Just One Night. Part 3 by Elle Casey

is calling me at work? Surprise! Welcome to the looney bin!
    I used to fancy myself a multi-tasker of the highest degree. I now know that to be a complete falsehood and more than a dramful of wishful thinking. Sadly, I am like most men I know, one-track minded. And right now my mind is on the track of getting rid of Ingrid and the little problem she presents. That’s my excuse for mucking up the call with Jennifer and making a complete toad of myself. I didn’t even get her last name when I had the opportunity. I should know better than to try to be cute.
    “Okay, I’m back.” Miss Meechum is standing in my doorway, all smiles and pink. “Do you want me to show you now?”
    It is possible that the mere mention of showing me her skills caused Miss Meechum to need to run to the loo, but I don’t ask for explanations. She had to leave and now she’s back. To show me her hacking skills. Good God, what was I thinking?
    She wants to know if I’m ready for potential disaster. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”
    Laughing, she comes fully into the room. “You’re so funny. You need to move, though, so I can sit in your spot.” She picks up the chair across from my desk and carries it over, dropping it on my foot in the process as I attempt to move out of her path.
    I try to manage the pain with a sharp intake of breath, but it’s not enough. “Bloody hell!” I growl out, limping in a small circle.
    “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Her hands flutter around like injured birds. “I totally nailed your foot!”
    “Not to worry,” I grunt, holding out an arm to keep her from getting too close. “I have another.” I stand upright and limp over to the chair she’s provided, waiting for her to sit in mine before I’m able to relax. Just being near her is risky. I’d never stand next to her in a kitchen. Too many knives about to be safe.
    She glances over her shoulder at me for a moment, still worried, but then she quickly gives all her attention to the computer. “Do you want me to explain what I’m doing as I go?”
    “Do you want me to listen to what you have to say when it’s important?”
    “Uhhh … yes?”
    “Then, no. Just do what you do and give me a summary of the highlights.”
    Her fingers fly across the keyboard so rapidly, I cannot keep track of the words she’s typing. Screens open and close, and yet I never see her actually touch the mouse. It is impressive, I must admit.
    “What is that you’re doing there?” I ask, no longer able to remain a mere spectator.
    She sighs. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”
    I frown. “I don’t. Forget I asked.”
    I’m not sure how much time passes. My eyes go blurry at all the activity on my computer monitor and my mind begins to wander.
    Jennifer called me. Jennifer Still-No-Last-Name. And she wants to work with me? It’s so out of the blue, I’m having a hard time assimilating the idea into my work life. She has some investments I might be interested in, or so she says. She’s looking for a broker? Does this mean she quit her current broker specifically to be with me? No, that would be absurd. It would be frightening as well. It rings of commitment, one I’m not prepared to make. I’m already in enough trouble; I don’t need any stalkers added to my pile. Jennifer could never be a stalker, though. I don’t know her that well outside of our little arrangement, but I know that much.
    Perhaps she’s merely focused on her business and this has nothing to do with our tryst or feelings she might have for me. Her ad did say she was a successful businesswoman. Stratford Investments is cream of the crop, my father and I have seen to that. Who wouldn’t want to shelve their hat in our wardrobe? Perhaps she was already at loose ends when I met her, and after spending more time in my company she’s decided I’m worth seeing on a more professional level.
    Could I be happy with that? Satisfied with being colleagues? Could I work in the same space as