Rocket Man

by Melanie Greene

  The table quieted while Serena answered. "Nat?"

  "Okay, listen. It's all right."

  "All right like my offer was accepted, or all right like you're trying to get me not to hyperventilate before you tell me the bad news?"

  "Neither. Well, not really."

  "Nat." She reached out and took Janice's proffered hand.

  Natalie sighed. "I don't know yet what the sellers will do."

  "But?" She gripped Janice's hand tighter, ignoring her inarticulate protest.

  "Carter's couple did make an offer, and from the sounds of it, it was full price, but they had contingencies."

  Serena gnawed at her now-raw lip. "I didn't have contingencies. I'm pre-approved. You put that on the paper, right?"

  Nat's laugh was hardly reassuring. "All the stories I've told you over the years about freaked out buyers, and you're turning into every one of them. You saw the offer; you know everything was ship-shape. So here's what's happening, okay? The owners have two offers to look at. Carter's helping them go over them, but yours is in their best interest. They're motivated and you’re pre-approved. We'll know more in a few days—maybe even sooner—and Carter promised to tell me if any other offers come in."

  "Other offers?"

  "Well, they're hardly going to stop showing it just because they've had some activity already."

  "What if someone offers them above full price?" Serena squeezed Janice's hand too hard, and Janice pulled away, and then punched her lightly in the bicep. "Ow."

  "Ow?" Nat asked.

  "Never mind. Hang on." Serena tucked the phone against her chest and dug in her bag for some cash. "I'm going to take off. Thanks for hanging with me, y'all, you're the best."

  Jorge and Dillon and Janice lifted their hands in farewell as Serena stood and put the phone back to her ear. "I'm on my way to my car," she told Natalie.

  "Oh, goodie." Natalie used her own Bluetooth constantly, but complained whenever Serena did.

  "It's too loud inside, just deal with it. Now tell me again about why the owners are so eager to sell? Will it really matter to them if I can close fast? What contingencies did the other offer have?"

  It took Natalie all of Serena's drive home plus another fifteen minutes of pacing in her scummy-butt apartment to calm all of Serena's nerves and answer all of her questions. Finally reassured, Serena thanked her effusively and disconnected. Time to make some noise. She dialed up a kickass dance party playlist, blasting it as she shimmied around the apartment, sneering at the dingy off-white walls that would soon, ideally, hold her no more.

  Chapter Five

  Serena’s hair was bound up in a braid that wrapped over her skull in some kind of mystical feminine way and she wore another flowy top that reminded him of Elven folk. Normally, Dillon preferred sci-fi, but wasn’t averse to crossing the sci-fi/fantasy divide, such as it was, and every day Serena was just a little more of a fantasy kind of woman.

  He stood in her office doorway for just one second, watching her. Not so long that anyone in the hall would think he was a moron. Maybe two seconds, but then he reached up to rap on her door frame with his knuckles.

  “Dillon, hey.” She smiled as she looked around at him.

  “You wanted to see me before the meeting?” There was a regular Thursday morning meeting with Anica and the creatives on his team; Margaret’s binder of past schedules had been a fount of information on how things worked at Lanigan. Some people’s deadlines jumped around from week to week, but Janice’s guiding hand reached in so that, in the end, the jobs were on schedule.

  “Yeah, thanks. It’s about Mooney. I want the ‘success stories’ page to be more vibrant, and I came up with this deal here,” she turned a notebook towards him, “so you have a pull quote and they each expand into a box with the whole story. But it means I need thirty or forty words to pull from each, and maybe they should be no more than three hundred words overall, so the boxes don’t overwhelm the rest of the page. Can you do it?”

  He was already mentally reviewing that section of the site, and the files bequeathed to him by Margaret. He’d seen something, back when he was first getting into the Mooney work—it was the biggest account he’d been thrown into mid-project—about success stories and the page layout.

  “Didn’t Eddie say they wanted mostly smiling faces and not so much language on that page?”

