“Stopped working,” I echo. I’m standing in House of Stars, my toolbelt strapped about my waist and ready to work on the lighting behind the bar. “What do you mean, the screen room stopped working?”

“Well, not completely,” Cullen says, looking more tired than usual. “I’m sure you’ve seen it. It’s the square room with screens on every wall and the ceiling, meaning it has five screens in all. The one on the ceiling and one of the wall screens aren’t working.”

“Is it the screens themselves? If it’s the screens themselves, it’s a problem for the manufacturer, not an electrician, because the product is faulty.” My stomach sinks lower the longer this conversation continues.

“They’re brand new and had great reviews, and I doubt that two out of five would be faulty. Seems a little unlucky, even for me.” His eyes rove around House of Stars. “Listen, I just need to know for sure—100% certain—that the issue isn’t the wiring or some other electrical issue. I absolutely cannot order two new screens if I’m not certain. I know that the other company did wiring and it might be unfamiliar, but please do what you can to assure me it either is or is not the wiring. If you need to contact the original contractor or have them come here, you’ll be reimbursed.”

I’m accustomed to deadlines, and I’m not afraid of responsibility, but this sudden, new problem is going to completely destroy my plans for the electrical renovations in terms of time. I have no idea how long it’ll take me to find the issue—or if I even can find the issue at all.

Actually, the only part of this that doesn’t worry me is whether I’ll be able to fix the issue. I know my job, and I know fixing the problem won’t be the tricky part.

“I’ll do what I can,” I assure him, “but I can’t promise when I’ll be able to give you an answer.”

“I understand. Just let me know as soon as you find out.”

I have to remind myself that sighing heavily with annoyance while within earshot of clients doesn’t turn them into repeat customers. This is just what I don’t need at all. I’m fine with being held accountable for my own work, but this is different. Another electrical contractor installed the screens, and even though I know Cullen knows that this could hurt the reputation I’ve been working so hard to build.

I also intended to make the necessary orders today for materials I needed to finish the job, but I want to visit the electronics store in person to place the order. If this complication takes as long to resolve as I expect it to, I might not have time to do that today before the place closes. Vegas nightlife doesn’t extend to electronics stores.

“—know what those are. I got through the four main types of financial statements in accounting.”

I recognize the voice immediately. The words roll off the tongue sharply, but not rudely. They’re matter-of-fact, but almost stiffly patient, as though the speaker thinks others ought to already know these things and wonders why anyone bothers asking questions.

Even through the natural prickliness and impatience of my dancer’s voice, she still sounds as beautiful as she looks.

I turn and look for Taylor. She’s walking beside the same woman whom I saw speaking to Rick yesterday. By the questions the woman is asking Taylor, I assume she must be the senior accountant.

I want to listen to Taylor’s voice as she walks by, deep in conversation, but my ears forget how to work. I’m pretty sure formal skirts aren’t supposed to be short enough to leave a tantalizing number of inches of unblemished thigh visible, and I also doubt her white drop-V blouse is supposed to drop quite as low as it does. Her black jacket matches her skirt and fits her chest, hips, and slim waist perfectly, hugging every curve without wrinkling anywhere. Her hair is parted close to the right side of her head and falls about her shoulders in soft golden curls that bounce as she walks easily in stilettos.

On top of it all, she chose a red lipstick that managed to change my mind about disliking a color I usually find overdone when applied to a woman’s lips. Everything about her is perfect. This is unfair.

Screens. Job. Catastrophe. I have work to do, and I need to get started, but I don’t manage to rouse myself from this starstruck stupor until Taylor has tapped out around the bar, into the staff rooms, and out of sight.

Once I do get my mind back on track, it’s easier to keep it there than I expect. The two screens, as Cullen told me, are definitely not working. When I walked into this room, I was entertaining the hope that there might be a quick, obvious solution. There isn’t.

