I watched her, unsure of myself. She didn’t notice me, of course. No reason she should. She just sat there, all alone at a table for two, a subtle invitation from the cosmos to make her my own. I ordered another Dos Equis and pulled the notepad from the breast pocket of my blazer.

                Her name was Janice Gibb—such a plain name for a remarkable woman. At 32, she was the youngest account director in her company, the envy of every design firm in the tri-state area. Her IQ was such that she could easily have gone into one of the sciences, but she loved the challenge of design and quickly became one of the most respected designers in the game.

                My pen was out of ink, a Parker paperweight, so I borrowed one from the bartender and jotted down my note. I tried my best to make it benign, but so long as she didn’t vomit or assault me in any way, I was planning to chalk it up as a win. My beer had gone warm by the time I worked up the courage to slip the note to the bartender. I briefly explained the gist of my plan just before he passed the note to a waitress who promptly dropped it at Janice’s table.

                Then I waited…

                For about ten seconds.

                “Is this your idea of a joke?” She took a seat beside me at the bar, her food left to cool on the table. I was scrutinized by her dark, dark eyes.

                “Pardon?”

                “This note?” She held it up as if I needed the reminder. “Did you have it sent to my table?”

                I grinned. “Did Bob put you up to this?” She was perplexed. “Bob Stewart? From accounting. You work at Dunston-Flannery, right?”

                “Um, no.”

She leaned forward to examine me more closely. “I’m with Praytor, Morgan and Schlitt. Do I know you?”

                “I think so,” I said. “But you apparently work for the competition. The way you came storming over here, I thought that maybe Bob had—Why did you come over here in such a huff? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

                “The waitress brought a note to my table. She said a man at the bar had given it to the bartender and—“

                “And you thought I was the culprit, huh?”

                She looked around the bar. “I just assumed—“

                “Well, I don’t want to get between you and whoever actually earned your wrath, so—“

                She smiled. My God.

                “Don’t apologize,” she said. “I was the rude one. I should’ve made sure before I let you have it.”

                “No worries, Ms.—“

                “Gibb.”

                “That’s why you look so familiar. Janice Gibb, right? It should’ve clicked when you mentioned Praytor, Morgan and Schlitt. You and I met at that conference in L.A. last spring. I gave the branding lecture in the conference room with the broken air conditioner.”

                “That’s right,” she said. “I thought you looked familiar. I’m sorry, I don’t remember your—“

                “Ted. Ted Billings.” I offered my hand and she gave it a polite shake. “Now that we’ve settled one mystery, let’s put the other to bed. Bartender?”

                The bartender made his way over, sliding a rag over the mahogany bar along the way.

                “What can I get for you?”

                I leaned forward and spoke just above a whisper, not wanting to draw attention. “Ms. Gibb here says she was sent a note from someone at the bar. The waitress said you handed it to her.”

                “Yes, sir.”

                “Could you point him out for us, please?” I looked back to Janice and gave her a nod that said, just let me handle this for you.

                “No, sir,” the bartender said.

                “What do you mean, no?” Janice said. “This note is—“

                “What I mean, ma’am, is just that the gentlemen has already left the bar. As soon as he handed me the note and pointed you out, he paid his bill and left.”

                I bit my bottom lip. “What about the bill? Did he pay with a credit card?”

                “No, sir. Cash.” He stared at me for a moment and then looked at Janice. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

                “What did he look like?” Janice asked.

                I snapped my fingers. “Yeah, that’s good. Can you describe him?”

                The bartender thought about it second before speaking. “He was medium height. Brown hair. Suit and tie.”

                “That isn’t very helpful,” she said.

                “I know, that could be me for crying out loud. Every guy in this place is wearing a suit.” I pulled a twenty from my wallet and slid it across the bar. “Thanks for trying.”

                He just nodded and left us alone. When I turned back toward Janice, she was staring at herself in the enormous mirror that hung behind the bar.

                “I’m sorry,” I said. “What did the note say, anyway? I’m guessing something perverted from the way it’s bothering you.”

                She looked at me a bit startled, as though she had gone somewhere far away for a moment, just long enough to forget I was there. “I’m so sorry. I, uh—“

                “Had the thousand yard stare going. What’d the jerk say that has you so shook up?”

                She handed me the note, so I read it aloud.

                “I will be your man before the day is through.” I handed it back to her. “Creepy. You should tell the cops.”

                She chuckled and shook her head. “Tell them what? I’m scared of the boogey man?”

                “Could just be a prank,” I offered. “Some stupid dare between guys whose liquid lunch lasted a tad too long.”

                “Yeah.” She sighed and gave me a weak smile. “That’s probably it. Thank you, Ted was it? I appreciate the help. Sorry if I interrupted your lunch.” She tucked a strand of her auburn hair behind her left ear.

                “Not at all,” I said. “I hadn’t even ordered yet.” I offered her my hand to help her off the stool. “Say, I know it’s probably nothing, but I would feel better if you let me walk you to your car. Competition or not, I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.”

                “That’s kind of you but I haven’t even finished my lunch. I had just started eating when—“

                “No problem. I’ll eat here at the bar and when you leave, just swing by and grab me.”

                She smiled again while I refrained from spontaneously combusting.

                “You’re sweet, Ted.”

                It was my turn to smile. “Now who’s had too much to drink?”

                “I mean it. You’re a real gentleman… especially for a competitor.” She was thinking. I could see the question playing just behind her eyes before she gave it voice. “Want to share my table?”

                “Oh, I don’t want to intrude on your—“

                “I insist,” she said. “Please.”

                “People will talk. Our firms are enemies, you know.”

                “Let them talk,” she said. “It’s good to keep people guessing.”

                “Alright then. Just let me pay bar tab and I’ll meet you over there.”

                I watched her as she left me there, denying the smile that once more sought to dance around my lips. I pulled a hundred dollar bill from my wallet and slipped it to the bartender.

                “Everything work out the way you hoped?” he asked.

                “Ask me again tomorrow.”