Lydia was not a drinker. Which made the fact that she had gone out and had this much all the more telling that something was off in her world. She hadn’t felt a compulsion to drink and it had been fun, but tossing back that last Cosmo as if she were steeling herself against some great travesty that she had to fight seemed so barbaric and beastly of her. The steady, painful thrumming in her neck and head was an all too visceral reminder that, for whatever reason, Matt Jones made her act like a completely different person.

It was like she was two different people.

Why hadn’t he slept with her? He could have. She was willing. Even through the haze of alcohol it wasn’t a desire driven solely from a bottle. Inhibitions were down, her libido was up, she could feel – literally – his matched desire. Why had he brought her home, tucked her into bed, and left? Lydia remembered the feel of his soft lips on her temple as she had faded off to sleep, the comfort of being cared for by someone who wasn’t biologically obligated to do so. Nobody had tucked her in like that since she had mono when she was in high school, her mom slaving away over her.

It felt good. It felt tender and nuanced. Matt wasn’t just some guy that she could play with or learn from and move on. There was something more here, and the fact that he had the decency not to take advantage of her made her want him all the more.

The problem, though, was that she actually had to get to work in order to see him again. And that meant standing up. Any other day, that would be no problem, the action involuntary, so quick and simple she didn’t think of it or pause or hesitate. Right now, what normally was a nanosecond of effort had 921 separate and distinct steps involved in moving her a total of two to three feet vertically.

She reached for her phone, which she noted had been neatly placed on her bedside table, and took the easy way out. Autodialing Krysta’s number, she waited three rings and –

“‘Lo?”

“Did I catch you asleep again?”

“Well, it’s 6:30 in the morning, Lydia.”

“Can you come over and help me?”

“Ahh. Feeling a little unwell?” The teasing tone of Krysta’s voice told Lydia that yep – it really had been that bad last night. She had to ask, though.

“That bad?”

“After you serviced three guys on the bar all at once – don’t worry, I’m sure the video will go viral, or has already. One girl, two bartenders.”

“Ha ha.” Lydia's head started to explode as she actually spoke the words aloud, pushing aside the cotton balls with a tongue that felt like it had last been kissed by Jabba the Hut.

“You were fine, but I assume Matt was the gentleman he promised me he would be.”

“I’m still wearing my panties.”

“Good. Because really he should only have one pair, not two.”

Lydia was really regretting telling Krysta the elevator story. “Yeah. That’s right,” was all she could think to say.

“You want me to come over there and make coffee and take care of you, don't you?” Krysta’s voice was flat, not rude, not disappointed. Just stating the obvious.

“Mhmm.” Lydia was quickly realizing that when she actually spoke, pain gained momentum. Humming might do better.

“You can’t even talk, can you?”

“Mmn mmn.”

“I’ll be over in fifteen minutes but you’d better have some decent shampoo over there because I’m gonna have to shower.”

“Mmm.” The sound she made was one that connoted ‘not sure’.

“Oh, Christ, Lydia. I’ll be there soon.” Click.

Luckily Krysta hadn’t said the one thing that Lydia feared hearing the most. You need to call your mother.

“What would Sandy do?” she muttered to herself, closing her mouth and reminding herself to stop doing this. What would Sandy do? Well Sandy, she guessed, would never have left Maine in the first place. She didn’t understand it. Grandma stayed in Boston – loved it in fact – and was just as stubborn as mom when it came to making life decisions. Lydia sure understood that.

Sandy had been devastated that Lydia didn’t stay in Maine with her brothers but she had no real future there. Not quite. That wasn’t really true. It wasn't that she had no future there, it was that she had Sandy and Pete’s future there. What they wanted. How they envisioned life for their kids. And her brothers all loved it, except for one.

She pushed the thought away. She couldn’t think about Luke right now. But she was the one who got away, and the only one not living there now. She was only four hours from home and Grandma lived in the same city. So, what was their problem? Why couldn't Sandy just be happy for her?

If she called Mom and said, “Hey, Mom, I went out last night and got drunk and made out with my boss, and by the way, it’s the third time and he has my panties from this elevator scene that...”

Words rolling off her tongue, Lydia tried to fathom the look on Sandy’s face, tried to imagine what her mother would think and do if she were Lydia. It didn't compute. She couldn't ask herself what would Sandy do? because Sandy would never have done any of this. A smile cracked the cotton balls in Lydia’s mouth.

That’s why she was here. Because, when she asked herself that question, what would Sandy do? the answer was Sandy would never find herself in this position. Lydia did, and this was Lydia’s life to live. But if Krysta didn’t hurry up, Lydia was going to die from caffeine deprivation.

