Scanning my brain, only one name stays with me. I have an unfamiliar feeling in my gut. As if I’m a teenage boy considering taking the plunge to ask his crush on a date.

My first date wasn’t until I was sixteen years old and it was with Mandy Killeen, my neighbor from across the street. She had the whitest blond hair I had ever seen and a mouth full of orthodontics. Bright blue eyes though—expressive, kind. Our parents thought it would be great if we went to the church fair together unaccompanied.

Yes, my parents, God love them, decided their son needed to expand his social circle to the equally virtuous and innocent neighbor’s daughter.

It was awkward and quiet. The poor girl kept blushing whenever I tried to start a conversation with her. She eventually loosened up and we actually had a great time. We spent the whole afternoon there before walking the three blocks home. And although there was no romantic spark between us, we did remain great friends until a few years ago . . . It stills pains me to think that she was killed in a car accident. Which reminds me, I must send her family flowers next month for her anniversary.

I pull into our office building’s underground parking garage and stop the car in my designated spot. When I get into the elevator, I select the seventeenth floor, and when the doors open again, I’m met by our assistant, Annie, who is holding out a steaming cappuccino in one hand and a pile of messages in the other.

I nod toward her, our typical morning exchange of pleasantries. “Aren’t I popular this morning?” I say sarcastically.

“Indeed. By the way, Mr. Graves is waiting for you in your office.”

“Graves?” I ask, with a quirked brow.

“Yes, sir. He said he wanted to show you something and asked if he could wait in your office. I knew you would only be a few more minutes so I said this was okay. I made sure there was nothing confidential on your desk.” she explains. She’s come a long way from the quiet and mousey graduate we first employed. Now she’s worth her weight in gold and then some.

I smile at her, in a good mood after last night’s dinner and this morning’s conversation with Grant. “It’s fine, Annie. I’ll go see what he wants now. While I see him, could you please contact the board secretary for the maritime museum project and confirm the schedule for the museum project’s ground breaking and the start of construction?”

“Certainly, Mr. Alexander.”

I narrow my eyes at her but am unable to control the curling corner of my lip. “Every day I tell you to call me Callum, Annie?”

She gives me a knowing grin. “Yes, Mr. Alexander, and every day I have to explain to you, it helps retain a professional atmosphere in the office if everyone calls you and Mr. Richardson with more formal salutations.”

I shake my head at her, both of us more than well aware that this is a continually returning bone of contention—albeit a light-hearted one—between us.

Annie has been with us for six months. She’s cordial, on time, and extremely organized. She has never missed an appointment, a project deadline or a tender closing. With the extra attention and business that has been afforded to us since my latest award win, she’s been nothing short of a godsend.

I hired her knowing she was not the type of woman I would consider for myself. Her auburn hair is cut into a short, sleek bob just below her ears, and not once have I seen a single hair out of place. She wears perfect makeup, and her well-tailored corporate attire is made up of mid-thigh length pencil skirts and high heels that make her six inches taller than her diminutive frame. Although, standing next us, she’s bound to look small, with Grant coming in at six-foot-one, and myself an inch over that.

She sits back down behind her desk and I walk into my office to find the red haired young man I met at the college function standing by my window, taking in the view over the bay. “Mr. Graves,” I greet as I put my laptop bag down on top of my desk.

He jumps as if being interrupted, but spins around and walks toward me, a huge smile on his face and his hand outstretched. “Mr. Alexander, so honored you agreed to see me.”

“You were waiting in my office, Mr. Graves, I wouldn’t say I’d exactly orchestrated it,” I add.

His eyes widen before he laughs along with me. He’s a strange man, very enthusiastic and from what I remember of our first meeting, very ambitious. Grant told me he was very knowledgeable about the firm and the kind of projects we have done in the public sector, which is where my personal focus is now very much based.

“Sorry about that. I wanted to discuss my latest design with you. I was working on it for my professor but he suggested I might get you to cast your very valued and respected eye over the drafts before I hand them in to him. I’d really appreciate it if you have the time, sir.”

“I can probably give you about ten minutes now if you have your drafts here,” I reply distractedly, as I cast an eye over the stack of messages in my hand from Annie.

“Thank you, Cal—I mean, Mr. Alexander. It would be amazing to get your perspective on them.” He leans down to his leather satchel, which is leaning against my drafting table, and pulls out a bound folder.

I finish going through the notes in my hand when Grant walks in, oblivious to my impromptu guest. “Morning, partner. Again.” It’s then that his eyes fall to the intern. He looks back to me with a puzzled expression. “I thought your schedule was clear this morning. I’ve just accepted an invitation for the both of us to meet with a group of visiting city planners at that café down the road. The mayor’s executive assistant asked that we both attend as a favor to the mayor.” His eyes shift to Graves then return to me. “Should I pass on your apologies?”

I look to the small table flanking the window where Graves has set out his designs and is waiting patiently for me. Lifting my arm up, I look at the time and back to Graves, whose face now holds an indiscernible expression.

Realizing that I’m not going to be able to look over Graves’ plans as promised, I walk over to him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graves, I’d be happy to look at your designs another time if you want to make an appointment with Annie.”

“Much appreciated, Mr. Alexander.” His comment is short, his voice tight. Then it’s like he’s flicked a switch, the enthusiastic student returning to the room. “I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Alexander, so I’d appreciate the opportunity to meet with you again.”

“Right, sounds good, Mr. Graves.” I hold my hand out toward him and shake his hand when he reciprocates. “Please talk to Annie about finding time in my schedule.”

“Will do,” he replies, bending down and swinging his satchel over his shoulder, and carrying his designs under his arm as he walks toward the doorway. “Mr. Richardson,” he says as he passes Grant, before disappearing from view, presumably down the corridor to the cubicle he shares with the other intern, Rachel.

“And why, pray tell, was my intern just in your office?”

“He was waiting for me when I got here. Annie said he wanted to speak with me and offered to wait in my office.”

Grant raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. “Rather eager, that one.”

“He wanted to show me his designs before handing them in to his professor.” I explain.

“Okay then. So shall we head off down the road?”

“Lead the way,” I reply, earning a chuckle from Grant.

“Can’t let the mayor down, can we . . . ?” he adds.

The joy of playing in the big leagues, I guess.

Thursday afternoon Annie walks into my office the moment I return from a lunch meeting, an uncharacteristic frown marring her face. In her hands are a pile of papers and my usual afternoon coffee.

“Annie, is there something wrong?” I ask