Walking into the office the next morning, Celia smiled with deep satisfaction and thanked her lucky stars—as she did every morning—for landing this job. The Supervising Payroll Analyst position might as well have been created with her in mind. It drew on every one of her strengths, and she had slipped into it with the ease of ordering a second cocktail. Six people reported to her, and all of them were already at their desks. The office was small: seven cubicles, a kitchenette off to the right, and her private office tucked into the back corner.
Celia greeted each of them as she passed, not noticing them falling in behind her.
"Maxine, good morning. What's the word with the TDLR in Houston?" Maxine Crockett was a systems analyst and, aside from Celia, the senior member of the team at thirty-four. Max was a Black woman with jet-black braids that fell to her lower back, some framing her face and several wrapped around the crown of her head. Buxom, lean, and unapologetically bold, Max had a razor-sharp wit—exactly why Celia liked her so much.
"Morning, boss. I was just about to email you. We're set for next week— Monday through Wednesday. The higher-ups want us to drive our own cars and get reimbursed. I wanted to put up a stink, but it's only three hours. Not worth a flight. Wanna carpool?"
Celia smiled. "Yeah. I'll drive. Can you spread the word to the rest of the team? Hotel taken care of?"
Max glanced at her screen and read from the email. "Looks like the company travel agency booked us at the Marriott. I still need to confirm the room count and send them the names. Should I pair people up?"
Celia shook her head. "No way. We're all grown-ups, long past the stage for roommates. If you get any pushback, let me know. Thank you, Max. That's great." She nodded her approval and continued toward her office.
Before she had gone far from Maxine's desk, she heard her name.
"Oh, Celia!" Maxine called.
Celia turned. Her entire team stood there holding balloons and gifts. In the center of the group, Benji, an assistant analyst, balanced a cake with lit candles. In unison, they burst into song.
"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to the best boss in the world. Happy birthday to you."
They all hooted and applauded. The outpouring of love and appreciation overwhelmed Celia.
"How did you even know? I didn't tell anyone." Celia choked the words out.
Maxine laughed. "Oh, girl, I know everything. My unofficial job is to track these things. Not only do we know it's your birthday, but we also know it's the big one!"
Max turned and nudged one of the helium balloons toward Celia. The balloon read, "The Big 4-0!"
Celia blushed as a snicker escaped her. "Oh, my God. When you actually see it written down, it becomes real. How did this happen?" Her smile lit the whole office.
"You guys. I can't tell you how much this means to me. You're all the best. Thank you." She stepped to Max, hugged her, then hugged each member of the team in turn.
"We have a little get-together planned for after work, and we will not take no for an answer. You're coming, and that is that," Max said, faux sternness in her voice.
"If I have to, I have to," Celia said, resigning herself to it. She thanked each of them again and headed to her office.
Once at her desk, she glanced outside her office to make sure no one was watching. Dropping her phone below the level of the desktop, she opened the dating app. Something in her gut had her searching for a connection.
Hoping her flirty conversation from the night before had led to an invitation, she scrolled through the messages, looking for a reply—and maybe a date. Nothing.
Well, damn, that's disappointing.
She closed the app, but the nagging ache persisted. She couldn't seem to focus on anything. Discontent swirled inside her as a yearning for something she couldn't quite define flushed her cheeks. Pushing the feeling aside, she turned to her desktop and struggled through work, trying to stay focused.
At the end of the day, everyone rushed out of the office, anticipating a fun evening.
Celia headed to her car for the short drive to the pub.
Following the circular driveway out of the garage and to the exit, Celia stopped, waiting for a chance to turn right. A beat-up, faded red F-150 idled down the street.
Hmm, that's a doppelganger for Rod's piece of shit truck. What are the odds?
The truck rolled away in the opposite direction. As it vanished around the corner, it slipped from her mind as well. Twenty minutes later, a glass of red wine sat in front of her while she chatted with several team members.
Benji chatted animatedly with Celia. He had grown up in Arkansas but moved to Austin with his family for his senior year of high school, four years earlier. At twenty-two, he still lived with his parents, though he desperately wanted a place of his own.
"It's not that I hate living there. I just feel like I shouldn't have to. It's crazy trying to find a place I can afford that isn't rat-infested," Benji said, sipping his beer.
A good ol' boy in almost every sense, Benji wore his dark hair cropped close on the sides, with a streak of blue at the crown and sported a short but thick goatee. He had a gym-built physique and discussed it willingly, with little to no provocation.
The one incongruity in his caricature Texas demeanor was his love of fashion. Celia suspected he spent more than half his income on clothes, shoes, and accessories. He wore a Montana Bison belt, Wolf and Shepherd shoes—one of several pairs—and designer jeans from Neiman Marcus. She'd made the same salary when she worked as Dog's assistant and had still managed to afford an apartment, support her deadbeat, and save a little. It was all about priorities, but she still had to laugh at his self-inflicted predicament.
Benji droned on. "Anyway, I found these at Neiman. What a score. I can't tell you how excited I was." He did a little tap dance to showcase the spectacular shoes he'd bought.
