With a mouth full of yogurt, Donna waves another index card at me. The motion blows a tiny breeze across my face.

I glare at her. "No."

She swallows and waves it again. "Take it, Josh."

"Donna, this is like the hundredth card."

"I've only done fourteen. And since this memo is three hundred pages long I should think you'd be happy I've condensed," she quickly looks down at the folder in her lap, "one hundred forty seven pages into fourteen - now fifteen - cards."

"Weeelll," I drag out.

"And," she continues, "you should also be happy that I'm sitting here during my unpaid lunch hour helping you go through it so you don't look like an uneducated idiot in your meeting this afternoon."

While she does have a point, I refuse to concede and so point out, "I bought you lunch. So technically you are being paid."

"You bought me a three dollar yogurt," she sniffs reproachfully. "And you're refusing to share your fries with me."

"But I went to the gourmet yogurt place for you! I went out in burning midday sun and wrestled my way through thousands of tourists just to get you the chunky stuff with real berries."

"You took a cab," she mutters dropping the index card on the desk when I refuse to take it. "I do not feel sorry for you one bit."

"I had to push past tourists to hail it," I shoot back. "And if you wanted fries, why didn't you ask me to get you some?"

"They're too fattening," she explains as she starts to make notes on a new index card.

"But you want mine?" As usual, when talking to her, I'm confused.

"Yes."

I shake my head, "That makes no sense."

"If I eat your fries then it's okay," Donna explains, leafing through a few more pages. "No calories."

"How is that possible?"

She looks over and gives me a withering glare. "Because they're not mine, Josh. If they belong to someone else, they're calorie free and fat free."

I start laughing. "You're crazy!"

"Excuse me?" she raises her eyebrows and stares at me thoughtfully.

"Come on, Donna, that's the silliest rationalization I've ever heard."

She gives me another look. Donna has fifty three different looks and manages to use the majority of them on me in any given day. More than half her looks are what one could call negative and she only flashes them when I've done something she disapproves of.

But do I care?

Not so much. Those looks belong to me. Made by her, for me.

And while the glare I'm getting now could be construed as hateful, I have an antidote. Oh yes, for each of her looks, I have a counter look. And they always get me out of the doghouse.

Eventually.

I push the fries towards her and smile sweetly. "Go on then."

"Thank you." Donna's frown dissolves into a pleased grin as she reaches for the bag.

Saved by the dimples.

"And in return, you get your memo back," she adds, lifting the folder from her lap and dumping it into mine. "You think buttering me up with fries is going to make up for insulting the index cards?"

Hmm. Maybe I'm not so good.

Okay, regroup: a puppy faced apology will do the trick. "I'm sorry, Donna."

"Yes I know you are, Josh but I figure if you're the one doing the reading, you won't have a reason to bitch about the index cards," Donna lifts her legs onto the desk and leans back in her chair, digging into the remains of my lunch.

Well, I did not see that coming. I give her my own dirty look but she merely responds with a beatific smile and eats another fry.

"I bought you yogurt," I whine. "Don't make me read this. You're so much better at summarizing things than I am."

"Flattery, in this case, will get you nowhere, Josh," she says sternly, sucking ketchup from a finger. "You shouldn't have insulted the cards."

"Fine," I sulk, "be that way."

Donna shrugs and licks more ketchup off her fingers. I wish she wouldn't do that. I do not want to see her tongue; it's entirely too distracting.

I flip aimlessly through the pages of the memo, trying very hard not to watch her eat the fries. After each one she cleans her fingers thoroughly, licking all the salt and ketchup off.

I sneak a look as she chews another one and she wrinkles her nose - her innocent curiosity look. "What?" And she's added the breathy voice.

I love that voice. Okay, focus please.

"Nothing," I mutter and stare at the paper in front of me. Numbers swim in front of my eyes; all I'm aware of is the blurred motion in my peripheral vision of her hand moving between the bag of fries and her mouth. I turn the page with a sigh and try very hard to ignore her.

"How's it going, Cupcake?" she asks cheerfully.

"Fine," I mutter. "It's all good."

"You have no idea what anything in there means do you?"

I'm Deputy Chief of Staff - of course I know what's in a stupid budget memo.

"Noooo," I whine, giving her the puppy eyes again. "If I promise not to insult the cards will you take this back? You're just so much better at this than I am." Compliments never hurt either.

"Fine," she sighs heavily. "No matter how many cards I do, you're not allowed to complain."

"Okay," I agree. Well of course I'm going to complain but I'll give it a few minutes before I start up again. Lull her into a false sense of security.

"Give it here then."

I hand it over with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"Whatever," she waves me off and grabs her stack of index cards again. I take a sip of coffee and watch as she reads through the memo, pausing every minute or so to jot down another point on a card.

