That? That’s what I get to see first thing this morning?

I either got hit by a bus during my commute to work and I’ve died and gone to heaven and this is an angel, or I’m the luckiest guy on earth right now.

I don’t think angels wait on line at the bank, so it must be my lucky day.

Last night? Not so lucky. After Brandon ditched me to go home with a girl named Candy with a too-short shirt and too many two dollar beers, I decided to go home myself.

I’ve become so bored with the bar scene. I can’t take another girl with a pool cue licking her lips and making eyes at me. It’s hot, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve been there and done that.

I’ve done all of that.

So I’ve been looking for something else. Something to take my mind and my dick off all the one night stands and helping these girls get a cab at five in the morning.

What is it about these girls needing to get into work early on the mornings that I wake up with them? I’m nothing if not a gentleman. I’d make them breakfast if they wanted. Take them out for a hot cup of coffee and a bagel.

No need to run, ladies.

But her? This angel waiting in line at my bank with the general public?

No. We can’t have this.

This is an outrage.

I walk right past her, and I know she notices me. I walk past the ATMs and straighten out the deposit slips on the table against the wall, and check to make sure that there are enough paper cups for our customers to get water. Have to keep my customers happy, and I’ve found that nothing is better for an irate customer than a cup of water.

Before budget cuts, the best thing for an irate customer was a lollipop, but we’ve had to cut that line item since last quarter.

I think that the best thing for an irate customer would really be a bag of cold, hard cash, but I haven’t been able to get the higher-ups to approve that yet. I put it in my budget wish-list every quarter, but still no one’s approved it.

I punch in my passcode (my mom’s birthday) to get to my office behind the windows of tellers, and look back at the angel in the sensible heels.

Christ. It’s not right.

I get into my office and fire up the computer. I went to school for finance, but I could not stand working with some of the dickhead investors we had to deal with. Managing a fund for some rich assholes might have its appeal - the money is the appeal - but I realized early on that life is too short and I’m too young to be languishing behind a desk pushing numbers around on a spreadsheet for the next 40 years of my life, God willing.

So after I got my first bonus and was able to put away a little bit of money for mom, I quit.

Hiked the West Coast of the United States, took a cruise to Alaska, and came back to New York to figure out what I wanted to do.

I guess I’m lucky that strategic investing of my year-end bonus yielded me a fortune by anyone's standards.

I wanted to be around money. I love money, don’t get me wrong. I love the smell of it, the feeling you get when you’re around it. It’s power. It’s what lets us experience things. Great things.

And I like working with people. One of the best jobs I ever had was on the floor at an electronics store in college. I like explaining things to people. Helping them. Making a connection.

So the manager of a local branch of a bank? This was the perfect gig for me.

“Hey, Charlie?”

I tap the intercom button on my desktop phone and buzz my assistant. She and I are friends - her boyfriend and I have our weekly poker night on Thursdays, and she’s like one of the guys.

“What’s up, boss?”

She pokes her head into my office. Doesn’t even buzz me back on the intercom.

“This is a good one,” I say, stretching my legs out under my desk and stretching my arms behind my head. “There’s a girl on line out there. She looks like she needs my help.”

“Oh, your help?” Charlie laughs and slips into my office, grabbing a mug from the table by the door and filling up. “Alright, boss. What you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to hold my calls. Clear my appointments.”

“You don’t have any appointments this morning. I already checked. You’re free and clear until lunch time.”

“Good. I need to go pull that girl off the line. Did you see the thick folder she has?” I stand up and start toward the door, leading Charlie down the narrow corridor back to the teller stations.

“Yeah, I saw. Probably opening an account.”

“Yes, probably.”

I observe my angel through the glass. She looks confused. I’ll set her mind at ease and help her with anything she needs. All her banking needs. Investments. Hot cocoa on a rainy Saturday morning. Anything.

“Could you please do me a favor and go grab her off the line for me?”

My angel catches my eye and looks away quickly, but I don’t take my eyes off her. I need her to give me a little bit more. I need to look into those baby blues. There she goes. Her eyes flash back to mine and she slips a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s pulling her earbuds out and looking down at her shoes.

It’s too early in the morning for her to be out. It’s shit weather outside, and she should be home drinking coffee and gazing out the window of my penthouse.

“Of course, boss,” Charlie says.

The line is getting longer now, and as Charlie goes through the passcode protected door to grab my girl, I smile at her through the glass. My staff won’t need me this morning. They’ve got this. They’re good at their jobs. I need to take this private meeting. They won’t need me.

I lose my angel for a moment as she and Charlie disappear beyond the glass separating me and my staff from the customers, and then the door opens and she appears before me.

Up close? God, she’s even more beautiful. Her skirt is the perfect length to show off her gorgeous legs - not too short. No, she’s humble. She doesn’t need men leering at her. She’s particular about who she shows her full beauty to.

But I can see it. I saw it a mile away.

“Dan here will take good care of you,” Charlie says to my girl. “You need anything? Coffee? Water?”

“Oh, no thank you!” my girl chirps. “I’m good.”

“Miss, thank you for coming to our bank today,” I say, reaching out my hand to shake hers.

Her soft, small hand juts out from the cutest, most delicate wrist I’ve ever seen.

“Thank you! I was just telling Charlie that I got a new job and I need my checking account number to fill out my direct deposit form.”

She opens her folder to show me an array of paperwork.

“We’re here to help you in any way we can. Please,” I say, “follow me to my office. We’ll get you all set up.”