Celia caught Maxine's eye across the room and widened hers in a clear bat signal indicating the need for rescue. Max chuckled and sauntered over.
"Benji, are you boring the boss with stories about your socks?" Max said with a grin.
Benji looked confused. "No. I was telling her about these new shoes. What do ya think?" He lifted each foot and twisted his ankles so Max could get a good look.
Maxine rolled her eyes and laughed, then pushed Benji into a seat.
"Everything's in line for Houston. Isn't that where you came from? The TDLR?"
Celia gave a coy little smile. "I put in seven years as the assistant to the director."
Benji piped in, "Dog Spaulding, right? I've heard some horror stories about him. HR nightmare."
Celia laughed. "That's putting it mildly. He's a slick-talking good-ol'-boy politician. Spent thirteen years in the state senate, retired, and got gifted that job. I can handle him, so don't let him throw you off your game."
Maxine took a sip of beer. "So, if I've got this right, you went from that job to this one?"
"Yep. But I spent six years taking online classes to get my bachelor's, which made me eligible for this position. It's not that big a jump once you qualify."
Maxine smiled. "Amazing. You're a godsend to this lowly office."
Celia looked at her warmly. "Thank you for that. I've really enjoyed working with you too." She squeezed Max's hand.
Benji seemed to be doing the math in his head. "So, you just got your degree? How old were you when you started?"
Without hesitation, Celia said, "Thirty-three."
Benji let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's pretty brave—going back to school when you're that old?"
Maxine gave Benji a light punch in the arm. "Don't be a dick. It wasn't brave; it was what she needed to do. Hell, I'm still thinking about it. You don't have to be fresh out of high school to go to college."
Benji shook his head. "I can't even imagine my mother doing something like that. It'd be crazy."
Celia was about to comment on his mother's age when she stopped herself, realizing she was actually old enough to be his mother.
Maxine turned her back on Benji and said to Celia, "Pay him no mind. Damn kids don't know anything. But you worked there for so long—you must know where all the bodies are buried."
Celia smirked. "I can't get over the irony. I tried so hard to make things work better there, but Dog stopped me at every turn. Now he has no choice." A laugh burst out of her. "He's gonna have a conniption." Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed, and her shoulders shook with anticipation.
Max chimed in, "And won't it be sweet to rub their faces in your efficiency?" She let out an ironic laugh.
Celia snickered. Max leaned in. "Come on, we know you know. What's the dirt? Spill it!"
Celia turned away so they wouldn't see the pleased smile crossing her face. When she did, she noticed a man at the table across from them. He had clearly been staring at her.
She caught his eye and had no choice but to acknowledge it. She smiled; he smiled back—the first impression.
Not bad, in a fall-off-your-horse kinda way.
As if her smile were a green light, the man needed no further encouragement and stood. Celia turned away and refocused on Max, pitching her voice louder than necessary.
"I am going to change a ton over there in Houston. They never listened to me while I was there, but they sure as hell are going to listen to me now!"
Instead of saying hello, the man took the cold shoulder for what it was and passed her by for the bar. He raised a hand to get the bartender's attention.
Max leaned toward Celia and whispered, "Don't look now, but you've got a stalker. He's been eyeing you for the last five minutes." She gave him a once-over. "You could do worse."
"I know. He's kinda cute." Being playfully clandestine, Celia whispered, "What's he doing?"
Trying to look casual, Max leaned left and peered over Celia's shoulder.
"Ordering a drink. That's it," she said, barely moving her lips.
Celia whispered back, "Let's just see what happens. I'm not really in the market, but who knows, right?"
The man got what looked like a vodka tonic and returned to his seat. This time, he sat with his back to her.
Max said, "I think you pissed him off. You're getting the cold shoulder."
"Que sera, sera," Celia said. "Whatever!"
The two women laughed. Benji hadn't been paying attention. He jumped back into the conversation with a rumor about the TDLR.
"I heard a woman threw a tantrum and quit, then mooned the entire office on her way out the door," Benji blurted.
Max laughed out loud. "I would've paid to see that. No wondering how she felt."
Celia smiled, trying not to blush. "I'm sure that's an exaggeration. Who would really do something like that?" Flattered to be the subject of an office legend, she felt an odd swell of pride.
A half hour later, Benji took off to some young person's club, or whatever, and most of the others had split as well.
Max sat beside her, the last soldier standing. Checking her watch, she said, "Hey, I'd love to stay till you finish your drink, but I really gotta run. Ralphie Ray'll be getting home about now. I haven't seen him in a week, so I want to be there."
"What route did he take?" Celia asked.
"He went all the way to Chicago, then Milwaukee, headed south to Casper, then did a pickup and drop-off in Oklahoma City. It's been quite a haul," Max said, grabbing her purse. "You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, sure. I'm a big girl. I can handle myself in a bar. Have a nice night, and I'll see you Monday. Max, thanks for all this. It meant a lot." Celia hugged her new friend.
