New Year's Steve

She laughs.

My stomach does a strange little roll I recognize as: attraction.

Shit.

Not okay.

I have a date tonight with Felicity, whom I’ve been flirting and chatting with for weeks, and building a foundation with. I know more about her than Adam.

This woman works for me, and remember what I said earlier about shitting where I eat? Despite there not being an enforced fraternization policy?“I even have a new lightbulb!” She chatters on, leading the way, weaving through a labyrinth of cubicles set up in the center of the main floor. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I’m confident that this is an easy fix, and thought maybe I could change it myself? Only that wasn’t going to happen because, well — look at me.”

Oh, I’m looking at her alright.

Pretty, petite, this woman has curves in all the right places and tiny to boot. I highly doubt she could reach the ceiling unless she had a seven-foot ladder. Even then it’s iffy.

“Where’d you get the light bulb?”

“I had it delivered from the hardware store.” Her laugh tinkles. “I was going to submit the expense to my boss next week.”

Resourceful little thing.

Long dark hair, exotic eyes. Full lips that don’t look like they’ve been cosmetically enhanced.

I know this person.

How do I know this person?

The thought niggles at me until we reach her office; eats away at me like a song playing in my mind I cannot recognize or remember the words to. But I know the melody and the era it’s from.

I also know that if I look online, I will find the title and the artist.

Just as I know, that if I look online, I will find this girl.

Call it intuition.

So oddly familiar.

So happy and cheerful.

Her hands are braced on her hips and I realize she’s standing in the middle of her office, under a flickering fluorescent light, one of the bulbs going haywire, casting stroke like effects into the room.

“Yeah, that’s enough to make a person go blind.”

“Exactly!” She’s so glad I agree. “Yes, thank you! I’m not going crazy!”

God she’s adorable.

How have we never met until now? It’s not like I’ve never been on this floor before. In fact, she’s just the department I was coming to see.

“Where is Victoria?” I ask, glancing to the office space next to this one, knowing that is where my head of finance calls home. “I thought y’all were working today to finish the reconciliations.”

She doesn’t question how I know about the accounting deadlines, or why I’m asking where her direct report is.

“Yes, I thought we were all working today too, but alas, I am a lone wolf. Just me and these.”

My ire rises that Victoria has left the heavy lifting to her team, but subsides a bit when I look down to see Cutie Accountant wiggling her toes, feet buried inside the most ridiculous, fluffy bunny slippers.

“Don’t tell me you talk to those,” I say, stepping into her work space.

“Fine, I won’t tell you I talk to them, even though I talk to them,” she teases. “Don’t judge me, I’m lonely. This is not a glamorous gig.”

That makes me laugh.

Accounting may be the least glamourous of all desk jobs but surprisingly, she makes it sexy, probably because of those bunnies on her feet.

“So now what?” she asks. “I’m Felicity by the way.”

When she puts out her hand by way of introduction, I freeze, rooted to the spot, unable to respond. At least, not like a normal human person.

My mouth guppies open, jaw hanging slack. “Uh.”

Felicity laughs. “And you are…. Tom from Maintenance? Brad? Hank?”

I shake my head, shaking out of my stupor. “Hank? Who names their kid that anymore?” I stick my hand out. “My friends call me Harry.”

Zero of my friends call me Harry. Last time they tried, they got punched in the arm, because that was in grade school and I hated that name.

McGinnis. Harrison. Rookie. Shark.

Pick one, those are the options.

Harry makes my ass cheeks pucker, but there you go. I cannot tell her my name is Steve; she’ll get suspicious. Tonight was going to be the big reveal — our blind date has to be blind, so I’m going to have to lie lie lie and cross my fingers she won’t hate me later.

Crap.

Felicity doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who will hold a grudge, but I’ve been wrong about women before so I’ll just have to hope and pray.

I like her.

I really fucking like her.

Excitement brews in my belly, the urge to declare myself so fucking irresistible, I want to explode with the news.

“Harry? So, like — Prince Harry from Britain?”

“Zero like Prince Harry from Britain.”

Felicity sighs. “But he’s so romantic.” She tinkles out another giggle. “My girlfriend and I were in London for his wedding, isn’t that lame? We flew over and went to a pub in Windsor, and drank Prosecco during the ceremony and chanted and cheered when the crowd went wild.”