A clear motive is what I was looking for. In hindsight, I realize it is ridiculous. Often, you can’t assign a reason to irrational acts. Oddly enough, she expected me to feel sorry for her. I didn’t. Serves her right, what happened. Minus the blood. That part I do regret. I hate blood. I hate Houston. I hate that I was sent there. Even one day is too much to spend in that trash receptacle they call a city. And I really don’t like hotels, or sidewalks outside of hotels. Or, for that matter, people.

She was just one among many I happened upon that day, head down, oblivious, in a rush. All of them the same in their incessant hurrying from one place to another, so unoriginal. Like insects scurrying about. Like cockroaches when you turn on the light. Don’t mess with them, Aunt Jeannie told me once, and they won’t mess with you. My aunt was a liar. But not about that. I once kicked an ant pile just to see it scatter. It landed me in the ER. Messy business if they catch ya, she said as I spent hours in an oatmeal bath that had long turned cold. Needless to say, I never tried that again. That’s what I was thinking when she bumped me, her iced coffee splattering my crisp, white shirt.

“Jesus. Look what you’ve done,” I huffed, dabbing at the stain. At least I’d thought to have June pack me another. Always better to be safe than sorry. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but an apology would have been nice. When I looked down, ready to meet eye to eye, that’s when I saw she wasn’t standing at all. All I saw was a heap of long legs, wavy blonde hair, and fair skin. I hate the unexpected.

“What I’ve done?” she quipped. “You’re not the one on the ground.”

“Here,” I offered, extending my hand. My eyes drifted down her legs. Five, maybe six-inch heels. Nude. Not the most practical of shoes for one to wear when they aren’t watching where they are going.

She refused the gesture. Part endearing, part amusing, I reveled in the time—time I didn’t have, I might add— that it took her to rise to her feet.

“Easy peasy,” I said.

She countered my mocking by straightening her back, causing her clear blue eyes to meet mine. They hit me right in the gut. So vibrant, so angry. I bet she’s good in bed. The ones who can hide their anger, the self-contained, normally are. You just have to know how to channel it properly.

“I needed that coffee. Every bit of it. And now look—” Her voice came out smooth, direct, like music you can’t help but turn up.

“Maybe you should consider putting the phone down,” I offered, glancing at my watch. I frowned, realizing I wouldn’t have enough time to run back into the hotel, take the elevator to my floor and make the necessary change. I’d be late, and stained shirt or not, that’s a rule I couldn’t break.

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going.” Her voice was rougher this time. Less melodic. “Maybe you should learn to be a gentleman.”

My eyes met hers. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The words were lodged somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain. Always be a gentleman, my father told me once. They can take a lot from you. But never that.

She didn’t try to fill the silence, she simply smoothed her navy dress. That’s when I noticed the blood.

“You’re bleeding,” I said.

Her eyes followed mine. I expected some of her front to falter. She only shrugged. I stared into her pale eyes, awaiting a response, but her expression was blank. I was disappointed this turned me on as much as it did. I reminded myself that I am a happily married man. She smiled then, reminding me that her face is sweet, but not altogether innocent. A deadly combination, to be sure. My phone buzzed in my pocket. “I have to go.”

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” I detected anger in her voice. The sight of blood paralyzes me. Nothing else has that effect. Certainly not her.

“Sorry,” I shifted. “About your knee.” I remind her she bumped into me.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

I didn’t have time to argue for my limitations. Instead, I adjusted my suit jacket, turned on my heel and practically bolted in the other direction, the annoyance running through my veins propelling me toward the future. I did not come here for distractions, nor did I have time for them. Stained shirt or not, I would sprint to that meeting if I had to. I was going to crush Watson. Get in, get out, my father always said. Make it so quick they don’t know what hit ‘em. Best not to let ‘em see you coming. That, my son, is the art of war.

“If I never run into you again,” she called out, her voice tinged with rage, “it’ll be too soon.”

