Dinner had been a very good idea. It was cathartic to sit in a little Italian restaurant right around the corner from their building and enjoy good wine and even better mushroom ravioli while Daphne and her friends let the day’s worries melt away.

“I heard he started screaming at Mr. Aberathy,” Ruth said in a stage whisper across the table.

Phyllis picked up her wine glass and took a long swig. “I just can’t believe it took that poor man this long to fire the crazy bastard!”

Frieda from accounting reached over and grabbed Daphne’s forearm. “You should have heard that poor girl Justin dumped last week sobbing in the bathroom. He called her family and told them that she had a drug problem.”

“He didn’t!” Phyllis gasped in horror. She poured Frieda another glass of wine. Then she gestured to some of the other account reps that had offices in the same hallway where Daphne’s was located. “Did any of you hear the ruckus the other morning? That boy came up and started beating poor Daphne’s desk with a bouquet of flowers! I could hear his tantrum all the way down the hallway.”

One thing that Daphne had learned over the years was that Phyllis and her counterpart Ruth happened to love drama. They absolutely enjoyed a good story. They liked to spread it, savor it, and then drop it unexpectedly on anyone who might or might not be interested.

“I heard him.” A young woman that Daphne did not know very well had taken a spot at the opposite end of the table. She had brunette hair pulled back into a severe bun, and her green eyes were cool. “I’ve also heard the rumors he’s spread about Ms. Evans.” The young woman nodded to Daphne. “The man is a snake. I think Mr. Abernathy did us all a good turn to get rid of him.”

“I’m sorry,” Daphne said in what she hoped was a warm voice. “I can’t remember your name.”

“I’m Carolina.” She nodded to Daphne. “I’m picking up a lot of the clients that you used to work with before Mr. Abernathy moved you up to the next tier.”

“Oh. Right. Well, thank you for your support.” Daphne felt strangely uncomfortable with Carolina.

It was sort of odd to be sitting here with multiple people that Daphne did not know very well who happened to have a lot more information about Daphne’s personal life than she was comfortable with. She liked the atmosphere. The warmth of the restaurant was welcoming. The darkness outside was inky and black with deep clouds overhead and rain drops spattering the front widows of the restaurant. The laughter was comforting. It was also comforting to be with people who knew that she wasn’t the crazy one. Perhaps what she could not quite feel good about was knowing that Carolina would no doubt judge Daphne not only on what she had seen of her work with those other clients but also from a combination of personal experience spiced with the rumors that Justin had spread.

The business at the Abernathy Firm had always been split up into tiers. The lower tier clients were handed over to newbies to the public relations business or those who had only just started with the firm. They were generally easier clients with solid reputations who just wanted a plan to keep track of public opinion since the constant media exposure could sway things in a millisecond. Those were the easy jobs. And sometimes Daphne missed that regular feeling of coming to work and knowing that she was going to be surfing the web all day long searching for negative comments about her clients.

In direct contrast was the idea of working with something like the Hernandez Land & Cattle Company where half the members of the company had a serious drinking problem and the other half were considered to be rich entitled jerks with a trail of failed relationships that made them easy targets for negative press.

“Do you like the job?” Daphne suddenly asked Carolina. “I sometimes wish I could go back to that.”

“It’s good.” Carolina seemed surprised. “You kept up with things really well. Mr. Abernathy always raves about you. In fact, some of the other people in the department make jokes about cloning you just to keep the old man happy.”

“Oh, I hope not.” Daphne drew back in surprise. She picked at her ravioli and took a bite. The wonderful spice of the cream sauce made her smile. “I don’t want you guys thinking I’m something special. You just do your job every day and you’re easily as good as I am.”

“Not according to Abernathy.” Carolina’s voice took on an edge that made Daphne uneasy. “He talks about you all the time. You’re definitely his favorite. That’s why he promoted you so much more quickly than other people in the department.”

Beside Daphne, Phyllis sniffed in irritation. “That’s because our Daphne works harder than anyone else. The poor woman has sacrificed her personal life for the company, if you ask me.”

“I think Justin did that for her,” Carolina quipped.

There was a round of agreement at the table, and Daphne suddenly felt like she wanted to go hide in the bathroom. She kept eating steadily because there was nothing else to do. Then, after a few minutes, she spotted a waiter heading their direction with a very expensive bottle of champagne on a tray.

“Ladies,” the man said with gusto. “This is a gift from a gentleman who doesn’t wish to be named.”

“Then send it back,” Daphne said quickly.

“Hey!” Frieda protested. “Don’t speak for all of us! I want some champagne!”

Daphne gazed up at the waiter. He was looking uncertain. Most of the other ladies had never been through this sort of situation. Daphne had. Many times, in fact. She pursed her lips and looked up at the waiter. “Did the man happen to be about five foot eight with thinning brown hair, a bad comb-over, a mousy expression, and glasses?”

“Uh.” The guy’s brows drew together. “Yeah.”

“Was the name on the credit card Justin?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t want it.” Daphne shook her head. “Send it back. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The waiter looked uncomfortable. “Lady, he was pretty insistent.”

“That’s because he’s a stalker.” Daphne’s heart was starting to pound. Her palms were sweating, and she had that horrible feeling that she could not and would not ever be safe no matter what she tried to do or where she tried to go. “Send it back. And if you don’t mind, could you make a copy of the credit card receipt so I can give it to the police?”

“Police?” Now the waiter looked positively green with horror. “You’re calling the cops? Lady, he just tried to send you a bottle of champagne!”

Around her, Daphne heard the other women whispering to each other. She could have sworn that she heard the word paranoid, but maybe that was just her paranoia talking. It was horrible.

