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I LAY ON MY COUCH, feeling groggy and trying to focus in on the clock on the cable box. My eyelids are lead weights. I try to force them open wider, but wince from the pain of my eyelashes ripping through the sleep encrusting them. This is one of the after effects of too much wine at dinner.

Once I entered my living room, I dropped my bag after grabbing my Kindle and fell down on the couch sinking into the depths of Ty and Lexi’s love affair. I couldn’t wait to get back to the story, so much so that I’m having a hard time distinguishing between a wine hangover and a book hangover. They both feel the same at this point.

My fuzzy brain finally brings the clock into focus and I see it’s almost 5:00 am. Time to rise and shine with some fasted cardio. Just because I’m tired doesn’t mean the cardio regimen slips. Cardio every day is my mantra—I promised my mama I wouldn’t slip into bad habits again.

My teenage years were quite destructive with food. Boys didn’t like me and the girls made fun of me. I struggled for years to lose weight and fit in, and when I finally learned to feed my body great nutrition and love exercise the fat poured off me. It’s like they say, ‘Sweat is just fat crying’.

My feet raise high in the air off the couch in a wide stretch to the ceiling, and then thump down on the hardwood floor. I push my body upwards and I’m standing. That feat alone is a giant leap of progress today. I trudge forward into the laundry room and slip into my workout clothes, stopping by the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and brush my teeth. I spot my perfume on the counter and for a brief moment, I’m reminded of Mr. Hotty CFO and his cologne.

That man smelled like sin if you could bottle it up. It took all the self control I possessed not to bury my face in the crook of his neck and inhale him inch by inch. I can smell it now like he’s right here.  The memory of him is still fresh in my brain. Forget him, Ava. He’s a jerk, remember?

I throw my yoga mat over my shoulder and take the stairs up to the roof. God, I love my little piece of Heaven up here— two years coming up here and no one has ever disturbed me. After completing my yoga stretches, I tighten my shoelaces and off I go bounding down the stairs until I reach the bottom floor, only to race up them again to the top—all without resting. I do that three times for a complete cardio workout. Who says you need gym equipment to get physically fit?

My shower calls to me. The rain shower head drenches me, washing away all of the dirt, grime and sweat. I’m a new woman and am ready to conquer this day. Watch out, Dante Solis. I’m coming for you.

Entering my office, I see my voicemail light is on. It’s Robert adding another quick comment to the email that he says he just sent. The message was left at 7:40 pm. That man needs a life. I say a quick prayer that when I’m in my early 40s, my job is not my life.

My laptop powers up, and I immediately go straight for Robert’s email. This situation is my top priority today. After skimming through his email, the gist of the solution he offers is to admit our wrongdoing, flood him with apology and kindness, be extremely professional, and offer him a kick-ass deal of promotions for a year knowing that we’ll slowly try to make up ground when they renew or need special rates on new events. He stresses that we need to keep this account since they are the newest and hottest club in Miami. Proximity is giving us value points, but we would look like idiots for not maintaining this account.

I completely agree with his assessment. A deep groan escapes my throat, as I swallow and prepare to eat crow. Do I send an email? Or call? Should I just show up and ask to see him? If this were me, what would I want? Hmmm. I’d actually want to see someone and be able to read their body language and know that they were sincere with their words and actions. I think I’ll head over right before lunch. Maybe we could go over the proposal questions during a working lunch?

Time drags by as I wait for 11:30 to arrive. I keep watching the clock every few minutes like I’m going to miss it. I’ve gone over my apology presentation a hundred times already, and...there’s a knock on my door. I look up to see one of the interns standing in the doorway holding a hatbox.

“Miss Kimball, this came for you,” they say, setting it down and scurrying away.

Hmmm. It’s not my birthday, or someone’s really early for December. I pull on the white silk rope that hangs from it and drag it across my desk. It’s heavier than I expected, but no noise comes from it. The lid is embossed with the words “For Madame”. Wow, someone’s fancy. I pry the lid off and can’t believe my eyes.

It’s the most beautiful bouquet of flowers I have ever seen. There are pastel roses of all colors in full bloom, tiny teacup roses, a few mums are scattered about, one large star-gazer lily is tucked in the corner, and in between every flower is a sprig of berries or lamb’s ears.

The whole box is beautiful, but I don’t see a card. I look around and in between the tissue paper that lines the box, and finally find a tiny envelope. Opening it up it says, “Nothing is more beautiful than a real smile that has struggled through tears. Hopefully this will make up for the tears I caused by bringing a smile to your beautiful face. ~Dante”.

My first reaction is crap; he knows I was crying when I left. After a few minutes of staring at how pretty the box of flowers is, I can’t help but feel a little soft towards him as I smile like an idiot. At least he made an effort to extend an olive branch. Maybe he regrets how harsh his reaction was. I’m going over there, right now. No more waiting.

I grab my bag and phone and race to the stairs. Wait, slow down Ava. Why are you racing over there? I want to fix this situation and move on. Chaos and stress are not things I want in my life. If I’m truly being honest with myself, I want to see him again. There was just something in the way he looked at me yesterday. It was like he saw me and not some hot piece of ass in a club like the women that he sees all day long. He focused on me and our conversation. It was business without any flirting or favors being exchanged. Yeah...I’m going over there now.

