When he met you, you were bent over a desk with your ass in the air. Not exactly a position you wanted to be remembered for, but at the time you thought that he at least wouldn’t know what you looked like. (Though later you would realize that, yes, he actually did)
The story of how you got to be there is an embarrassing one. You had entered work a few minutes late, thinking that you had more time than you did, and before you saw your boss you wanted to make it seem like you were on time but had been delayed by chatting up the secretary. That hasty plot meant that she would have to at least play along by reciprocating a conversation, but instead she had given you the cut-eye before standing up and trotting off to rat on your tardiness. In a fit of rage you abandoned acting like a proper grownup and had thrown your nice fountain pen at her empty seat, and when it bounced off and fell to the floor you realized that it was your only one and you shamefully had to go and retrieve it. But the last thing you wanted was for her to return with you behind her desk, looking like you were fiddling with her things, so obviously the best alternative was for you to throw yourself over the desk to get it back.
And here we return to you, bent over the desk with your ass in the air. You were straining for the pen, feeling it against your fingers, when you heard someone open the door and walk in. The footsteps of a man; so who could it be? Your boss was the only man in the whole office and that fucking Martha was already tattling about you to him. So it must have been a visitor. And he was currently staring at the only thing worth staring at in the office, and that was your ass.
“Enjoying the view?” you snapped, not straightening until the pen was in your hand.
“Not quite sure if I’m supposed to be,” was the soft, well-mannered response.
You were confused about what that meant until you finally pushed yourself off the desk, pen in hand, whirling around to find yourself face-to-face with a good-looking guy. Well, that was your first observation until you realized he was also blind which meant that you were also an asshole.
“Oh my God,” you burst. You weren’t even sure how you could get any words out with your foot firmly planted in your mouth. “I am so sorry. I didn’t…”
“Don’t be,” he assured you, smiling. “I’m here for a Mr. Sorenson. I was told he’d be in today?”
“Oh! Yes!” You were relieved; this was a twofold blessing. Not only could you blame your tardiness on needing to speak with this handsome guest, you could also disappear into a puddle of shame once your boss handled said visitor. “Yes, he’s in…”
“Are you Mr. Murdock?” Martha had reappeared and had turned her ever-present glare on the guest. “You can go in; Mr. Sorenson is expecting you.”
“Thank you.” He turned to you and you quickly realized he was addressing you when he said, “Would you mind showing me to him? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with this building’s layout.”
“Of course! Sure! My pleasure,” you blathered, moving to take his arm. You didn’t know at the time that him needing your assistance was a complete lie and that he could have made it to Sorenson by himself. And you were too focused on your own tardiness to read the atmosphere and his aura of works every time.