“Work It, this is Liz. How can I help you?”

“You know, Liz, I don’t think I can wait until Saturday.”

I turn to face my boss’s office, where Wickham leans against the desk. He waves, Toby’s phone sandwiched between his shoulder and ear. After their tour of the Work It “empire” wrapped, the guys posted up in Toby’s office until Toby was summoned to handle a question with HR. Wickham’s been boring a hole in the side of my head since. It’s been fun to ignore him, though I’m almost offended he held out as long as he did.

“Is that so?” I ask.

“After hearing how you take a phone call? I’m powerless.”

“I did watch a video.”

“On phone etiquette?”

“I take my continuing education seriously.”

“That settles it,” he says with authority. “I have to ask you out for a drink tonight.”

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“I respect risk-takers.” I face my computer screen again and make a few purposeful strikes of the keyboard, even though I’m only deleting spam from my inbox. “We can meet at Mother’s Ruin, over on Spring,” I say, because I may or may not have spent the head-boring minutes making a list of possible options should he have greater ambitions than casual flirting. I look at Wickham, who smiles faintly. “Six work?”

His smile spreads. “I look forward to it.”

Wickham is already at the bar when I arrive. He raises his glass, a Manhattan, if I had to guess, beckoning me over.

“Hold up.” He halts me with a high palm, then does a double take. “I’m sorry, I had a clever setup for conversation, but you’ve thrown me off with this—” He points to my dress.

I cast a glance at my reflection in the gold-framed mirror behind the bar. While the pale blue retro sundress was perfectly subdued with the cropped cardigan I had on earlier, I opted to go without the layer for drinks. Now the keyhole opening between the bust and the waistline is visible. Ditto the triangular patch of skin it exposes.

I press a hand to the knot at my bust. “This old thing?”

He lets out a low whistle of approval. “Damn. That’s all I can say. Now!” He knits his fingers together and rests them on the bar top. “Back to my clever conversational setup. What was the most valuable lesson you got from that phone etiquette video?”

“Angling for my secrets?” I take the seat next to him, then reach below the bar to hang my purse as I give the bartender my order. Ruin is known for their frozen drinks, dispensed from a giant slushy machine. Today’s offering is a mint-green gin concoction.

Wickham gestures to indicate the drink will go on his tab. I nod my thanks.

“Just one tip?” he asks.