Billion Dollar Mistake by K.C. Crowne

Chapter 1

JOLENE

Tell me one good reason why you don’t have a margarita in front of you. You can’t do it.

I sighed and smiled as I read the text from my sister Joanne. I was seated on the patio of El Ranchito, one of a few restaurants we had in the small, Colorado town where I lived. Whitepeak, CO, population 19,422, was situated about twenty miles outside of Denver.

Damn, if a margarita didn’t sound good as hell.

Plus! It’s a first date! The worst part of first dates is the first thirty minutes. You get a marg in you, and it goes a *hell* of a lot easier.

I shook my head, still smiling as I hovered my thumbs over the keypad. Before I began typing, I glanced up to take in the sight of downtown Whitepeak in front of me, the blocks clustered with charming, red-brick shops and apartments, the corner across from where I sat a little park with a stone fountain in the center, a handful of families playing in the orange light of the sunset between the western peaks of the Rockies.

It was a pretty damn pleasant moment, actually. Perfect time to have a margarita, a bite to eat, and do some scrolling on my phone before heading home to get ready for another day of work at the coroner’s office.

Too bad about the whole date part.

I turned my attention back to my phone. My sister was most definitely not the kind of woman who took kindly to being left on “read.”

Last thing I want is to be all sloppy when this guy shows up. No – I need to be clearheaded so I can make an accurate assessment.

The response was quick, as was always the case with Joanne.

Boring! A steaming from the nose emoji accompanied the word. The whole reason I recommended the place to you was because of the margs. You have to try one.

I chuckled at her persistence, then started typing.

Maybe if the date goes well.We’ll see! I tacked on a simple smiling face emoji, along with some praying hands.

“Something to drink?”

I was so wrapped up in my phone conversation that the voice of the waitress was enough to jostle me. I glanced up to see a cute, mid-twenties woman standing over me with a patient and expectant look on her face.

“Shoot,” I said, glancing at the menu and realizing that I hadn’t given the matter of what to drink a single thought aside from Joanne trying to goad me into a margarita. The drink menu was eye-catching, the pictures of margaritas with salty rims making my mouth water. But then I remembered what I was doing, why I was there.

“I’ll take an iced tea,” I said. “Extra lemon, please.”

She smiled and nodded then was on her way. I glanced up as she left, my eyes flicking to the entrance as the door opened. A figure stepped through, one that I couldn’t quite make out aside from that it was a man, and that he was quite tall.

I didn’t care that much about height. But as a tall woman myself who’d hit the height of 5’10 my sophomore year of high school when most guys were still waiting for their growth spurts, I had to admit that a guy taller than me had a certain appeal. That came far behind his personality and our chemistry, of course. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a tingle of excitement when I spotted the towering silhouette appear through the entrance.

He was alone, and when he stepped out on to the patio, my excitement only grew. The man was handsome and well dressed, his hair dark and close-cropped, his clothes neat and business casual, suggesting he’d come straight from an office job.

I tried to keep my eagerness in check, but all signs were looking good for him being Paul, the guy I was meeting. We were meeting on the suggestion of Megan, one of my coworkers. She had wanted this to be a true blind date – not even giving me the pictures you’d get from Bumble or any other dating app. She’d insisted it’d be more fun that way, but that remained to be seen.

As he approached, his eyes landed on me and a warm, winsome smile spread across his face. I smiled right back, preparing myself to get up and shake his hand.

As the man drew nearer, I did my standard glance down at his shoes. I was hardly the type of woman who cared about men’s clothes, but something my Grandma Adeline had told me back when I was a kid was that you could tell a lot by a man’s shoes.

So, as both a fun assessment and a way to keep Grandma’s memory alive, I always gave the shoes a quick glance. This guy’s shoes were nice – walnut-colored oxfords with a little tasteful broguing at the ends.

So far things were looking good for this date to get off to a great start.

“Hey!” he said, his voice low and warm. “There you are!”

I was half out of my seat at this point, a flash of surprise coming over my face as I found myself wondering why this guy, I didn’t even know was greeting me in such a familiar way. I stood straight up, extending my hand to him as he approached.

“Hey!” I replied. “There you are!”

But he didn’t take my hand. Instead, his warm, inviting expression changed in an instant to one of total confusion as he glanced at me in passing.

And then he blew right past.

My hand still sticking out, I looked back over my shoulder and watched as the man happily embraced a pretty brunette in her late twenties, the two sharing a hug and a kiss before sitting down with one another and falling instantly into excited conversation.