Unfortunately for her, too soon came later that evening in the hotel bar. Seated at the bar, I spotted her immediately. It was the hair, half done up in waves, her slim shoulders, tanned and inviting in the backless shirt she wore. She wasn’t a novice. Even I could see that.

I had six minutes and thirty seconds before Sam Watson was due to arrive, if he was on time. Thankfully, I knew he would be. I slid onto the empty barstool, leaving two seats between us. The bartender came over and pulled a napkin from the pocket of his vest. “What can I get you?”

“The lady,” I motioned. “Her drink is nearly empty. How about another? Just water for me.”

When the bartender placed the drink in front of her, she looked up from her phone. He nodded in my direction. Her eyes landed on me. “You.”

“I hope this isn’t too soon for you,” I said, toasting her with my water.

Her finger trailed the rim of her glass.

“A peace offering.”

Her eyes met mine. “How presumptuous of you.”

“No,” I told her. “Gentlemanly.”

“Well, at any rate, you owe me.” She twisted on her stool and brought her legs from under the bar. “My knee,” she pointed. “I think you broke it.”

I studied the bandage and then raised my brow. “Looks good as new to me.”

“Yeah, well,” she twisted back. “I guess we see what we want to see.”

“That or we aren’t looking at all,” I said, a subtle reminder who’s at fault.

“Funny.” She took a sip from her glass and then held it in my direction. “Thank you for the drink. But I don’t think we should talk anymore.” She blushed when she said it, and I wondered if the rest of her was as flawless as her face. “I’m meeting someone.”

God, she’s young. “What a coincidence. I am, as well. ”

“Your wife?” I followed her eyes to my left hand.

“No.”

Her face fell. I was expecting the opposite effect. “Oh.”

There was a lull in conversation. I knew better than to fill it.

“What’s it like?” she asked, finally. “Being married.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk anymore…”

She shrugs. “I’ll never see you again…” she said. “So, I just have to know the stranger I met in a bar once upon a time was happy.”

“Can I offer you a little wisdom?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“Most people you’ll meet in bars aren’t happy.”

She laughed. “But you see, I wasn’t asking about most people.” I watched her lips as they met her glass. I felt a pang of something. Jealousy, maybe. She looked up then. “I was asking about you.”

“It’s everything,” I answered. “It’s being as happy as you’ve ever been…”

She cocked her head. I could see she thought I was joking. “Is that even a thing?”

“You tell me.”

She gaped at me. “I wouldn’t know. I’m never getting married.”

“That’s a shame.” I checked my watch. “I guess you’ll never know.”

She looked away. “Are you expecting your mistress?”

“How presumptuous of you.”

Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t like the taste of her words on my lips.

“No,” I told her, finally. “A member of my church.”

She coughed, choking on her martini.

“Well, a potential member, actually.”

“Here…you’re meeting…in a bar?”

“They have tables and chairs.” I motioned around the place. “Ambiance and…very attractive scenery.” I smiled. “What more could a man want?”

Maybe she rolled her eyes. Maybe she bit her lip. I was already too far gone to pinpoint which.

I extended my hand. “I’m Tom.”

She took it in hers. I wondered if she was always so accepting. “Mel.”

“Nice to meet you, Mel,” I said, trying out her name on my lips. Her skin was smooth and warm, her handshake soft. The kind of woman you could break and have fun doing it. The kind of woman I married.

She blushed again. God, she was attractive. Classically beautiful, properly so. Model perfect. A tilt of the head, a glance up and down. Curiosity, everywhere. “What?”

“Nothing.” This time it was me who looked away. I forced myself to take a sip of water. Reminded myself, I’m married. Not dead. What harm could a little banter do? “Short for Melinda?”

“Huh?”

So, beautiful. But not so quick on the uptake. Guess you can’t have it all.

“Your name. Is Mel short for Melinda?”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “No. For Melanie.”

“Hmmm,” I said spotting Sam Watson across the bar. The meeting that morning hadn’t gone as well as I would have liked. Not once I’d presented him with the numbers. This isn’t normally my job. I’m an accountant, not a salesman. I’m here filling in for Adam, our actual sales guy—the one who supposedly has the flu and chose not to suck it up. That left Mark, our leader, with no choice but to send me. I don’t like to disappoint Mark, and that is how I’ve found myself here, both in this town and in this bar, both of which I hate.