The bar is busy this time of day. There are a few scantily-clad dancers scattered about, but it’s nothing like the evening hours when it gets insane. I ignore it by not looking in their direction. I approach the lady at the entrance podium, who is wearing a manager’s badge without a name. She smiles and asks if she can help me.

“Could you tell me if Mr. Solis is available? Dante Solis, specifically?” I ask.

“Sure, I can see if he’s available. He’s usually not on the floor this early, but I’ll check,” she says politely. “Please take a seat at the bar while you wait. May I tell him your name?”

“Yes, I’m Ava Kimball from WHOT,” I inform her. She leaves me at the bar to go in search of him.

Tito, the bartender from yesterday places water in front of me. “Or would you like something stronger to deal with little bro? A courage booster, if you will?” he asks and winks. What a strange comment.

“No, I’m fine with water. Thank you,” I say, watching him go about his business with the other patrons. He’s efficient and pleasant, but doesn’t approach me again.

“Miss Kimball,” I hear, turning slightly to see the manager approaching. He was not readily available for business, but when I told him your name, he said to tell you he’d be out momentarily. She smiles again politely before going back to her business.

The sights and sounds of the bar area draw my attention back to the dancers as I wait. The one closest to me has hair that varies in shades of purple and gets darker as it spreads to the tips. Her eyes are bright and wide, and what looks to be purple as well from this distance. I could be wrong. She’s dressed in a purple bustier with white satin trimmings with a purple thong to match. Absolutely exquisite is how I’d describe her. I’m mesmerized by the way she dances, owning her body. Why do women degrade themselves with this kind of work? I can’t understand it, so I ignore the thoughts that cause it.

I wish I could pull that look off though. It’s not that I’m not confident about my body. I’ve worked extremely hard to take control of it again, but I honestly can’t imagine anyone wanting to see me dressed like that. Or dance for that matter. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to be sexy or provocative, let alone entice men to want to stuff dollars down my panties. Hers are full of money, and some of it even sticks to her skin without being tucked in. How does that happen?

Heat effuses my back as a hand slides down the center to rest near my hips. I smell him without having to turn around. He bends low over my ear and whispers, “You’re more beautiful than she is.”

“Humph, I doubt that,” I mutter in a low voice, not really meaning for him to hear me.

“I heard that,” he says, the heat of his breath skims my cheek. He sits down next to me and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s all messed up now, sticking up in places that tell me he just woke up. His blue shirt is surprisingly fresh without any wrinkles. The sleeves are rolled up, showcasing his lean, muscular arms. I know how strong they are when they wrap around you. He’s wearing jeans, a change from what I saw yesterday in his business attire. He actually looks to be in his mid 20s today. Yesterday, it was hard to tell his age, especially when he started quoting his statistics.

His eyes are still striking. Today they look grayish-green, but clear all the same. He must have been up late because I can see red streaks running through them, but I guess he’s up late every night in this line of work.

“So, what brings you all the way across the street to me today?” he asks. “The commute must have been awful with the heavy traffic.” He laughs at his own jokes. He’s a funny jerk. Great!

“I came to call a truce. I’d like to take you to lunch to discuss getting our businesses on the same page again. I’d like to maintain the business that we fought for. Surely we can find some common ground to allow that to happen,” I suggest in earnest.

“So, you got in trouble,” he says nonchalantly.

“No, I didn’t get in trouble,” I exclaim. “I just don’t like losing things that are mine. It reflects poorly on my character, and for a young, single woman in the business world, character and reputation is all I have."

“So, you don’t need my business to save your ass?” he asks.

“Wow, you’re a cocky bastard,” I snap. ”Does that usually get you very far in life?” Tension instantly fills up the space between us. Why does he taunt me the way he does? He brings out the competitor in me, and I’ve got a fuel fire of mixed emotions running through me. I pray to God he doesn’t have a match or we’re both going up in flames.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asks, raising his eyebrow and smirking at me with my own words from yesterday. “And my father may not be around, but never doubt that I know who he is.”

I stand suddenly, realizing that I’m not accomplishing what I came here for. It’s worse. I grab the strap of my bag and throw it over my arm spinning out from between the two stools. How did this go so wrong so quickly?

“I’m sorry but I can’t continue this today. I came here to thank you for the flowers and to possibly start over with the best of intentions, but those have all gone to hell. Maybe we both need time away from each other to cool off,” I advise. “We obviously bring out the worst in each other, and that doesn’t bode well for our professional relationship.

He smiles, goading me on. He makes me second guess myself constantly: my actions, thoughts, words and feelings. I don’t like the way he sets me on fire. “If that’s how you feel, then so be it,” he chimes, fiddling with the paper napkin holder.

I take a few steps and hear him call my name. “Ava,” he says, “you’re still beautiful, but you’re stunningly gorgeous when you’re mad.” I turn slightly to look at him. He’s not laughing or teasing, but stoic and serious. Within seconds, a wide smile breaks across his face, and I don’t know if I can believe his words or not. He’s goading me. Again.

“You’re an ass,” I holler back to him over the music playing. More than a few people turn their heads and look. Some of them were close enough to watch the whole ugly mess unfold. I turn and run, dodging past people as quickly as I can. Hot tears burn my cheeks. I bump into a tall man who asks me if I’m okay. It’s the same deep voice that saw me crying yesterday. Oh, great! He’ll run and tell on me again.

I hate tattle-tales!