  “But they’re wrong. My way works better and Edgar Mooney will agree as soon as he sees it.”

  Her brash confidence was infectious. His lips quirked. “So I’m not just doing this for your ego and it’ll get shot down?”

  “My ego doesn’t need Mooney to help it thrive, and thanks for the negativity.” But she smiled back at him, and Dillon took one second, again, as if seconds were just laying around to be wasted, to absorb the curve of her gloss-shimmered lip.

  He grinned and tapped her sketched plan. “I don’t mean it. This is good, it’ll look great. When do you want the copy?”

  “Tomorrow morning’s fine.” Serena stood and grabbed a few files. “Ready to encounter your first production meeting?”

  “You make it sound terrifying.” He stood back to let her lead the way out of her office.

  “Sure. So far you’ve only seen the nice side of Janice. Wait’ll Eddie lets her know that Houston Green wants to move their roll-out to tie in to rodeo season.”

  “Isn’t that next month?” The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, as Dillon understood it, took place at the end of February and into March. Shannon and Justin had attended every year since they moved to Houston, though their newborn would presumably keep them home this season.

  “Yep. You see the problem then.”

  “Okay, now I’m scared.” Dillon glanced down at Serena. He was tall enough to see the whorls of her hair as they were drawn into the braid on the crown of her head, and he wondered if she’d styled it on her own. And if not, who did it for her.

  “It’s okay, you’re a newbie. You’ll probably miss all the crossfire.”

  “‘Probably.’ Such a reassuring word.”

  Entering Conference Room B, she winked at him before crossing to one of the table’s long sides. “You come sit by me, newbie. I’ll protect you.”

  “Or use me as a shield?”

  “No promises.”

  “I’m so relieved,” Dillon said, and snagged the chair next to hers before anyone else could.

  He was a lefty. Serena’s elbow kept bumping Dillon’s as they took notes next to each other. She’d shifted her chair a little to the side, but there was a table leg there, and the bumps kept happening, which probably would have sent tingles up her arm no matter who it was bumping her funny bone.

  She focused on mapping out a cleaner version of the new page for Mooney’s site, and every time she moved her arm it brushed the sleeve of that one blazer of his. Not that Houston—or Los Angeles, for that matter—was cool enough to merit a large jacket wardrobe. She just was observant, was all. For instance, she kept an eye on him, and was pretty darn sure that he was deliberately reaching for his pencil every time she grabbed a pen.

  Ever-so-subtly, he reached over and slid her sketch so it was in front of him, and started to fill in her pull-quote boxes. She tried to read over his obstructing left arm—lefties sure did hold their pencils so that no one could copy from them—but had to wait until he slid the page back over. Then she had to press her lips together to stop from laughing, shooting a glance at Anica to make sure they weren’t about to be called out like obstreperous third-graders.

  A minute later she’d slid the paper back at him. Next to his quote, “Man in the Mooney Investments says, ‘Cattle futures are high!’” she’d drawn a cow jumping over a moon whose visage was remarkably similar to Edgar Mooney’s face. She was about to take it back to add a long-nosed coyote next to, “Mooney Investments makes me howl with joy!” and an astronaut giving a thumbs-up next to, “One small step for Mooney Investments; one giant leap for my portfolio!” when Anica said her name
.

  Serena wasn’t positive, because how would she know if his chuckle was low and a little growly, but she thought Dillon used the noise she made gathering herself together to laugh at her. Just see if she ever volunteered to keep him out of the crossfire again.

  Right as the meeting was wrapping up, Serena’s phone buzzed. It was Natalie; Serena had her hold on while she vamoosed to the quiet of her office. “Yeah? What is it? Did they reject it? Why? Hang on, let me shut my door.”

  She caught a glimpse of Dillon looking in at her as she swung it shut, a slight furrow between his cobalt eyes, but all she could do was widen her eyes at him and barricade herself in privacy to find out what was happening with her offer on the house. He’d been a respite, during the meeting, from her obsessive worry about what Natalie would have to say, but if she was lucky—or maybe really unlucky—Serena was about to get answers.

