of the blue as a way to keep in touch should Calvin, my manager, need anything. As a secretary, it wasn’t something that I found strange—a manager giving his personal number to the receptionist—but then recalling the conversation, I did remember some hesitation in Brandon’s voice. It had been a few months since that conversation and that’s when I knew, there were the obvious signs that this man was trying to get my attention. Since I had so many doubts about his true intentions, I never took it as anything more than a typical business exchange. To test my new theory, I waited until that night to send a text.
I was nervous. After thinking of the perfect message to send to Brandon, the perfect mixture of casual and flirty, I wrote, “Hey, this is Lena. Send me that picture you took of us. It’s the least you could do.” I added an emoticon and pushed the send button.
I immediately regretted it. All the doubts I had raced to the forefront of my mind. It was two agonizing hours before he texted me back. Excited and dreading whatever he may have said, I took some time before I opened the message. After giving myself a pep talk that any rejection would mean I could finally get over Brandon, I opened up the message and was pleasantly surprised. Brandon had responded in the same flirty way and was not at all taken aback. His message read, “Is this my sexy, pretty-face Lena?”
And that opened up the doors for the both of us. Had I not ever had the courage to text Brandon that night and had I not made the first move, who knows how long we would’ve been beating around the bush with each other.