“Anything else I can get you?”

Once again, the waitress’s voice snapped me back into the moment. I was still standing there like a goon, my hand extended for a handshake that would never come. I quickly composed myself and dropped into my seat as the waitress placed the iced tea and a small dish of lemons on the table.

“Oh, no, that’s fine.”

I didn’t get a chance to take a sip of my drink, however, before the man I knew without a doubt was my date showed up.

And how did I know? Because the moment he barged through the door leading to the patio, he made eyes at me, smiled broadly, and spoke.

“Yo! You Jolene?” His voice was brash and loud, reminding me more of a frat kid than the thirty-something man he appeared to be. His hair was dirty blonde and shaggy, his work clothes oversized.

The shoe check wasn’t promising either. He had on a pair of ugly square-toed loafers that guys seemed to always wear, the ones that made their feet seem twice as big. I’d met plenty of good guys who wore ugly shoes, and plenty of jerks who wore nice ones, but all the same, there was something about the shoes. It was as if my grandma was there with me, raising her eyebrows in a knowing way as Paul stomped toward me.

Within seconds he was in front of me, his floppy hair and cocky smile making him seem even more like an overgrown kid. He was about my height, his eyes so dark brown that they were almost the same color as his pupils. He stuck out his hand and spoke as he looked me up and down.

“Damn. I have to admit, I was a little worried about this whole blind date thing, but never mind!”

When his eyes returned to mine, he said nothing, as if waiting for me to gush over his compliment.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice crisp and professional. Being ultra-professional was a quirk of mine, something I did when I felt annoyed or uncomfortable or, in this case, a little of both. Thirty seconds into this date and I was already annoyed.

“Anyway,” he said, taking my hand and giving it a shake as floppy as his hair. “Name’s Paul McConnell. Pleased as hell to meet you.”

“Jolene McCallister. And likewise.” Part of me wanted to stick the Dr. title in there, to send a subtle message that I was approaching this date from a careful distance, but I held back. Paul hadn’t exactly wowed me so far, but I wanted to give him a chance to turn things about. After all, it wasn’t a crime to be a little on the immature side. Maybe he’d surprise me?

He plopped into the seat next to mine, his hair bouncing as he landed. Right away, he scrunched up his face in displeasure at the table.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Chips. Where’re the chips?”

“Huh?”

He swept his hand toward the table, which had nothing on top of it other than the menus and my tea.

“Mexican restaurants are supposed to bring chips out, you know? Shit, I’m so freaking starving it’s not even funny. Wait until I tell you about the day I had.”

“I told her to hold off until you go—”

He didn’t give me a chance to finish.

“Yo!” he said, his booming voice so close to me that I instinctively shook in my chair out of surprise. “Yo!”

I glanced back to see that he was addressing the waitress, who was in the middle of taking another table’s order.

“Can we get some chips and salsa? And, uh, two margarrrrrrritas!” he bellowed, obnoxiously rolling the r’s.

The waitress offered a prim smile in response, and I could sense she was trying to keep her annoyance with Paul’s behavior in check.

When the order was in, he turned his attention back to me.

“So,” I said. “You must’ve worked up a heck of a thirst today.”

He cocked his head to the side, confused. “Huh?”

“Two margaritas? Someone’s not messing around.”

“Ah!” he said, nodding. “No, they’re not just for me – they’re for us! What’s the point of going to a Mexican joint if you’re not gonna get sloshed on margarrrrrrritas, eh?”

And just like that, he’d hit three red flags. The first was his obnoxious entrance, the second was his disrespect toward the staff, and the third was one of my biggest pet peeves – when guys ordered for me.

“That’s nice of you,” I said. “But I’m not really into drinking on work nights, and —”

“Oh, live a little!” he said. Though he was being light-hearted, I could tell he was a touch irritated, likely thinking I was being too prissy.

Then again, I was already getting the impression that this date was going to be one where I’d need a drink to get through it.

“Sorry,” the waitress said as she approached the table. “I was with other customers and wanted to double-check – two margaritas?”

Paul sighed frustratedly. “You could’ve already brought the chips, but whatever. Yeah – two margs.”

“Could you make mine on the rocks, no salt?” I asked.

“Of course. And I’ll give you both a few minutes to look over your menus.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“On the rocks?” he asked when the waitress had gone. “You serious?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s fine, I guess. I like the blended ones, you know. They’re like slushies, but slushies that get you hammered.” He grinned after he said the words, as if he’d just made the joke to end all jokes. I offered a forced chuckle in response, more to fill the air than anything else.

