Working It by Leah Marie Brown Page B

to the arrogant, feckless Scot. It’s just the booze. It’s just the booze.
    “So do ye mean to keep me in suspense, or will ye tell me why ye’re in Alaska?”
    I flag Miss Wet-n-Wild down, order us two more whiskies, take a deep breath, and tell Calder about the events leading up to this moment. I tell him everything. I mean, everything—my date with the catfish, the humiliating two a.m. call, writing the misguided mission statement, getting fired, my contract with Each One, Teach One. I even tell him about my father ditching me to take his silicone-injected sex doll to Switzerland. Calder doesn’t interrupt with questions or commentary. He sits, quietly listening, his gaze never wavering.
    “I am in Alaska because writing that mission statement effectively destroyed my career. I did a Miley Cyrus on my career.”
    Calder frowns.
    “Miley Cyrus. Wrecking ball.” I sigh and shake my head. “Never mind. Pop culture references really aren’t my thing. I should leave them to Vivian.”
    Calder doesn’t laugh at my reference or my self-deprecating humor. He just continues to stare at me, a sad smile on his face. His silence is a bit unnerving.
    Finally, he leans across the table, his face close enough for me to see the slight reddish-blond stubble shadowing his angled jawline and the cleft in his chin.
    “I’m sorry, Fanny.”
    It’s too much. The intensity of his gaze, the tenderness in his voice, the rumbling brogue as he speaks my name.
    “Everything I have worked for, everything I have dreamed about, has been smashed to pieces.” Shut up, Fanny. Stop filling the silence with pathetic confessions. “But it’s fine. I will be fine.”
    “Dinnea do that.”
    “Do what?”
    “Pretend everything is fine when it’s nae.” He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Ye dinnea need to be so tough. Cry, if that’s what ye feel like doing.”
    “Thank you,” I say, pulling my hand away, “but I don’t cry.”
    He leaves his hand on the table and continues to stare deep into my eyes. “Can I give ye a bit of advice?”
    “Sure,” I say, drawing a shaky breath.
    “Lower yer defenses, lassie. If ye want more two a.m. friends, ye need to let people see this softer side. Let people see the real Stéphanie.”
    Calder’s advice reaches into my chest and plucks the most vulnerable chords in my soul. I know I have erected walls too thick for the average person to penetrate, but it’s taken me twenty-six years to build them. Twenty-six years of pain, loneliness, disappointment, and abandonment have stacked up like blocks, separating me from anyone who might hurt me again.
    “I…don’t even know who the real Stéphanie is…” I have to look away. Calder’s stare is too intense, too probing. I take a deep breath and return my gaze. “I thought I knew who I was, where I was going, what I desired, but I don’t know anymore.”
    Calder clears his throat. “Have ye considered that everything that has happened—getting terminated, coming to Alaska—has been preordained?”
    “Preordained? As in arranged by God?”
    “Aye.”
    I snort. “I am not a religious person.”
    “Ye dinnea have to believe in God to concede that sometimes things happen in our lives for a reason. Maybe this happened so ye could figure out exactly who ye are, lass.”
    “You think?”
    “Aye.” He nods his head. “I think life is a series of tests and lessons. Ye are being tested. It’s up to ye to determine what ye’re gonna learn from it.”
    He looks at his watch.
    “Do you have somewhere you have to go?”
    “Unfortunately.” He stands and pulls out my chair. “I have a flight to catch.”
    “Where are you headed?”
    “Sitka.”
    “Sitka?” My head feels like it’s spinning. “Why are you going to Sitka? You’re not going there because of me, are you?”
    “No, banfhlath ,” he says, chuckling. “I’m stationed there. I am a foreign exchange officer assigned to Air Station Sitka.”
    My heart feels