Ben had been working for Cirkit Citie a good two years now and he knew he did a good job. So he wasn't surprised when Krista, his supervisor, called him into the office and announced she had a new task for him -- training recent hires.

"You'll start with Charlie," she said. "Comes to us from BesttBye. Kind of young, but talented."

"I can handle him," Ben said.

Krista just smiled, that smile that he had come to know meant she knew something he didn't.

He learned why when Charlie walked through the door precisely at 8:30 a.m.

Charlie was a beautiful, brown-eyed brunette, petite and all woman. From the silver barrettes in her hair to her silky skirt to her scarlet-painted toenails peeking out of her open-toed shoes, she was the most gorgeous creature that had ever walked into the office.

"I'm Charlene," she said. "But everybody calls me Charlie."

She extended a slender hand and he shook it warmly. "Glad to have you on board," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. She was wearing some incredibly sweet perfume -- and some other fragrance mingled with it -- he couldn't quite place it.

She smiled.

"Umm, where do I sit?"

"You'll be right here," he said, and she breezed by him, her hip just grazing his and setting him on fire. She plopped her purse down and he thought he saw a box of something inside it, just for a moment. Something oddly familiar, that brought back a memory for him.

"This is your terminal," he said, flipping on the computer. That required him to lean close and he smelled that wonderful fragrance again, and the mint of her gum and something else, something sharp yet sweet on her breath.

"Gotta concentrate," he said, meaning it to himself. She looked up, puzzled.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was talking to myself."

She was a quick learner -- picked up in 15 minutes what took most people an hour. So he felt justified in suggesting a coffee break.

"I could use it," she said. She scooped up her purse.

"You can leave that here," he said. "This is a safe place."

"Fine," she said. "Let me get something out of it then."

And suddenly she extricated a pack of Misty Lights and a silver lighter. And Ben felt his knees go weak. And the memories came rushing back, of his wicked ex-girlfriend and the scent of smoke on her and the taste of it on her lips. That was the aroma he had remembered, the sweet tobacco fragrance that always clung to her.

But this girl? She looked like a Sunday School teacher. A very beautiful Sunday School teacher, for sure. They walked together to the elevator; she was talking and he was hearing nothing but the blood pounding in his ears. She was smacking the pack against her palm, packing down the tobacco and driving him crazy.

They got in the elevator. She held the pack up against her cheek, innocently, feeling the coolness of the cellophane against her face.

He pushed the ground floor button, or thought he had until the basement opened up in front of them. That made her giggle.

"Some cafeteria," she said, looking out at the unfinished cinder-block walls and the heaps of surplus supplies. "Where's the smoking section?"

"Um," he said, hating himself for having to say it. "There's no smoking in the building."

"Then let's go outside," she said brightly, as the elevator dinged on the right floor this time. He stumbled along behind her, sure that he must be red as a maraschino cherry.

They reached the outside and walked along to a stone wall that bordered the building. She smoothed her skirt and sat down. He sat beside her. She gave the pack one last smack on her palm and dug with a scarlet fingernail at the little tab to unwrap it.

Then she let the breeze catch the scrap and carry it away. "I shouldn't be littering," she said. "You don't care, do you?"

"No," he said, controlling his voice as best he could. She flipped open the lid of the pack and took out a long white cigarette, almost, it seemed, in slow motion, seeming to enjoy lifting the virginal white tube of tobacco gently from amongst the other cigarettes.

"I have been craving you all morning," she said.

Ben thought she meant him. He looked up, startled. She giggled. "My cigarette, silly man."

And with the flash of her lighter, she ignited it -- and him.