Hugging her back, Max said, "Happy birthday, girl. See ya Monday."
As Max left, Celia swirled the wine around her glass, weighing her next move. She lifted the drink and swiveled in her chair to face the room. As Max headed out, Celia saw the man at the table track her exit. The instant the door closed behind her, he turned in his chair, met Celia's gaze, and gestured to the empty seat at his table.
Her gut screamed, NO!
This isn't what I was looking for.
Celia smiled and shook her head. Now that the silent flirtation had become real, she had no real interest in following through. The idea of a random pickup in a bar spooked her just enough to balk.
He gestured again, more insistently this time, and gave her the kind of puppy-dog smile meant to disarm women. It didn't work. She turned back to the bar and sipped her drink, thinking it might be time to leave.
The man wasn't so easily dismissed. Celia sensed someone behind her and turned to find him standing there, drink in hand.
"I'm Dean Scota. How ya doing?"
His crisp speech carried little trace of a Texas accent. Piercing blue eyes and a closely cropped haircut concealed a receding hairline. Clad in a black denim shirt, matching jeans, and cowboy boots, he presented himself with confidence and purpose, making his intentions crystal clear.
"I didn't want to interrupt you and your friends. I figured I'd wait and see what happened. I'm glad you're a slow drinker," he said with a smile, sliding onto the stool beside her.
"They're coworkers. I try not to mix things up. That's all." She crossed her legs. That morning she'd chosen a dark purple skirt with a red belt and a pink blouse. She always wore a little extra color on Fridays. Her skirt rode up her thigh as she crossed her legs, flashing just a little too much skin. Dean ogled without shame.
"Where do you work?" Dean asked.
"I work for the state," she said.
"Prison guard?" Dean asked.
He's funny.
"How'd you know? Are my gang tats showing?"
"Not that I can see, but if there's anything you want to show me, I'm game."
Ah, a cheesy pickup line. Too bad.
"Yeah, I think I'll pass on that offer for the time being. What do you do?" she asked.
Dean shifted on his stool, as though his manhood couldn't stay in one position for long. He sipped his vodka tonic and replied, "I'm a drug dealer. Well, drug rep. I work for a company that sells an Alzheimer's drug—I forget the name."
That made her laugh out loud. "Got any samples because I could sure use the help sometimes," she said.
"You don't really fit the patient profile. I have other samples, though. Any interest in Glycolax?" Dean asked with a chuckle.
"Glycolax? What is it?"
"Prescription strength laxative."
I do like that devilish smile, though.
"Are you saying I'm full of it?" Celia replied.
"No, not at all. That came out wrong. It was funnier in my head." Dean leaned back and gave her a deliberate once-over.
Celia turned back to her wine. Her gut told her to end the conversation and go home. And yet, against her better judgment, she stayed. Staring into her glass, she weighed her next move.
Dean shifted again and said, "Yeah, I pass through about every six weeks. My territory runs between here and San Antonio—most of Bexar County and all of Williamson. But I gotta be honest, I never see women like you hanging around places like this. You're quite the looker, you know that?" He let out a small, sarcastic laugh. "Of course you do. I bet you get hit on all the time."
Without looking at him, she replied, "I don't generally hang out in bars, so there's not much opportunity to get hit on." She shifted until she was giving him mostly her back.
"Now that's a shame. Mind if I keep trying?" Dean asked with a dim flirty smile.
Her lips pursed as she cocked her head in his direction. Let's see what he's got.
"Sure, give it another try. You might get lucky."
"Okay, my cheesiest line. Ready?"
Celia chuckled. "Hit me."
"Your name must be Visa, 'cause you're everywhere I want to be." A laugh escaped Celia even though she'd tried not to react. "Now that's cheesy. I expected something more like the title of a country song—'If I Said You Had a Beautiful Body, Would You Hold It Against Me,' something like that."
"If I'd ever heard that song, I might've used it. I like where it's going. The worst one is easy." He held a hand a few inches in front of her face, cupped as though he were holding a rag. "Tell me, does this smell like chloroform?"
Celia wrinkled her nose and groaned. "That was awful. Wow. One step forward and two steps back." She shivered out a sad little laugh and took the last sip of her wine.
"Yeah, it never really worked for me. Must be I can't tell a joke." He chuckled.
Celia gave him a tentative smile. Inside, the debate continued: should she stay or should she go?
Dean held Celia's gaze without wavering, as if sheer intensity might hypnotize her into submission.
"I'm staying just down the street at that wagon-wheel place. I don't get much of a per diem, so I try to save it for more important things." He tipped his glass in her direction and took a sip.
An unwelcome heat simmered low in her body. It had been three months since Carter. Like high beams catching her full in the face on a dark country road, she suddenly recognized the longing that had been trailing her all afternoon.
I suppose this is why I came out. I should have known.
Against her better judgment, she leaned toward him, her breasts brushing the bar. "I don't ever do this, just so you know."
Dean smiled broadly. "I guess I'm just lucky you're here now." They stood and left the bar.