  “You sitting down?”

  “Why do I have to sit down?”

  “You don’t. I’m just curious.”

  “No, for the love of Pete, I’m not sitting down, I’m like a caged wildebeest. Can you just tell me why you called? If you called just to say hello, I will kill you. Really violently, too. There’ll be gore.”

  “I’m not calling just to say hello,” Natalie said, and she sounded as calm as deserted stretch of beach.

  “You’re infuriating, you know that? Just tell me, will you?”

  Natalie interrupted. “You got it.”

  Serena gulped. She’d been mid-rant and Natalie had spoken so quietly, like no big deal, how’s the weather, I got a new outfit ain’t that cool, blah blah blah. But that was just like her.

  “I got it?”

  “You got it.”

  “I got it?”

  “Yes, yes, you got it!” Natalie laughed.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Serena. Do you need to take six calming breaths and call me back later?”

  “No way. Not a chance. You’ll just refuse to pick up and then I’ll never get the details and I’ll never believe you. Tell me everything.”

  “After you promised me a bloody death?”

  “You tell me right now, Natalie Renee East, or so help me, I will never speak to you again.” But Serena was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt, and she couldn’t sit fully down in her desk chair before she had to get up and pace the confines of her office again. She sure as heck couldn’t take notes on whatever Nat told her.

  Natalie knew her well enough, though, to promise a follow-up email with everything in writing. And Serena grasped the basics: they’d accepted her offer, they wanted to close at the end of February, Natalie had an inspector she trusted all set up to go through the house on Saturday morning, and Carter hadn’t even been too surly when he’d given Natalie all the news.

  “I’m going to paint the kitchen kind of a sage green, I think. Or butter gold? What do you think?”

  “I think you have a lot of paperwork to deal with before you pick out paint colors.”

  “But which do you think will go better with those countertops?”

  “As if you’d really give anyone else the choice on your wall color.”

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, nothing. You didn’t even let me pick the paint for my own house; why would you let anyone tell you what to do for yours?”

  Serena sat back, finally, blowing out a long breath. “My house.”

  “Your house.”

  “Mine.”

  “All yours.”

  She could feel just how wobbly her grin was. “Mine, all mine.”

  Well, that was odd. Dillon thought they were doing something fun there, at the meeting. Kind of goofy, sure, but fun. They’d been joking around in the hall, and then it continued during, and he’d kind of figured it would continue on the way back to their offices, too. But she’d run off, just about shut the door in his face, and not emerged for hours. Or not that he’d seen, anyway.

  Not that he was particularly looking. But he’d been moving around Lanigan for various reasons, and each time he happened past, her office door remained closed.

  He and Jorge were going over how much white space he needed on some HouGreen web ads when she finally walked by, and since it was pretty much the end of the day, Dillon wrapped up with the photographer and headed after her.

  “Hey.”

  “Oh, hey, Dillon.”

  “I’m still standing, even with all the bullet holes.”

  Serena stopped and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Bullet holes?”

  “Because you left the meeting so fast and I got caught in the crossfire.” She didn’t look like that cleared things up any, so obviously he was a moron and their banter hadn’t meant anything to her.

  “Oh, right. Crossfire.”

  He was going to let it go, but then she smiled a big happy smile at him, and next thing he knew, Dillon was asking if she was headed to Frijoles for happy hour.

  “I wish. I was so distracted last time that I barely even tasted the beer. I think those nachos were totally wasted on me.”

  “So come make up for that now.”

  “No can do. I can only go once a week.”

  “Or what, the happy hour police will arrest you?”

  “Ha ha. No, it’s my budget. Been saving for years for my down payment and then—oh, this is my news, it’s the best thing! I got my house! I get to finally move. Finally! What was I saying?” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and slowed down. “Budget. Right. So I have a system. One happy hour, one lunch, and one other social thing per week. That gives me enough going out time so I don’t feel deprived, but stops me from spending all my house money on ephemeral things.”

