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I MARCH ACROSS THE street and push the doors of the radio station open as hard as I can, swinging them wide and causing them to bang on the decorative planters in the lobby. There’s your bang for your buck, jerk!

I swear. Millennial men are too self-serving. Is it too much to ask to speak to me civilly and intelligently? I’m a college-educated woman. I know my job and what’s fair in it. I have my marketing degree from Florida State. Hell, I’ve been Employee of the Month five times in the three years I’ve been here. Take that and shove it in your pie-hole, Mr. Hotty CFO.

Humph. Mr. Hotty CFO needs to learn some manners. I bet he thinks that tall lean body and those muscular biceps were going to make my panties melt. Or those hazel eyes. Good Lord, those hazel eyes. Okay, under different circumstances, my panties would have charred and fell off, but not now. He’s a jerk of the biggest proportion.

I sit down and move the mouse to wake up my laptop. Now where did I file his promotions contract? Is it under my folders or Kimberly’s? She made the initial contact, but I prepared the proposal from her notes after she suddenly went on maternity leave. Then I didn’t get to present it to him either. I had to race home and take care of my little brother when Mom had her emergency appendectomy. I’m pretty sure Noah walked it over for me to obtain the necessary signature.

Crap. He’s had three different representatives in six weeks. That’s not good, nor professional on our part. Being a new client, he deserves our best attention. I should have introduced myself before I left, and went over everything with him; therefore, assuring myself it was correct. 

I pull out the initial contact meeting notes and see that the answers to some of our most basic questions are half completed. Why did I not question this? The bottom of the contract is also signed by Mateo Solis. Well, it’s signed at least, but not by the person that brokered the contract so that’s not right either. This whole deal is messed up. Everyone made mistakes, and I lashed out at him like it was his fault. Crap! Lesson learned— I owe him an apology.

I shuffle the papers together and attempt to put them back into the folder, but his business card is stapled to the meeting notes and is weighing the corner down. It flops around heavily, being a pain-in-the-ass like its owner. I gently pry the staple out of it, removing the card from the rest of the contents and place everything back into the folder smoothly.

My thumb traces over the sparkle on the “glass” stripper. His name, email, and cell number are listed so professionally. Nice card...too bad their CFO is a jerk. Maybe I can apologize via email. I know that’s not professional, but I really don’t want to see his smug face again so soon.

My email dings with a reminder that I have a meeting to get to. I can talk to the group about this then. We’ve got to stop making these little mistakes, as Dante Solis so kindly pointed out— they are keeping us at number twelve in our market and that affects our bonuses and raises.

***

“IS THERE ANY OTHER business to discuss?” my boss, Robert, asks.

“Yes, I would just like to point out that we need to constantly double-check our work, especially our contracts, and the work of our colleagues if we expect to climb out of our number twelve market share and move into the top ten,” I state clearly looking around the room. Everyone is looking at me with blank stares on their faces like I just spoke Swahili.

“Would you care to elaborate further on this issue, Ava?” Robert asks.

“Not particularly with specifics in group because it doesn’t involve everyone, but I would like to discuss it further with you at another time,” I respond. “I have a very big problem on my hands due to lack of due diligence.”

“Okay. We can do that,” he finishes addressing me and turns his attention back to the group. “To add to Ava’s remarks, yes, we must always strive for consistency. We must ensure that we are dotting our -I’s and crossing our -T’s with every contract. They are legally binding, and we can’t afford to give money away. Please have someone else read over your contracts even if you think they’re perfect. As a gentle reminder, perfection is an illusion. That’s all. Thanks for coming.”

I power down my laptop and gather my coffee cup, since my day is officially over. My tub is calling and I just might treat myself to a pedicure tonight— one of the perks of coming in early...getting to leave early. It’s been a long, hard day already. I exit the conference room and see that Robert is waiting for me.

“Ava, I’ve got a quick minute or two. Do you want to discuss your problem now?” he asks. That’s Robert, always open for business. He’s a great manager and mentor, teaching me to tackle my problems head on.

“Um, yeah. Sure. If you want to meet now,” I explain, trying not to show my disappointment for staying later.

“Okay. Let’s go into my office then,” he says, leading the way. We pass his admin, Charlotte, and she throws me a small wave while typing. She always makes me feel welcome.

“Oh, Robert, I don’t even know where to start with this issue,” I complain as soon as the door shuts. “It’s a long one with many moving parts.”

“Well, you know my rule. If you can’t say it in three sentences, you need to simplify it in your mind,” he reminds me.

“Hmmmm, let’s see,” I pace the floor in his office, too anxious to sit down. He watches and waits with the patience of a saint. ”Okay,” I say, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. “I took over The Glass Stripper contract from Kimberly as part of her maternity leave duties. She didn’t fully complete their initial questionnaire, and I typed it up thinking it was complete. Now I find out that we failed miserably on social media and other aspects when I met with them today - they are not happy with us!”

Whew. I sit down in a visitor chair, completely winded by my explosion of words that I just threw at him. He’s stoic and silent, but that’s a good thing. I know he’s rolling it around in his magnificent brain and will suggest a solution any moment now. He’s got his index finger over his mouth and it’s tapping his lip— that’s a good sign.

