This is the rest of chapter 1 of "A Credit to Love"--it's unedited so far.

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Greg Tanner switched off his computer monitor rather more forcefully than necessary.  A million dollar charge on his corporate credit card?  The senior partners were going to have a fit when they found out.  He’d been out on an errand and had stopped in to pick up thank-you notes at the request of one of the secretaries, and had somehow authorized a seven-digit charge.

    How could I be so dumb? He asked himself.  Granted, the girl who had rung the sale had made the mistake, but he had signed for it without double-checking the amount until fraud control had alerted the firm’s controller.  Not an amusing matter for a firm who dealt mainly with income tax law.

    “Greg, let it go.”  Tamara Webster, another junior partner who had joined the firm just weeks before Greg, poked her head into the office.  “It’s after 10 on a Friday night, and you’re still in the office.  Whatever case you’re working on can wait until Monday morning—or at least tomorrow afternoon.”

    She was right, he realized.  He’d been in the office for 14 hours today, minus the disastrous break for errands.  “Well, then, what are you still doing here?”

    “Making up billable hours after my dentist appointment on Monday.  But, it’s your lucky night, because I’m headed out, too.  I want company for dinner, and I won’t take no for an answer.”  She gave him a smile that belied her toughness in the courtroom—Tamara was a former legal review editor at her law school as well as a past Miss Colorado.

    “I’d love to, Tam, but . . .”

    “No buts—I’ll meet you at the diner across the street in ten minutes.”  She sailed out of the office, auburn curls trailing in her wake. 

Greg shook his head, wondering when he’d agreed to anything, knowing it didn’t matter to Tamara.  Besides, there were worse ways to spend a Friday night than with a woman as smart and pretty as her.

True to her word, Tamara was waiting for him ten minutes later at the all-night diner frequented by many members of the firm.  “Glad you could make it.”  She waved him to the seat across from her, the light catching her silver rings and drawing attention to her well-manicured nails.  “So, what was all the slamming and crashing about tonight?”

A gum-cracking waitress appeared at their booth.  “Whatcha havin?”  Greg ordered the special, not knowing what it was, but unwilling to admit that in front of Tamara.  He got nervous when she followed suit.

“Do you know what the special is?” she asked in a stage whisper as the waitress spun away, jaw still working. 

He shook his head.  “You?”  They laughed as she shrugged.

“Mysteries are always fun,” she assured him.  He felt her feet bump against his under the table and scooted his back.  “You were fine,” she told him a moment later, batting her eyelashes.  “So, tell me, what happened earlier?”

Greg took a deep breath and related the story.  Tamara laughed at the end.

“Oh, that’s rich.  And I’m sure that dingy little manager was crying when you got done with her.” 

The words had a sobering effect on Greg.  For all his irritation, the problem with the credit card hadn’t been the manager’s fault.  She had been as nice as could be, even when he’d been inexcusably rude.  He didn’t think he’d been harsh enough to make her cry, but his dating history proved that he didn’t always understand women so well.

You’ll have to call tomorrow and apologize, he told himself.  He might never meet this Kate in person, but on the chance that he was ever back in the store, his witness would be at stake.  Yes, the employee had made a mistake, but it wasn’t right for him to take it out on her when all she’d tried to do was help.

“Greg?”  Tamara was looking at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry, Tam, my mind wandered for a minute.”

Her eyes flashed for a moment.  “If I’d known you were going to be such miserable company, Greg, I would’ve left you beating up your filing cabinet.”  He was spared the necessity of a reply when the waitress unceremoniously plunked plates of meat loaf and mashed potatoes in front of them.  Tamara was instantly distracted.  “I can’t eat this,” she proclaimed, her nose wrinkling.

Greg merely picked up his fork and began to eat.  It might not have been four-star gourmet, but it was better than anything that had come from his microwave in a plastic tray.

“Greg, let’s go somewhere else, maybe somewhere the food won’t put two inches on my hips just from the smell.”

“You should at least try it, Tamara.  It’s actually good.”

With a roll of her eyes and a longsuffering sigh, she picked up her fork and traced it through the far edge of the potatoes, skirting any and all gravy, which seemed to offend her by its very presence.  Greg wanted to tell her she would have to unclench her jaw in order to eat, but thought better of it.  He continued to eat as she picked at her plate. 

Tamara loudly stirred hear nearly empty soda—diet, of course—with her straw before finally tapping her neatly manicured nails on the side of the glass.  The waitress, gum still firmly engaged, swept the glass off the table without a word.  Tamara blew out the breath she’d been holding through her nostrils, and Greg prepared himself for a scene.

It wasn’t to be.  She turned her sweetest smile to him.  “Next time, can I pick the restaurant?”  He thought it impolitic to point out that she had been the one to suggest the diner in the first place and nodded.

“Dessert?”  The waitress returned, plunking Tamara’s glass in front of her, diet cola sloshing over the rim.  Greg took pity on his coworker.

“I think we’re ready for the check, actually.”  The waitress spun off without another word, returning with the slip a moment later.  Greg reached for the check, figuring he’d put Tamara through enough that evening.  He left enough cash to cover the bill and a fairly good tip, and nodded to Tamara, who had been silent for several moments.  They were nearly to the parking garage when she finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, Greg, for the way I acted in there.”  They stopped at her car, and she turned to face him.  “Some days I forget I’m not still Miss Colorado and having to watch every bite that goes in my mouth any more.  I was a terrible brat.  Can you ever forgive me?”

He reached for her hand.  “Of course.  Shall we just forget the entire thing?”

“Why don’t I make it up to you tomorrow night, say around 7?”  She stepped closer to him, her chin tilted upwards.  Greg’s eyes dropped to her lips, and she lifted her chin a bit more.  He angled around to the side and kissed Tamara’s cheek. 

“I’ll pick you up then.”  She shook her head for a fraction of a second, then opened her car door.  Greg stood to the side until she had driven out of view.  He needed to get home so he could get some sleep before heading back to the office in the morning.  If he was going to take Tamara out the next evening, he definitely had to put some hours in earlier in the day on the audit he was working on.  The hours were long at this firm, but he’d be able to pay his student loans back within a few years, instead of the fifteen to twenty some of his law school classmates were looking at.

But he had a date with Tamara Webster, who’d caught his eye his first day at the firm 14 months earlier.  Greg drove home with a smile on his face, wondering what the next evening would bring. He said a quick prayer, asking God to allow him to pick up the sweet woman who had so humbly apologized for her behavior earlier.