What’s getting me is that two out of five screens aren’t working. If one screen wasn’t working, I would be inclined to think the screen itself had a fault. If none of the screens were working, I would know for sure it was an electrical issue. But, only two out of five screens are working. What the hell?

I start as I always do—by checking the simplest possible and the most likely fixes. My investigation turns up nothing, and finally, a rumbling stomach forces me to abandon my efforts for the moment. It’s well past lunch time, and most of the renovators have finished and returned to work. Retrieving my lunch wrap and bottle of water from the back room refrigerator where we are allowed to keep food, I walk out of the rooms and toward the round tables, intending to sit there.

My feet change course and make for the bar instead when I spot Taylor sitting there, chin on her hand as she gazes at a laptop.

I sit beside her and set my lunch on the bar. “Hi, Taylor.” Wow, that’s awkward. Just ‘hi.’ Can’t I think of anything more original?

Taylor doesn’t seem bothered by my choice. She sits up straighter and smiles, glancing at me before scrolling down a page on the document she’s perusing. “Hey, Brandon. How’s work going today? I know about the screen room.”

“I’ve ruled out a few things that could have been wrong, but I don’t know what’s wrong yet.” I really want a mental break from the irritating screens, so I comment, “That looks… fun.” I realize the document is a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet.

“I think it is. Well, maybe fun isn’t the right word. It’s interesting.” Taylor scrolls a little more. “Isabel asked me to look over these spreadsheets for the club and copy them over to a new Excel document. It’s a lot harder than just copy-paste. Formatting is a bi—well, formatting is complicated.”

I begin eating to resist the urge to just stare constantly at Taylor. “So, are you from Vegas? Got family around here?”

Taylor hesitates for a moment. “No family, just my roommate Gemma. What about you?”

She seems a lot more interested in my answer to the question than her own. “None, except for Rick. He’s my cousin.” Now that the matter has been turned back on me, I can feel the tension centered around the topic. Maybe the family isn’t a good subject to bring up, and I also notice that she didn’t answer my first question.

“Well, we’re adults, right? We’ve gotta live our lives.”

Those words are more real for me than she realizes, but I decide to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “So, what are you planning to do with accounting? Do you have a particular job in mind?”

“For now, I owe Cullen for—just about everything, I guess. I’m not really an accountant yet. Cullen only hired me for this job under the condition that I finish getting my online degree.”

I look up from my wrap, surprised. “You’re working a full-time job and getting a degree?”

“Sure.” She doesn’t sound impressed with herself. “It’s better than working nights like I was. I owe Cullen a lot.”

“We both do,” I agree. Cullen didn’t have to offer me this job. He’d only done it because I was Rick’s cousin and Rick had recommended me. There are many more well-known, better-reviewed electrical contractors than me in Vegas.

And the only way I’m ever going to compare to those contractors is if I can fix this problem with the screens. I wolf down the rest of my wrap and stand up. “Well, I’ll see you around, Taylor. You’re working, and I should be too.” The stress and unsurety of the day have returned, but I still manage to give her a full smile.

“I hope you figure it out. Really,” she added, turning away from the laptop to give me her full attention and fill the words with earnestness.

I thank her, return what’s left of the water bottle to the fridge, and head back to work. The conversation and lunch break revitalized me, and I throw myself back into my investigation with a vengeance.

If Taylor can work a full-time job and get an online degree, I can definitely figure out this little problem. My determination persists for a few hours before it begins, slowly but surely, to dwindle into frustration. “Two screens. Two screens don’t work. It has to be electrical.”

But the problem isn’t electrical, at least, not as far as I can ascertain. I have more checks to make, but I’m losing hope that I’ll be able to find the issue.

“Any luck?” Rick’s voice calls out.

I shove my multimeter back into my belt and turn around, shaking my head. “I’ve checked most of the obvious solutions and some of the less likely ones, and none of them worked. I’m about to call the original contractors and see if I can get someone in here tomorrow.”

