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bush as he may, he usually operated under a pretense of expecting to get things done quickly.
    But not only had he closed the door, he really seemed to want an answer to his question.
    "I'm fine, Ken, thanks for asking. How ... are you?” After five years of working with him, this felt strange. She'd answered his ad for part time bookkeeping to get some extra money for Christmas the year her car had died and she'd had to invest in the Jetta, and never saw any reason to stop. They were friendly, more like colleagues than boss and employee, but she couldn't remember Ken ever starting a conversation like this.
    "Good. I'm fine, as well.” He stood behind the desk and fidgeted with some papers. “Ah, I was wondering, if you'd, ah, like to go to the seven o'clock showing tonight. With me. If you're not busy.” He abruptly stopped talking, then tilted his head to look at her without really lifting his face.
    Brianna stared, frozen. He was ... asking her for a date ? After five years? And he was—well, okay, not ancient, but much older than she was. Wasn't he? She tried to look at him differently, but couldn't see anything she hadn't seen before. He was balding, which didn't matter to her at all. He wore glasses, but that didn't matter, either. Those things didn't make him unattractive. The polyester pants and short-sleeved, plaid button-down shirts kinda did, and the way he walked with his shoulders hunched, and his semi-greenish pallor that always made him look like he was under florescent lighting, even outside.
    For a second, the idea of dating him was so preposterous, she couldn't say a word. Then the guilt for thinking it was preposterous kept her mouth closed. Finally, when he started fidgeting again and opened his mouth, she found her voice.
    "I'm sorry, Ken, I have plans.” It wouldn't be prudent to remember that they'd been canceled, she told herself, trying to be as clear but as nice as she could be to prevent him from asking again. “I'm not sure what your intentions are.” She cringed over the word, but he didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with it. “But I'm seeing someone."
    "Oh.” He scowled, then erased all expression from his face. “Okay, then. Here's the Judson account.” He handed her a pile of bulging folders held together by rubber bands. “And the Knightwood file.” Another, similar pile. “They both want the figures for September ASAP, so..."
    "I'll get them done quickly,” she assured him, tucking them into her bag and rising. “And, thanks. For the invitation. I'm sorry.” She was going to say more but thought better of it. Ken waved her off and she left, wondering what on earth had prompted that and hoping feverishly that it was the end.
* * * *
    "Brianna? Brianna!"
    She started, shocked to find the entire country club ball committee staring at her. She'd been daydreaming in the middle of a planning meeting. Mortified, she mumbled an apology. The organizer who'd yelled her name scowled.
    "Are you or are you not going to serve on the decorations committee for the holiday ball?"
    "Uh, yes. Sure.” She scribbled a note on her pad. She'd been on the committee for the past two years and had decided to do something else, but wasn't about to speak up now. Curse Cable Addison. She glanced across the room and back a row. He'd come in after she and Kira had, so they hadn't sat together. But he was watching her, and winked.
    "So that's Brianna Macgregor, Darcy Langlais, Ken Salzer, and Cable Addison."
    "What?” She pulled herself up from her slouch and stared at the organizer. He didn't hear her and went on to the next item on his list. “What did he just say?"
    "You shouldn't agree to do this stuff if it's going to bore you to sleep,” Kira whispered next to her.
    "I wasn't sleeping,” Brie muttered.
    "I know, you were thinking about Ca-ble.” She sing-songed his name. “It's been two whole months and you're still moony!"
    Brianna ignored her, still distracted by the names on her