I love watching Donna work; she has this lip biting thing she does when she's concentrating and her forehead creases ever so slightly. She's put her hair in this weird knot thing and little wispy bits are sticking out the side. It makes her look very young and very sexy which in turn makes me feel very old and very lecherous.

She turns a page, scribbles another note on the card, and passes it to me with a flourish and a warning raise of her eyebrows. I smile and take it silently, skimming over her messy handwriting. I'm going to have to get her to read it to me - as with all the others, but it's probably best that I wait until she's finished before I start grumbling.

"Stop staring at me," she mutters, pushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"I have nothing to do."

"You can have this report back."

I shake my head quickly. "No, you're doing a good job."

"Well if you stop staring at me, I'll do a better job," she snipes. "You know something, Josh, you..."

I tend to tune her out when she uses the 'Listen To Mother' voice. Not because I don't like being told what to do but because it gets me all hot and bothered.

Is it totally depraved that I get turned on by her when she's like this? I mean, I'm having seriously disturbing fantasies here involving handcuffs and a chair. Maybe some leather.

Oh God, she's stopped talking. Expecting an answer. Quick, panic.

"Uh, sorry?" I offer lamely. When you have no idea what to say, it's always safest to apologize.

She sighs resignedly. "Were you even listening?"

"Um... yes?"

"Whatever. Just stop staring so blankly at me - it's hard to concentrate. Creeps me out you know."

Chastised, I nod and stare instead at my desk in the vain hope it'll offer something to occupy me. My eyes settle onto a scrap piece of paper and I snatch it up. Five folds later I grin triumphantly and fling the sleek airplane into the air.

"Idiot," Donna mutters as I lean to catch it on its return. "You're such a little boy sometimes."

"Yeah but come on, look at it go!" I throw it again and it loops back gracefully.

"I can't look at it," she points out, "I'm trying to work."

I shrug and flick it through the air once more. It curves elegantly around the room before flying straight towards Donna.

Mayday, mayday!

I make a desperate attempt to save it from a mid air collision with Donna's head. I manage to grab the tip of the wing but the sharp edge of the paper slices through the side of my middle finger.

"Gahhh," I yell, dropping the airplane to its fate on the floor. "Goddamn son of a bitch."

Donna looks up in alarm. "What the?"

"I cut myself." I examine the reddening skin.

"So?"

"It hurts," I whimper. "And it's bleeding." I wave it at her, "Donnnnna."

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" she huffs, roughly pushing my hand aside. "It's your fault."

"No it's yours," I whine again. "Blood, Donna. I don't deal well with blood."

"There's hardly any blood. Suck it up, Josh. Be a man," she drawls, looking back at the memo. While it's good that she's working so studiously, right now it's important that my needs be taken care of.

"There is a lot of blood." I wiggle the finger in front of her face again, "Look."

Very very calmly, Donna puts down her pen and index cards and stares at me with narrowed eyes. "You really want to be waving that particular finger at me?"

She has a point. "Um..." I frown miserably and say in a very small voice, "It hurts."

"Give it here then," she grabs my hand, her fingers tickling my palm as she inspects the paper cut. "It's barely a nick, Josh."

"Those are the worst," I say seriously. "It could get infected; my finger would drop off."

"Yeah if this finger drops off, no one's gonna really have a problem," Donna smirks as she strokes her thumb over my skin. I inhale sharply and she gives me another smirk. "Forty five years old and taken down by an itty bitty little paper cut."

"Don't tell anyone," I gasp. "And stop touching it, you're making it hurt even more."

"Baby," she mutters. She gives me another eye roll, lifts my hand, opens her mouth and touches the tip of her tongue to my finger.

"What are you doing," I splutter, not from pain but from confused anxiety.

Donna removes my finger from her mouth and smiles. "Fixing it."

"Licking it isn't going to help me," I shake my head violently.

"Trust me on this, Josh," she murmurs. Her hand closes around my palm and she starts sucking softly on my finger. Her tongue gently touches the cut and I tremble unsteadily.

Deep breaths Josh; in and out. That's it.

I drop my head onto the back of the chair and stare at her; she's gone back to writing on the index cards as if nothing's happening. Her mouth is warm and wet around my finger, her tongue slowly slipping around the cut, carefully tasting as if...

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Do not think about Donna's tongue. Or her mouth. Or the sucking. There is no sucking going on whatsoever.

Oh God.

If she looks down at my lap I am a dead man.

Quickly and quietly, I cross my legs as discreetly as I can then flick my eyes down. Okay, not bad. Nothing can be seen. I'm cool. It's all good.

Donna's paying absolutely no attention to me so I assume she hasn't noticed the general shifting of... uh... body parts. But her tongue is still lapping at my skin with her mouth firmly wrapped around my finger; I'm not too sure how long I can hold out.

She was wearing lip gloss when she arrived at work this morning. Thanks to the yogurt - and my fries - her lips are free of color; pale and pink. I watch, through half closed eyes, as my finger moves in and out of her mouth.

