I’ve been in some depressing office buildings and even worked in a few back before I got my own software company up and running, but the offices used by the Abutilon Telemarketing Services take the cake as being the most depressing I’ve ever encountered. I’m not sure it would be much of a stretch to say that they’re one of the most boring places in the world.

It’s like all the color, all the joy, has been sucked right out of the place, leaving behind a few rows of tiny, boring cubicles where joyless people work.

I can’t for the life of me understand how Ella ended up in a place like this.

The manager, Jerry Paoletti, is doing nothing to improve the situation. He greeted me as soon as I stepped out of the elevator and handed me a pile of papers that turned out to be various business records.

Working in the computer industry, I’ve encountered lots of guys like him, irritating guys who think they’re important because they’ve been put in a position of minor responsibility. I mean, seriously, the guy is just a manager in a small telecommunications satellite office.

From what I can tell, the manager position simply means that he feels he’s justified in making sure those poor people who have to run the phones are actually making phone calls and not simply sitting around collecting a paycheck. Based on the paperwork he’s showing me, someone else, someone more qualified, handles everything else from a home office.

He’s one of those guys that always makes you wonder just how they managed to become a manager in the first place. Back in college, when I worked at a computer store and for the few years after when I worked in B-grade IT departments, I never liked guys like Jerry.

Turns out I still don’t.

Jerry points at the profit and loss record in my hands. “As you can see, the company is very profitable – and we’re one of the more successful branches.”

The company made money, yeah, but looking at the figures, I wouldn’t call it very profitable. More like toeing the line between red and black.

I turn to another page, which contains a hand-written list of names. One name, Eleanor Collins, jumps out at me. It’s reasonable to assume that Ella is short for Eleanor. Right?

“What’s this?”

Jerry looks down his nose at the list and the faintest hint of redness tinges his face. “Oh that’s, er, it’s a list I put together of people who I feel should be considered as an assistant manager.”

Uh huh. Each name on the list is a woman’s, so I can’t help wondering if maybe the list has less to do with their prospective management skills and more to do with how attractive Jerry finds them.

“Interesting.” A glimmer of an idea tickles my brain. Since she left me standing on the sidewalk, I’ve been trying to figure out how to get Ella alone, to convince her to talk to me. “I’d like to meet with some of these people. It might help me get a feel for the company, decide if it’s a sound investment opportunity or if I should look elsewhere. Are they working right now?”

Jerry doesn’t look happy. Probably because if my little theory is right, the women on list won’t have many pleasant things to say about him. Eventually, he nods. “I suppose that’ll be okay. Though they’re not all here, and the ones who are here are supposed to be working the phones right now.”

“Oh, I doubt your bosses will mind if I pull one of them away from the phones for a little while, not if it helps me decide if I want to invest in this company.” I clap a hand to his shoulder, barely able to conceal a little smile on my own deviousness.

I decide to thrust in the knife. “And if you’re worried, you could always take over and make a few calls yourself. Right?”

“I suppose,” Jason says glumly.

“Great.” I run my finger down the piece of paper, seemingly picking a name at random. “How about this one? Eleanor Collins. Is she here today?” My heart beats a little harder as I wait for his response.

“Yeah.” Jerry draws the word out. Clearly, he’s not happy about my choice. Interesting. “Right this way.”

I follow Jerry to a cubicle near the middle of the room. Ella, my Ella, sits at the chair and stares at a computer monitor while she explains into a headset why the person on the other end of the call should consider investing in life insurance, the sooner the better.

“Ella.” Ignoring the fact that she’s hard at work, he taps Ella’s back. “You have a visitor.”

Ella’s head snaps around, her glare pinning itself to Jerry before she notices me. Her eyes widen and her skin pales. In that split second, I realize just how good she is at her job. She misses maybe one beat before picking up the thread of the conversation she’s having with the invisible person on the other end of the line. She pivots in her chair, the gesture designed to show both of us that she won’t deal with us until she’s completed the call.

I use the time to study the cubicle.

There’s not a single thing to indicate that Ella, not the Ella I met seven years ago or the Ella she’s become since then, has anything to do with the small space. She hasn’t put up any pictures, moved a plant in, or even brought her own coffee cup. The only things that belong to Ella, her coat and the laptop bag, hang off the back of her chair.

How the hell has she come to work in a place like this? When we laid together in that empty lifeguard station, she’d been so full of hope about her future. She’d practically glowed while she whispered how she was inches away from receiving her degree, and how because of her aptitude, multiple government agencies were head hunting her. She’d been inches from an exciting – and very profitable – career; all she had to do was complete her degree.

So what the heck happened?

All those years apart, I never had any doubt that she’d make all of her dreams come true. In fact, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve imagined her tucked in the basement of a federal building somewhere, her fingers flying over a computer keyboard while everyone around her panics. In my fantasy, she’s always wearing tight black leather and does whatever it takes to save the day, at which point she calmly packs it all in and comes home to me.

My fantasy doesn’t end with her walking through my front door, oh hell no. That’s just when it gets good.

As soon as she walks through that door, I drop everything I’m working on and hurry over to her. I gather her close, lifting her off her feet and carrying her up the stairs toward our bedroom, while she whispers wicked suggestions in my ear. I lower her to our bed and slowly peel that tight black leather suit she wore to work from her curvy little body. Her arms reach up and…

“Mr. Monroe?” Jerry’s strident voice speaks my name, his tone implying he’s had to say it more than once before it reached my fantasy fevered brain.

I shake my head and meet his eyes. “Sorry, my mind took a bit of a trip there. Yes?”

Jerry gestures down at Ella. Once again, she’s spun her chair around to face me. She’s still pale and in her eyes I see a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

Jerry gestures to her. “This is Ella Collins. One my best employees, hands down.” He reaches out as if to pat her back, but Ella evades his touch with a quick twist and shimmy. Seems I’m not the only one who isn’t impressed by Jerry Paoletti.

I need to… I’m not entirely sure exactly what I need right now, but I do know that it centers on getting Ella out of this place.

“Miss Collins,” I say, careful to keep any hint of familiarity out of my voice.

I shoot her my best smile and extend a hand toward her. She hesitates a moment before putting her own hand in it and giving it a quick, tentative shake. She pulls out of my grasp before I fully have time to appreciate the feel of her skin against mine. “I’m interested in investing in Abutilon Telemarketing Services and was hoping you would give me some insight into the business. Perhaps over coffee.”

I don’t give her time to respond. I grab her laptop case and sling it over my own shoulder before holding her coat open for her. One way or another, I’m going to spend some time with her – and we’re going to figure out what the future has in store for us.