“He did not,” Kenneth said.

“Yes! He did!” I said as laughter poured from my lips. “He stood right up there and used our entire class period to tell us what he would’ve done if he was flipping the company. And it was insane stuff, Kenneth. Like, painting-the-walls-in-shimmering-colors kind of insane.”

“I bet a nice glittering pink would’ve looked wonderful on Lively Beings walls,” he said with a grin.

“Can you imagine? A company that specialized in calm, muscle-soothing massages having some bright pink color on their walls?”

My head fell back with my laughter as Kenneth and I continued to talk. I was three glasses of wine in and I felt myself growing a little too comfortable. We’d blown past the topic of Instatech, but I couldn't bring myself to wrap things up with him. I enjoyed his company. His conversation. His presence. The way he phrased things and the way he explained things was better than any educator I’d had during my stint in college.

I wanted to keep talking with him.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Kenneth asked.

“Oh yes. Four plates of shared appetizers is quite enough for me,” I said.

“Care for another drink?”

I looked down at my wine glass and felt my head swim a bit.

“While I’d like to, I better not. We do have those meetings tomorrow and I don’t think it would look very good on you to have a hungover employee at your side.”

“I’ve got plenty of hangover cures that would help,” he said.

I could’ve sworn I saw a twinkle in his eye, but I shrugged it off. I was teetering a dangerous line and I needed to remove myself from the dinner we’d enjoyed. Or the meeting. The dinner meeting? I didn’t really know what this was, but I was enjoying it.

Way too much.

I stood to my feet and a waitress came over with a receipt. She handed it to Kenneth and he tucked it away in his coat, then he ushered me out of the lounge. We walked to the elevator and I could feel his body heat radiating against me. His hands were clasped in front of him as we stood at the elevator, and I side-glanced him as the doors opened.

“When did you pay the bill?” I asked.

“It’s automatically billed to the room.”

“Ask a dumb question, receive a dumb answer.”

“No question you could ever ask would be dumb,” he said.

“Want to try me?”

“That may or may not have been a dumb question. Good job.”

I giggled as we walked into the elevator and I reached to press the number for my floor. I was painfully aware of how close Kenneth was standing to me. We had the entire elevator, yet we were bumping elbows. I drew in a deep breath and tried to keep my wits about me. Tried to ignore the electricity sliding up my spine. I counted the floors, waiting for that moment the doors would spring open and I could be free of the thickening tension between us.

“Tiffany?”

“Yes?” I asked.

I looked up into his eyes and watched them spark. Darken. Narrow ever so slightly. I held my breath, turning my entire body to him. I was magnetized. Entranced. I could smell the whiskey on his breath. I wanted to taste it on his lips. Wrap his suit in my fists and-

The elevator doors whooshed open and I wasted no time in peeling myself away from my boss. It was the alcohol. It had to be. There was no other explanation. He escorted me to my room and I slid my key in, opening the door with my hip.

“Thank you for accompanying me tonight,” Kenneth said.

“Thank you for inviting me. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Our eyes connected and I watched his face lower to mine. I felt his breath against my skin. Watched his eyes close as my lips reached for his. But at the last second, I closed my lips and pecked him lightly. His eyes whipped open and I grinned at him, then winked before I slipped into my room. I could tell he was disappointed. His shoulders relaxing and his body pausing, like he couldn't believe I’d dodged him like that.

I shut the door before I could get into anymore trouble and leaned against it heavily.

Mother. I needed to check on my mother. That would get my mind off the wonderful evening I’d had with my boss. I walked over to the couch and grabbed it off the coffee table, then opened it up. I had an email from Paige updating me on my mother’s condition. She seemed okay. Threatened to shoot Paige at first, which wasn’t shocking. My mother had no idea how to shoot a gun, but she wasn’t afraid to act like she did. Her back was feeling better, but apparently Mom was being stubborn about taking her medication.

I’d have to shoot her an email about that.

I opened up a new document and began typing up the formal minutes of both meetings so I could send them to Kenneth. I bounced between typing them up and sending off emails. I shot one to Paige. One to my mother. I sent a couple to myself, reminding me of things that needed to get done once we got back. I saved them in a special folder so I could easily access them later, then I flipped back to my document.

But my father suddenly popped into my mind.

I lost myself in the endless internet searches. His obituary. Random pictures of him I’d posted on my social media accounts. Countless condolences left in various parts of the internet that were searchable with the right keywords. I even came across a couple of local articles that wrote on my father’s firing from Instatech. The harassment scandals that plagued him and his inability to contest the false accusations.

Tears welled in my eyes as an email came in from Paige.

I missed my father more than I could stand. And the way he died… it shook me to my core. If my father was a sexual harasser-- a predator in the form of a janitor-- I had no idea how that would make me feel. If I continued my quest for knowledge and answers, there was the slightest chance I wouldn’t like what I found. Every daughter wanted to believe the best of their father. Hell, Paige was living proof of that. Always looking to her father for answers and guidance despite the fact that she was conceived because of her father’s bone-headed move to step out of his marriage.

Fathers weren’t perfect.

Was it possible my father had harassed those women? Rationale told me ‘yes’, but the rest of me said ‘no’. I knew my father. I knew the kind of things he was capable of. He had his faults. He wasn’t perfect. But he had morals. An ethical code he lived by. He taught me how to defend myself. How to be strong and independent. How to rely on no one else but myself for anything, and that included money.

No. I knew my father. There was no way he was the kind of man these articles painted him to be.

I opened the email from Paige and read it. She hoped I was having fun and kept telling me not to worry about my mother. She said people always came around to her, and that her mother would as well. She planned on stopping by in the morning to take her breakfast before work, and I made a mental note to get Paige something nice when I got back. A gift basket or a gift card or something.

I shot her one last email back, then finished typing up the minutes for the meeting.

I saved them on my computer, then resolved to sending them later. I needed a shower. Wanted one, really. The conversation with Kenneth over dinner got me a little farther in my research, but not much. All he did was confirm that he did help his friend with his company like I’d found in one of the articles. But then when I mentioned the possible firing of Mr. Lochter, he gave yet another answer that wasn’t fitting to the persona I was trying to cram him into.

And something about that didn’t sit right with me.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to figure out whether or not Kenneth had any say-so in what happened to my father. Any hand in firing him before Human Resources could do their job. I groaned as I walked towards the bathroom, shedding my clothes with every step I took. Why couldn’t my mother have simply told me? Saved us all the heartache? If she told me Kenneth had been a part of Instatech during the time of my father’s ‘issues’, I would’ve never done the interview. Never taken the position.

Why the vague warning of him?

Maybe she was warning me of something else?

Was it possible my mother had no idea of this either?

My head hurt. The alcohol was beginning to blur the lines between rationale and paranoia. I turned on the hot water and stepped into the stream, trying to work some of the alcohol through my system quicker. I closed my eyes and felt my makeup drip down my cheeks. Pour down my neck. Rush down my stomach. My head fell back and I slid my hands through my hair, melting the first day of meetings away.

I had an early morning the next day. Which meant I needed to get to bed.

Maybe a good night’s rest would help set my mind back on track.

And stop me from picking apart every single thing around me.