Oh God, she's started the sucking again. I am going to die. My pants are becoming entirely too small for my traitorous cock.

Now I'm actually using the word cock when she's around. Oh damn, I just used it again.

Okay Josh, you cannot think the c-word when Donna's sitting right next to you sucking your finger as if it's actually your cock.

Damn.

I have to stop her now. I can't have her sucking on my finger when I'm imagining her sucking something else. This is a big sexual harassment lawsuit in progress... I just want pull her up from her chair, shove her against and wall and-

Okay. No.

I yank my hand from her mouth with a high pitched, "Thank you, all better!" then reach over and drag the memo from her lap, slamming it firmly down onto mine.

Oh, clever move there.

I yelp in pain, the folder sliding to the floor as I hunch over. Donna, meanwhile, has started snorting with laughter. I glare at her, trying very hard not to cry.

"Stop laughing!"

"I'm sorry, Josh," she murmurs, her soft pink lips curling into an amused grin. "Are you okay? Did you um... damage something in your attempt to cover something?"

I keep glaring at her. "I don't know what you mean. You fixed my hand so I thought I should repay you by finishing the memo."

"Right," she smiles. "You want me to turn away so you can... adjust yourself?"

"Donna..." I begin nervously. Oh God, how am I going to get out of this alive?

"Josh?"

I blink in confusion, desperately trying to compose an intelligent response. "I uh... well... you were...."

"Yeeees?" she drags out. She's grinning the biggest grin I've ever seen. The one that shows all her teeth; it's a little scary actually.

The fact she's enjoying this way too much leads me to believe that perhaps she's not going to sue me. "Do you mind closing your eyes for a second?"

"Not at all." She snaps her eyes shut, continuing to grin insanely and I quickly smooth out my pants.

The problem is... I'm not relaxing. No amount of smoothing down is going to actually flatten anything so I lean over and snatch the folder from the floor, careful this time to place it lightly on my lap. Problem solved.

"You can look now," I mutter. I'm not going to get embarrassed.

Donna flicks her eyes open, looks straight down into my lap and starts smirking again.

"I didn't mean LOOK THERE!" I roar. "Donna!"

"Okay," she wrinkles her nose, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing. "I won't look at what is obviously the biggest erec-"

"DONNA!" I shriek. "Get out, get out, get out."

She hops out of her chair with another grin. "Gonna take care of business on your own?"

Oh God. Oh no. Offence is my defense and when backed into a corner, I react in the worst possible way but I'm even shocked to hear myself scream, "You are SO fired, Donna Moss. Pack your things and leave right now."

She stares at me for a beat then shrugs. "Well my work here is done I guess, so what the heck. But since I'm leaving because my boss is attracted to me and can't admit it, do you think he'll be able give me an unbiased reference?"

Hang on what's happening here? "Um..."

Oh brilliant. Very clever Lyman. Astound her with your eloquent verbosity. And so what if I'm attracted to her; I can give a good reference - I'll give her the best reference ever!

Wait...

"So you want me to leave now or should I wait until the end of the day?" she continues, one hand on the doorknob. "Because if I leave now I can catch the late afternoon sun."

"But," I splutter, finally finding my voice, "you burn so easily."

"What do you care, Josh? You fired me, you'll never have to see this skin again," she sniffs. "Not that you even notice it."

Okay something is definitely happening. I feel light headed, not only because most of my blood is still pooling down south, but also because I've just fired her and she seems to actually be considering leaving me.

"I'm sorry, I just..." I close my eyes and take a deep cleansing breath. "I'm losing all perspective and logic here, Donna."

"Ah but did you ever have logic and perspective, Josh? You are, after all, a man," she waggles her eyebrows. "A man who can't seem to control his own body when a woman is sucking his finger."

The problem is that I'm still fairly aroused and in no position to stand up and argue. I look weak sitting here... weak and ineffectual. I'm the man. I'm supposed to be strong and... oh God, I really have to stop making excuses.

I slump backwards in my chair and admit with a sigh, "I only can't control it because you're the one sucking my finger. We were sitting here working. I bought you lunch. You were helping me - which I greatly appreciate - and then you start sucking my finger as though you were sucking," I close my eyes, "something else."

"Josh," Donna says softly. "Forget about it; we'll pretend nothing happened." She gives me a sad smile, "As usual."

"No, listen to me here," I interrupt. What the hell. I mean, she's already got physical evidence of my feelings for her and it's not forbidden for me to admit I'm in love with now her since she's no longer my assistant because I've just fired her.

So... I guess I can tell her what I feel inside.

Huh.

I'm a genius.

"Donna," I begin.

"Yes?" she folds her arms and stares defiantly at me, eyebrows quirked, lips pursed in annoyance. "Anytime you want to say it, Josh."

I stare at the twinkle in her eyes. Damn.

She's a genius.