“Long night?”

It was Michelle. Reliable, hard-working, perceptive Michelle. His secretary for almost two years now. She must’ve seen the unusual slump in his shoulders as he trudged through the corridors on his way to his office. For a moment he’d truly believed it was the cup she held outstretched that was speaking to him, until his eyes caught sight of her perfectly manicured, burgundy polished nails. It was then that his mind stopped wondering about the anonymous late night caller from last night and instead focused on what was at hand.

He took in his surroundings. He was at work, behind his desk, Michelle was standing before him with a large cup of coffee and she looked exceptionally pretty today, her necklace was (for lack of a more manly word) beautiful, adding to the glow that seemed to radiate from her. She was smiling, happy. There were files upon files scattered across his desk, paperwork for this afternoon’s meeting. And already there was a message from Jess requesting that he call her. He assumed it was to talk about tonight’s dinner, the God awful pre-engagement dinner with their parents that he was not looking forward to.

He sighed. Long night? More like long week. It was barely Monday and already he was aching for Friday. He took the cup, removed the lid, and inhaled. “God bless you,” he breathed, and took a much needed sip.

Michelle laughed softly. “Am I holding calls this morning?” His exuberant nodding making her laugh again, louder.

He took a longer sip. “At least until noon. I need to get my head together.”

“Okay.” And then she was gone, and his mind was back on the woman from last night with the wrong number. How weird was that?

He had just laid down to sleep maybe an hour before she had called.

“Hello?” The ring had nearly given him a heartache. He was so tired he could barely open his eyes. He hadn’t checked the caller ID, it seemed extremely late, it must’ve been an emergency.

“Randy is Izzy awake?” A grief-stricken voice.

Who was Randy? Who was Izzy? No one he knew. “Wrong number.” His finger moved toward the ‘off’ button of his cordless.

“Oh!” But her exclamation startled him. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I just… I think…” She took a shaky breath. “Have you ever been cheated on?”

The question that started it all. Her tireless rant, practically her whole life story about how she’d been doing her boyfriend’s laundry---Alec, that was his name---when a diamond necklace fell out of one of his coat pockets.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around this woman’s openness. Was he supposed to care? Was she looking for pity? Because the only response he wanted to give was: HEY! LADY! I don’t know you. Hang up and save this conversation for Randy, or Izzy, or whoever the fuck.

He gathered the strength to look at the clock. Three in the goddamn morning?

Replaying it now made him scoff with mild amusement. Only in Los Angeles…

What disturbed him most was the disappointment he felt for not getting her name. Why didn’t he just Star 69 her and ask? He’d listened to her until it was almost four in the morning, the least she could do was tell him her name. But then, what would having her name have done besides make things complicated?

These were the facts:

She had meant to call Izzy---her best friend, he assumed---and screwed up the number, causing her to call him instead. For reasons unknown to the universe she ended up spilling her guts to him, and for reasons that will forever remain unknown to the universe he’d ended up giving her calming advice. And then they had hung up.

Fuck, the fact that the conversation had even occurred meant this chick had serious issues.

And anyway, he was engaged.

Still, he found himself thinking of names that suited her voice. Joanna, or maybe Victoria; a Francesca would most definitely be friends with someone named “Izzy.” Or maybe she was a Sophie.

He growled in annoyance with himself and took a full on gulp of coffee, hoping the burn that ensued would snap him back to reality.

Goddammit, son-of-a-bitch, damn it all to Hell… he couldn’t kid himself, things were totally fucking complicated.

***

“Damn dude, you look like shit. Have a fight with Jess or something?”

His first instinct was to punch Trace in the kidney, but instead he just glared.

“Have a fight with Lynn?”

He rolled his eyes.

“With… Michelle? She fuck up a message again? What?”

He could keep up the silent treatment until Trace got the hint and left him alone, but he was his best friend. He deserved an explanation for the pissy mood, and although he was being so goddamn annoying, he meant no harm.

Glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes until the meeting. They were set up and ready, fifteen minutes was more than enough time to get this off his chest.

“I didn’t fight with anyone.”

Trace scoffed. “We’re playing that game today.”

He rolled his eyes again and took a seat at the head of the conference table. “I didn’t.”

“Okay,” Trace took a seat to the left of him, tugging at his tie to loosen it, “what’s up your ass then?”