“Young man,” Phyllis said gently. “Just do as she asks. All right? This man has been stalking her for nearly a year. He left her a cardboard box full of gasoline last night. Humor us, please?”

The waiter’s expression turned distinctly curious. That was a familiar switch. Daphne had stopped being so shocked that people found her situation fascinating. They loved to hear stalker stories. If she were smart, she would try to write a book about it. No doubt people would buy the silly thing. Maybe it would help Cisco pay for the private investigator.

Speaking of which.

Daphne pulled out her phone. She sent a quick text off to Met. It felt odd to be begging for his help, but right now, she was at a bit of a loss.

“What are you doing?” Phyllis murmured. “Calling the police?”

“No. I’m trying to get ahold of one of Met’s brothers. He was talking about getting an investigator to look into Justin’s activities. I keep thinking if we start being proactive, maybe the whole thing will get better on its own.”

“Right.” Phyllis looked dubious. “You just better stay here until that waiter says our little friend has left the building.”

Daphne nodded her head, but inside, she felt helpless and angry. She was tired of feeling like a prisoner wherever she went. Why should she let Justin have the upper hand? Why should she be the one cowering in the dining room while Justin hung out in the bar and tried to harass her with alcohol? The thought was preposterous!

Phyllis had her head bent to Ruth. The two of them were whispering a mile a minute about who was supposedly sleeping with whom in the secretaries’ pool. They were debating whether or not the introduction of male secretaries to the staff had made this problem worse or not.

Daphne murmured to Phyllis that she was going to use the ladies’ room. Phyllis waved her hand and nodded, but Frieda had joined the discussion along with two of the other account reps, and now they were all coming up with possible punishments for fraternization.

Standing up from her seat, Daphne ignored the curious stare of Carolina and walked boldly away from the table toward the bathrooms in a rear hallway of the restaurant. The place was located in an older building ,and the warren of dining areas, cut-throughs, and old hallways made it easy for Daphne to work her way around toward the bar area without actually exposing herself.

Servers were dashing back and forth between the dining rooms and the kitchen. The heavy scent of basil, thyme, and other Italian seasonings were punctuated with garlic and onion. The clatter of plates and the low voices of the kitchen staff almost covered the noise coming from a baseball game playing on the television mounted high up on the bar wall.

Daphne leaned around the corner and looked into the bar area. She spotted Justin right away. It wasn’t hard to do. He was the guy sitting absolutely alone in a crowd of people. Almost everyone else sitting at the long bar had moved away from him. His company was not wanted. And that was probably because of the distinctly ugly expression on his face more than anything else.

He looked angry. His brow was furrowed. The corners of his mouth were turned down. And he did not appear to be speaking to anyone anyway. At least not nicely. At one point, Daphne saw him slam his pint glass down on the bar and snap at the bartender to refill his drink. He liked to be waited on. He did not actually like to wait. He traditionally felt that he was too good to have to wait. And anyone who did not agree must be an absolute idiot for not realizing just how special Justin was.

Daphne slipped into the bar. There were enough people at the tables that she felt confident of being lost in the crowd. Couples sat with their heads close together as they whispered to one another. Groups of young men and women howled at the television and yelled advice to the baseball players on screen. And in the tradition of bars, there were a half dozen power drinkers shouting to each other about the game, their jobs, and their crappy relationships as though they could help each other figure it all out.

Taking a seat at a high top, Daphne pulled out her smartphone and began snapping photos of Justin. She ducked down low every single time he turned his head in her direction. He did not see her. She was sure of that. He would not have been able to help himself.

“Ma’am?”

She turned in her seat and ducked very low as she realized the waiter who had attempted to bring her the champagne was standing beside her with a distinctly quizzical look on his face.

“I know,” she whispered. “I told you that he is the stalker.”

He didn’t say anything. Probably because he didn’t need to.

Daphne sighed. “You know that the cops can’t do anything about stalkers. They can’t even do anything when someone leaves a fireball on your porch. Not unless you’re really hurt and you have some kind of physical proof.”

“I know it’s bad.” The waiter moved his body to block any potential view that Justin might have of her table. “So, what are you doing?”

“Is that the guy?” she asked him. “Just tell me. Please? That man got fired from my company earlier today for harassment. He’s been aggressive toward me for months. I’m actually working with a private investigator to try and get information about him so I can make all of this stop.”

The waiter pressed his lips into a tight line. He looked as though he were trying very hard to decide whether or not to say something in particular. Finally, Daphne reached out and gently took his forearm. She gave it a light squeeze but did not say anything else. Was it possible to convey with one look that she really, really needed someone’s help?

“Look,” he said finally. “My name is Frank. I’m on shift here practically every single night. Just have your private investigator come and talk to me. All right? That will be better.”

“Okay. I’ll do that.” Daphne felt a sense of hope. Then her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she realized that it was Met. “Actually, I think he might be headed over here soon.”

“That works too.” Frank half turned his head, and she realized that he was attempting to see what was going on back over at Justin’s end of the bar. “You should go back to your friends. Right now. And don’t come back here. I know this place is close to your office. But I would say that we are his hunting and stomping grounds, if you know what I mean.”

Any response Daphne might have made was choked off as she realized that she and her friends had stepped right into a trap without even realizing it. Justin had probably been thrilled. What rotten luck!

“Thank you.”

Daphne slipped off her stool and headed back through the maze of hallways and dining rooms. She passed the kitchen once again, and by the time she got to the room where her friends were still eating and laughing together, Met was occupying her chair.

He was talking to Phyllis and Ruth and looked every inch the charming devil-may-care cowboy. His smile was warm. His clothing was casual. And Daphne wanted to kiss him, kill him, and ask him what the hell he was doing.

I asked for help. I suppose I just didn’t understand what that would look like.