Sam Watson is a very close third. He wanted into New Hope, he assured me. He likes the idea of the church, of the exclusivity, the chance to invest his almighty dollars. The tax deduction is also a nice incentive. But he’d countered for a lower percentage of a tithe. A percentage I couldn’t agree to even if I wanted to. In addition, he’d wanted us to waive the membership fee, and that I was for sure unwilling to concede. Which put us at a standstill. Meaning our second meeting had to work in my favor.

Melanie glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.”

Suddenly, I had an idea. Suddenly, I was glad for her appearance. I needed The Watsons on our books. They would be very good for business, and also, I was determined to win. I knew there would be hell to pay if I let Mark down.

“Sam,” I called, motioning him over.

“Join us,” I said to her.

She sat up a little straighter. “I can’t.”

My eyes locked on hers. “Sure you can.”

For a second, she looked taken aback. But then, she downed her drink and offered a shrug. I took that as a yes.

“Tom,” Sam quipped taking my hand. His eyes were on Melanie. “Sam,” I said, squeezing harder than I needed to. “Always a pleasure.”

He broke grip first. “And who is this?”

“Melanie,” she stated, welcoming his hand. I got my answer. She’s not hesitant.

Sam placed his other hand on top of hers. He held it there for two seconds too long. That’s how I knew it was pretty much in the bag.

“I didn’t know we were having company,” he mentioned when he let go. He turned to face me. “What a lucky surprise.”

“Tom and I just sort of bumped into each other,” Melanie confessed shyly. I start to think maybe first impressions aren’t that reliable. “Anyway,” she added more candidly, “I’d best be going.” I watched as she smoothed her hair. Sam Watson watched too, captivated.

“Stay,” I offered. I could see that’s what she wanted. Clarification. And then, “I’m sure Mr. Watson won’t mind.”

His brow rose. “Fine by me.”

“I ordered you a scotch,” I said, turning my attention to him. “I hope that’s okay?” I saw the bottle in his office this morning, so I already know it is more than okay. I leave that part out.

“Perfect.” His focus was on Melanie.

“You seem familiar…”

No, she doesn’t.

“Everyone says that,” she told him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s my face, I think.”

“So, you’re not from here?”

Melanie shook her head. “Boise.”

“Wow.” Sam laughed boisterously. “Can’t say I was expecting that.”

She smiled with her eyes.

“What brings you to Houston?” Sam asked.

“A job.”

“You?”

She laughed playfully. Nervously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

It means he’s a pretentious prick, that’s what it means.

Before he could answer, I stepped in. Marking my territory. Lying where I knew it would serve me. I didn’t want to spend a second longer than necessary in this town, in this bar. I wanted to close the deal, and I’d just learned exactly the kind of bait I needed to do it. “Melanie is interviewing with New Hope.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “It’s just Mel.”

“Forgive me,” I said, lifting my water from the table. “Just Mel is considering a job with the church.”

Watson’s face offered a satisfied look. “For the project Mark has been telling me about?”

I’m not sure which one he’s speaking of so I simply say, “We’re not sure yet.”

“Well, amen for that,” he said, I assume before he realized he hadn’t had enough to drink to be that brazen in front of someone he was looking to impress. “Man,” he added as he straightened his back. He must have wanted to get a better look at her tits because his eyes were not where they should have been when he spoke next. “They’ll be very lucky to have you.”

“I haven’t made any firm decisions.” Thankfully, she didn’t notice Watson being rude because her eyes were watching me.

Sam finished his scotch in one gulp. “Leave it to Tom to kill two birds with one stone.”

He motioned the bartender for another. “I’ve heard about this guy…”

Melanie smiled. “Yes, I get the feeling Tom is very good at double dealing.”

I downed the last of my water. “Not as good as I’d like to be.”