“A woman.”

Trace’s eyes bulged. “Oh, shit! Jay, come on dawg, Jess is amazing, you can’t be cheating on her…”

“I didn’t say I was cheating!”

“You didn’t say you weren’t cheating!”

He sighed. Loosened his tie as well. This was exactly why he didn’t want to say anything. “Just drop it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Because there shouldn’t be something between you and this ‘woman’ that’s so complicated it’s going to be ‘hard’ for me to understand.”

Now it was his turn to scoff. “Complicated?”

“Well it sure as fuck ain’t easy, or we wouldn’t be having this roundabout bullshit of a conversation.”

Touché. But then why did he feel like he was confessing to Jess herself, rather than confiding in his best friend? Because you’re not “confiding,” you didn’t cheat, there’s nothing to “confide.” Oh, but weren’t guilty feelings a form of unfaithfulness? He massaged his forehead. “Look,” he started, “I didn’t cheat on Jess. This woman, she had the wrong number, we talked and she said some shit, but that’s it. I guess I’m just bugging because I didn’t get enough sleep and this deal could really make or break us.”

Trace smirked. “What did you guys talk about?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Stuff.”

“Kinky stuff?”

“Trace!”

Trace laughed. “If she was one of those sex talk operators it’s cool. That’s not cheating, it’s like looking at porn, so stop trippin’. And please don’t worry about this deal. We got this. I mean, fuck, for a second there you really had me worried. I thought something was seriously wrong.” He looked at the clock. Five more minutes until the meeting. He re-tightened his tie. “And for the record ‘she had the wrong number’ is the lamest excuse. I’ve been your boy for how long? I can read between the lines, dawg.”

Which in turn made him laugh. Leave it to fucking Trace.

***

“Trace?”

“Yeah, he was great. They loved him.”

“Wow. Congratulations.” Jessica smiled. They were having a quick drink at the bar before their parents arrived and she couldn’t be more happy. Excited was more like it. In a few months this man sitting beside her would be her husband and she couldn’t wait. And to be able to share this night with him, this casual conversation about work made her smile widen. How did she get so lucky? She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

He regarded her with a kind face. “I love you too.” But he felt awful that more and more, in the past two weeks especially, he was beginning to feel that he was lying. He loved her, but was he in love with her? Was all of it enough to really get married?

He used to be so sure… why wasn’t he anymore?

He took a drink of his scotch hoping he’d get things together before it was too late.

***

“Hello?”

“I figured it out. Instead of two I pressed three, and I totally messed up the area code. Guess that’s what I get for dialing with blurred vision.” She laughed humorlessly. “Get it? ‘Cause I was crying?” She cleared her throat. “Um, but anyway, um, I just wanted to call and thank you once again for listening to me. That’s the nicest thing a stranger’s ever done for me, and you told me exactly what Izzy did. She’s my best friend. Her real name is Isabel.”

3:17. Fuck, did this chick ever sleep at a normal time?

“She always hated Alec. They just have clashing personalities. I bet she’d like you, though.” She cleared her throat again. “But none of that is why I’m calling you. By the way, I’m sorry I’m calling so late, I just figured you’d be available to answer around this time since you did last night. And I was feeling restless ‘cause I really wanted to thank you again. I wanted to send you a bottle of champagne. As a thank you gift.”

A pause as he sat up to let all of this sink in. She was pulling him in with her rambling again.

She sighed. “Are you still there?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Um, it’s really no problem. Um, keep the champagne, it’s cool.”

“I’m not crazy.” She laughed again, for real. “I promise. I just talk a lot. And I’m easily moved by selfless acts of kindness. Please, let me send you something. A nice red wine maybe?”

He was tempted. He could have her send it to the office. The sender address would have her name. But that was too much wasn’t it? Making it even more complicated? He shook his head dismissing the idea. “You don’t owe me anything.”

A beat of silence as she considered. She was probably being too weird. Izzy always said there was such a thing as being too friendly. “Okay. Well… I’m Greta, and I just really wanted to thank you again.”

“You’re welcome. I’m… Justin.”

“Goodnight, Justin.”

“Goodnight.”

Shit. Now that he knew her name this couldn’t possibly be the end.

If he pressed Star 69 her number would be logged in his caller ID. But he couldn’t do that. Could he?