“You know, let’s table this one until the morning. It’s getting late for you...it’s almost 3:30, practically bedtime already. Go get your dinner next door, stretch out with a nice bottle of wine, and forget about this until then. But bring me your files, and we’ll hash out a solution tomorrow,” he calmly suggests, but he’s smiling. That’s still a good sign. I guess he can tell I’ve had a bad day and I’m stressed out. I must look awful.

Oh, thank God. “Thank you, Robert,” I stand up to leave and open the door, but he calls my name.

“Ava...just give the files to Charlotte. I’ve got a conference call,” he says. I nod my head and scurry out, because he’s already picking up the phone.

I return to my office and grab the files that were already on my desk, throw my laptop and phone into my purse, and head back towards Robert’s office. Charlotte isn’t around, maybe she left already, so I set them in her chair and pop a sticky note on top jotting down a quick note that says ‘As requested by Robert. Thanks, Ava’.

I enter the Pizzarium Downtown for my usual Thursday night dinner, snickering a little at how everyone knows my schedule— even my boss. The waitress seats me in my usual booth and takes my drink order. Robert is right; I should unwind from a stressful week. After all, tomorrow is Friday and it’ll only set the mood for a great weekend. I order a glass of my favorite Lambrusco Salamino semisecco. Holly, my regular waitress, brings me a very large pouring of wine, enough to make my eyes widen when she sets it down, and I smile. So now I know...I must look like I had a hard day. This will definitely make it better.

She takes my order, and I sit back in my seat, taking a hefty gulp of my wine. It bubbles slightly, tickling my nose, and I let the cool sweetness trickle down the back of my throat, sighing after it goes down. Perfect. It’s light and refreshing with just a little bit of sweetness.

I love this new, growing neighborhood, especially because I live one block from work. I moved into a new condo complex that’s part of a new building project sponsored by the city to bring young, hip millenials downtown. The interest rate on my mortgage is phenomenal, and I’m building excellent credit with my just-right-for-me payments.

The neighborhood is rising. The new market opened up a few months back, and they’ll even schedule food deliveries. It’s kind of cool. I look around the Pizzarium and see many of the same local faces, and give a slight wave to a couple that I recognize.

I pull out my Kindle and immediately start into this new book This Is Why by one of my favorite authors, Abby Brooks. She’s really hit her stride with this story, and I can’t put it down. Before I know it, my food is delivered and another glass of wine is being set down. I nibble, bite, and drink absentmindedly all the way through to Chapter 8. Wow, this book is so good, I don’t even remember chewing. Holly stops by and inquires about dessert which I always decline, but she never gives up hope. I opt for another glass of wine instead, because the book is getting nice and hot.

There’s a steamy chemistry between the hero and heroine. I stop to pat my cheeks a few times, feeling a slightly heated blush creep into them from the sexy scene I just read. I take a few sips of wine to cool down the heat rising in me. Why can’t real men walking this planet be this sexy? A few people are looking in my direction, so I pull out my mirror in my purse. My face is flushed a deep crimson red. Oh my goodness. I guess the book is getting to me a little more than I thought. It’s probably time to go.

I swallow the remainder of my wine, scoop up my bill and leave a nice tip for the big glasses of wine, then head towards the front cashier. Not watching where I’m going still lost in the scenes of the book, I bump into the potted Palm tree that sits in the waiting area. Everyone waiting at the cashier looks in my direction with the rather loud gasp of air that I released. Ducking my head in embarrassment, I scurry to the back of the line, and wait my turn. 

I feel the entrance doors behind me open, and I step slightly forward giving the new patron a chance to fully enter. It’s a man because he smells divine. I fight the urge to turn around and smile, so instead I inhale deeply wanting to completely take in his cologne. Between it and the book, I’m seriously turned on. I wasn’t planning on spending an evening with B.O.B. but it looks like I just might take him out. My panties are soaked.

It’s finally my turn and I step forward, seeing it’s Miguel and give him my best smile. “Hi Miguel, how are you?” I ask. He’s always so lovely to me when I order takeout.

“Miss Ava, I am well. Thank you. Did you enjoy your meal?” he asks politely as he enters in the charges from the bill. “Wait, I think there’s been a mistake. Did you have three glasses of wine?” he inquires.

“Yes, Sir, I did. I was enjoying my new book and got lost in it,” I affirm.

“Are you okay to walk home by yourself? I worry about you alone in the neighborhood,” he admits.

“I am fine, Miguel...maybe just a little tipsy, but you’re sweet to worry,” I say. “I’m just down the block. I will be fine.” I hand him a twenty dollar bill and advise him to keep the change for himself.

I turn around a little too quickly and a bit unsteady, bumping directly into the broad chest of Mr. Cologne. Massive arms reach out and steady me, practically embracing me. “Oh my! I’m so sorry. I didn’t think we were that close in line. My apologies,” I say, and look up into the eyes of Mr. Hotty CFO. “Oh, Mr. Solis.”