“Got it. Let me know how it goes.” Rick walks away, looking grave.

Luckily, when I place a call to the original contractors on the way home, a polite, feminine voice picks up and informs me that someone from the original crew will come to House of Stars around 4:00 PM. That time, of course, is near the end of the day, which means I’ll have to spend most of tomorrow struggling fruitlessly when a simple chat might clear it up later in the day.

As I pull into the parking garage of my apartment building, I realize that I have one more regret. I didn’t get to see Taylor’s beautiful face on the way out of House of Stars.

I don’t see her the next morning when I walk in, either, and I quickly realize that I was right last night. A new workday doesn’t dawn with any new insights on the stubborn screen room with its two unoperational screens, and I growl with frustration more than once in my efforts. All I can hope is that the other contractor can clear this up later.

When the man shows up promptly at four, he shakes my hand with a big, cheerful smile that makes me grit my teeth. “Gulshan,” he introduces himself, his accent as distinctly Indian as his features. “This place is coming along nicely,” he comments, glancing around the club.

“Except the screen room,” I agree, trying to keep my voice polite.

“Two screens stopped working, three still work,” he mused. “Let’s take a look, and I’ll walk you through the installation.”

I know—I really do—that he means the installation job his company did. But, all I can hear is a tone in his voice, imaginary or not, that’s smug about walking me through the installation process in general, like I would never know how to do that.

“Sure,” I say instead, leading the way so he won’t see my sour expression.

Gulshan’s insight into the original job and our combined electrical knowledge come up short for almost two hours, then—

“Wait,” I say slowly, tracing a line on a plan Gulshan is showing me. “If we’ve already checked these here, then what if….”

Gulshan sees what I’m seeing, and in his typical, excited manner leads the way to test our—my—theory.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gulshan says jovially after the two screens finally flare to life, lit with the same picture of a peaceful forest as the other three. “Good thinking there. Don’t know if I would have caught that myself.”

The man’s admission and the sheer relief of success make me immediately regret the coarse attitude I adopted with him earlier. “Thank you,” I say, and this time the words are genuine as I hold out my hand.

“No problem.” We shake, and Gulshan gathers his tools and leaves the room.

I still have some small things to do to finish up for the day, but I put myself to work with a good will this time. Glancing at my watch as I return my tools to my belt, I realize that it’s late enough that most of the staff has probably headed out by now.

As I exit the room and make my way past the bar toward the parking garage doors, I stop short when I see that Taylor is still here, talking to one of the owners and the senior accountant, Isabel.

My success with the screens has left me elated and relieved, but I still feel the stress of the importance of this job tugging at the back of my mind. Watching Taylor absorbed in conversation, all I want to do is talk to her too, listen to her wry comments and sarcastic remarks, and feel the delight of her very presence drain away today’s complications.

By the time she finishes her conversation, I’ve managed to talk myself into what I intend to do next. After all, I just want to talk to her. She’s a fascinating woman, and I have some excess energy because I haven’t had time to visit the gym in a few days. A simple request could hurt neither her nor me, so I’m going to ask—

“Taylor,” I call, jogging a few steps after her as she begins to tap away. She turns questioningly. “Would you like to go out for drinks? I got those screens fixed, so I’m in a celebratory mood,” I explain, not wanting her to read too far into this and ask questions I might not know how to answer, even for myself.

“Oh, I—” Taylor bites her lip in a gesture of hesitancy that makes me reevaluate giving in to this much temptation.

I harden my resolve. “I’m buying,” I add to the offer.

“Sure,” she decides with a shy smile. “As long as you’re driving too.” I nod, thrilled that she accepted. “Then let me just text Gemma and tell her I don’t need a ride.”

I’ve never seen or even imagined ‘shy’ on this girl’s face. It’s adorable.

Drinks, I remind myself. Just drinks. What’s the harm in a simple chat over drinks?