Page 4 of A Smooth Operator

"How was your weekend, Echo?" Dr. Martin Andersen, the head of my lab and my boss, asked as I set my backpack down in my small office.

The lab was a vast, open space filled with state-of-the-art equipment and workstations, each meticulously organized with beakers, pipettes, and centrifuges humming softly. Surrounding the lab on three sides were sleek offices and glass-walled meeting rooms, where scientists and researchers could be seen in deep discussion or poring over data on their computer screens. The fourth side of the lab boasted large, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Mississippi River—its waters reflecting the golden hues of the sun and casting a warm, natural light across the pristine, sterile environment.

Dr. Andersen had taken over as head of the lab six months ago. I liked him. He was smart, and it didn't hurt that he was very handsome.

"It was good, Martin. How about you?"

He leaned against my office doorway. "I broke up with my girlfriend, so not great."

"I'm sorry," I paused and cocked an eyebrow. "Am I sorry?"

He laughed. "No, you're not sorry. It was for the best."

"How long were you together?" I knew he was engaged to a Memphis blue blood. I'd met her once at a company event and only knew of her through Martin.

"Since before I moved to Memphis; nearly a year and a half," he remarked. "We only started living together a few months ago."

In the past, I wouldn't have encouraged a conversation about personal matters. As a child, I avoided inviting friends to the trailer where my mother was probably strung out. Later, living with Aunt Fern, I was told I couldn't have anyone over. But now, I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted—and Martin and I had become friends as well as colleagues.

"How bad are you feeling?" I asked. "Heartbroken or ego bruised?

He sat down on a chair across from me and chuckled. "A little of both, I think. She fell in love with someone else."

"Oh God!" I was appalled. Why would any woman not want this man? He was handsome as sin. Smart as Einstein.

"Yeah." He sighed. "It hurts; but I was kinda expecting it."

"How come?"

"The signs were there, you know? She was honest about it, moved out, handed me the keys and an apology. It was all very civilized. Says a lot about our relationship."

"What does it say?" I mused.

He smiled sadly. "That it lacked passion. It should hurt a hell of a lot more, but it doesn't. I'm sad, yes. I'll miss her, but I also know I'll be fine without her."

"Then maybe it's a good thing it's over?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. Since we moved in, we stopped making time for us. We've both been so busy with work, especially Becky, who fell in love with a colleague."

"What does Becky do?"

He raised both eyebrows as if surprised that I didn't know. "She's a Hamilton."

"Okay." I had no idea what that meant.

"Hamilton Stores?"

"Oh," I exclaimed. They owned grocery chains across the South.

"She's Hamilton's Chief Operating Officer. She works for her father."

I whistled. "You were like a power couple."

He sighed. "Yeah, the couple that didn't have the power to make date night happen. How about you, Echo? You seeing someone?"

I was not. In fact, I'd never dated. Not even in university. I was too busy trying to get out of the trailer park, which meant I studied and worked hard. I had had sex, of course. I was twenty-five, not eighteen. But it was nothing to write home about. The first guy didn't even get all the way in, so that was a bust. The second guy did and hurt me. There was blood, and he freaked out. The third guy was a pump and dump who had the temerity to ask, "Was it good for you, babe?"

There hadn't been a fourth. I didn't have the time, energy, or inclination to get laid when it seemed like either the men I hooked up with were douchebags, or there was something wrong with me, or the world was lying its ass off when people waxed poetic about sex.

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