Fortunately, a sharp knock on the door followed by the sound of a key in the lock and a holler told her her savior was here.

“You’re still in bed?” Krysta’s voice cut through the room like a sharp knife.

“Yeah, I'm still in bed. You’re my savior.” Clenched in Krysta’s hand was a telltale paper cup with a green logo on it. “Please tell me that’s a double.”

“It’s a triple.”

“Oh! Marry me.”

“No. It may be legal in this state, but no. I don’t marry people who give their panties to their boss in an elevator.”

“You’re never ever going to let me forget that are you?”

“I’m going to hold it over your head until the day you die.”

“Well, if you don’t give me that coffee right now, it’s going to be today.” The hot liquid, just the perfect temperature for taking small swallows, for infusing her brain with a much needed jolt, helped everything recede; her confusion, her thoughts about her mother, her feelings for Matt. She was one with the coffee and then she looked at Krysta and said, “Advil?”

Reaching into her purse, Krysta pulled out a bottle, shook out three orange pills and handed them to Lydia, who gulped them down in one big swallow. Now she could relax. Now she could give herself the time she needed to start this day because work – work was going to be really interesting today.

And it all started with coffee.

“Somebody got outed,” Lydia’s singsong voice made his blood run cold as he stepped off the elevator and looked at her in horror. His hair was dyed back to brown, he knew he was wearing the contact lenses because he’d seen himself in the mirror of the Toyota he rented as he drove to work this morning. So, what was she talking about?

“What are you talking about, Lydia?” he asked, on guard, standing close to the elevator and ready to jump back on it if need be.

“Dave,” she said slowly. “Dave.” Her face was radiant. She looked like a college student, a high school girl, a fresh faced ingenue who had just been handed the best news of her life. It didn't square with the half-drunk woman he'd left in bed last night. “Dave was fired. He is gone, completely gone.”

“Really?” Mike had to act surprised. He knew Dave was gone, because after digging through his HR file he discovered that Dave had falsified his resume. A few quick Google searches that Human Resources hadn’t bothered to do when they hired him seven years ago told him that Dave had a rather active life as an online liar. One phone call to Harvard told him that he certainly hadn’t eared his MBA there. With very little effort, he’d had him completely canned and offered a very neutral reference should Dave attempt to work elsewhere – in exchange for his speedy exit. He was beginning to dig this reality television show bit. It was helping him to find all sorts of information about his company.

And then there was Lydia. “So he’s gone.” He leaned in, face neutral, but voice intimate. “I want to talk about you, though. Not Dave.”

She blushed. “I, uh, don't know what to say. Um, thanks?” Her voice squeaked on the last word.

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.”

He coughed. “That's not quite how I remember it. You, my dear, were close to taking care of me.” He pointed to the office and as they walked, he realized this could be caught on camera if he wasn't very, very careful.

A crinkle in her nose as she winced made a part of him yearn to reach over and kiss her, though. Logic brain kicked in, though, and he changed the subject.

“I guess that means his job is open.”

His eyes lit on hers and she went completely ice queen on him. “Yes,” her jaw set a little crooked, as if tension had tightened her a little too quickly. “You’re right, Dave’s job is open.”

Her nearly instant turn on her heel and march back to her cubicle gave him a mouth watering view of her retreat. Of her ass in all its glory. Of the curves that he wished to touch once more. And then, he smiled, because he had an idea that might help everyone. Matt Jones was about to give Lydia her big break.

He followed her. As he walked around the wall of her cubicle he found her sitting at her desk, mumbling to herself and caught a few words. “Pompous...who does he think...acts like he owns...”

He suppressed a grin and cleared his throat so he didn’t scare her. She whipped around, her hair flying through the air and then floating over her left shoulder as she tipped her face toward him. “Oh.” She went from the vulnerability of her true emotions to the mask of professionalism. “Yes, Matt? What can I do for you?”

Oh, what can you do for me? he thought. “Uh, so...Lydia, with Dave gone, who is technically in charge?”

She bristled. “That would be you, Matt, until we have a new director. And above the Director of Communications we have Senior Vice President for Communications and Marketing.”

“I see.” Mike knew that that woman was perfectly capable but also out in San Francisco doing a multi-million dollar pitch for a new client. “Well, then, if I’m technically filling the position, I would like to ask you to continue your work on the romance project.”

The look on her face told him that this was the last thing she expected. “You...do?” she asked, her voice filled with incredulity. “But...why?”

He shrugged. “It’s a good idea and it deserves to be tried out.”

She recovered quickly. “How far do you want me to take it?”

They stared at each other, their breathing labored as he felt his skin prickle, his hands tighten, holding back from doing what he wanted to do which was take things very, very far with her. But in terms of the project...