  He wasn’t sure he’d call developing friendships over drinks ephemeral, but okay. She had a goal, that made sense. Even if it didn’t quite align with his goal, which, when he thought about it, probably needed to change. He kept asking to get closer to her, and she kept turning him down with a smile.

  It was the smiles that kept him on the hook, though. They were great, Serena’s smiles. They made him feel welcomed into her world, and something deeper, as well. Something kind of primal. He wasn’t used to it, to the way it kept hitting him over and over and over again. Or to the way it took away the filter of common sense, which he knew—when he wasn’t standing next to her—informed him that he’d made his attraction to her obvious enough that he should settle back and let her make the next move.

  But then they had a few moments alone in the lobby and he saw sparks in her eyes when she smiled at him and he was searching for an excuse to spend more time with her, no matter what his common sense might advise upon reflection.

  “That’s great about the house, congratulations. Now you have to come to happy hour, and let me buy you a celebratory beer. It’s my treat, so your budget won’t even notice.”

  She laughed and damn if she didn’t reach up and squeeze his bicep. He felt the warm pressure through his shirt and jacket both. “You are the sweetest guy, Dillon. Thanks so much. But I’ve got a million things to organize now, to get ready for this. Maybe a million and a half. I don’t know. I’ve been itching to go home and start making lists.”

  Sweet. Great. “You can’t make lists at Frijoles?”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  As if he would obey that directive.

  But Dillon’s filter finally kicked in enough to shut him up, so he just walked Serena to her car, listening to her ramble on about her lists and boxes and the room idea binders she’d been compiling for years while she saved up for her down payment. When she’d hopped into her little hybrid and left the Lanigan parking lot, he didn’t even stand there staring after her like a moron. Not for more than a minute, anyway, before taking himself home. But then home was boring, and Shannon and Justin were at a childbirth class, so he took himself to a superhero movie.

  At least there, in the dark with nachos and a soda and explosions and baddies and powers, he was surrounded by a crowd of people on his same w
avelength. Sure, not all of them would trudge home alone afterwards, but that wasn’t something he had to think about for the entire two hour and thirty-two minutes.

  Chapter Six

  Serena woke with a hand on her breast and a stimulating heaviness between her legs. She stretched and indulged in a waking continuation of the dream: Dillon moving over her lazily stretching form, a little stubble scraping her sensitive skin and her hands buried in dark hair she imagined to be thick and soft and warm.

  She hummed throughout her shower. No matter that he was tall like Joey and young like Joey and in inescapable proximity like Joey; Dillon was happier dream fodder than Joey had ever been.

  Sadly, that didn’t change the reality of their relationship. Friday had ended with Anica escorting Serena to Ms. Lanigan’s office for a meeting about her future with the company. With no notice, leaving her mentally scrambling together all the scraps of proof that she deserved a promotion, had earned it with her talent and leadership. And it didn’t help that tall, gorgeous, young Dillon hadn’t given her all of the pull quotes for the Mooney redesign she’d asked for. So much for feeling like she had any semblance of authority over the team. She was left to nod like an automaton throughout the meeting, barely a thing to contribute, and unsure if she was imagining a slightly disappointed look in Ms. Lanigan’s eyes.

  It was the weekend, though, and time to put her work issues away. Well, except for the occasional fantasy, but that wasn’t really work. Serena loaded two more boxes up with books and the art supplies she was least likely to crave over the month before moving. She’d given herself a strict schedule of one box per work day and ten boxes per weekend, and even though she’d already cheated and counted cleaning out a neglected dresser drawer full of winter clothes as packing, she felt okay about it all. Her scummy-butt apartment wasn’t nearly large enough to make packing to finally move out of it an overwhelming chore. She did have a whole lot of art supplies, though.