“So,” I said. “You’re an engineer, Megan tells me?”

“That’s right,” he said, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head. “Been working for Eastern Rockies Railways for going on ten years now.”

“And you like it?”

He snorted and smirked, as if I’d asked him an obvious question.

“’Course I love it. I hang out in an office all day getting paid big bucks to do checks on the railways to make sure they’re up on their maintenance schedules and all that shit. Gotta do tons of traveling around the region, though. Usually gone for two weeks every few months, weekends here and there. Hell, I live in a three-hundred square foot studio when I could afford something way better because what’s the point, you know? Just need a place to crash and get in some X-Box when I’m not at work or on the road.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve got much time for dating.”

Paul shrugged. “I could squeeze it in if I met the right someone. They’d have to be cool with me going out of town whenever work needs me to, though. But most girls aren’t.”

The case for Paul was getting worse and worse. Not only did he have plenty of less-than-charming traits, but he’d also be gone half the time.

“And what about you? Megan says you’re the head coroner or something?”

“Yep. Head medical examiner.”

“So, what is that? Like, you check out murder victims and stuff and solve crimes?”

“Well, not really. Whitepeak doesn’t exactly have an epidemic of murders, so I mostly determine causes of death when it’s not clear at the hospital. But I do help out the Denver police on high profile cases, and someday I’d love to work for the State Coroner’s Office and help solve crimes. Kind of my dream, really.”

He looked at me cockeyed, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the information he’d just received. It was a look I was used to. I loved my job, but when people heard what I did for a living, most of them thought it was gross and morbid. Death was the last thing people wanted to think about, and there I was, living it day in and day out.

“I hear they call you ‘Dr. Death’?” he asked, cutting me off and using the nickname Megan must have told him about.

“At the office, yeah. But it’s more of a joke than anything else.”

“But it’s true,” he said. “You’re a death doctor. Like, that’s your job.”

“I mean, sure. But it’s not like —”

“Oh!” he interrupted, his eyes flashing and his mouth opening into a perfect “O,” as if he’d remembered something majorly important. “I forgot to tell you about what happened at work!”

And that was twice he’d interrupted me. Three red flags should’ve been enough, but I wanted to be generous. Four, however? That was more than I was willing to put up with. At that moment, I mentally checked out of the date, wishing the waitress would hurry up with that margarita so I’d have something to take the edge off.

“So, what happened at work?” I asked the words with the blasé attitude of someone who didn’t have anything to worry about. The date was over, which meant whatever pressure had been there was gone. All I had to do was enjoy my food and pay my share of the check when it came.

“OK, so we’ve got these IT guys at work, total dorks, right? And one of them came into my office today asking if he could use my computer. I was like, are you serious? Anyway, I told him to screw off, and…”

The story went on just like that. Part of me had been hoping for him to actually tell me something interesting, but the longer he talked the more I got that it was nothing more than some standard interwork drama about toes getting stepped on.

The thing about my job was that, not only did I love it, but it was interesting as hell. Each day brought about a new mystery to solve. I was presented with a body, and it was up to me to figure out what had happened, drawing upon all my skills and experience as a doctor in the process. Not like I looked down on other people with more conventional careers, but they tended not to exactly match up when it came to excitement.

The waitress mercifully showed up before Paul could get too far into the story, placing the margaritas and chips on the table.

“Oh man, finally.” Paul grabbed a handful of chips and shoved them into his mouth, crumbs falling in a cascade of blue corn. “I was freaking starving to death.”

“Thanks,” I said, offering a pursed lip smile to the waitress. She responded with one of her own, a knowing look in her eyes that suggested she’d read the situation and knew what was up.

He dusted his hands and picked up the menu.

“OK,” he said. “We’ll do…one order of steak fajitas, one order of chicken. Bring some extra guac, and, oh, extra flour tortillas – none of that corn stuff. Thanks.”

The waitress jotted it down as I reached over to the menu in Paul’s hands.

“Wait, did you just order for me?”

He seemed confused. “Uh, yeah. So?”

“I don’t like it when people order for me. The drinks, I’ll let slide. But I like to pick my own food out.”

“You ever had their fajitas? They’re bomb. Trust me, you’ll —”

“I can order my own food, thanks.” I held back how truly irritated I was, but there was still a sharpness to my voice all the same.

“I’ll give you both a minute.” It was clear the waitress had picked up on the tension at the table.

When she was gone, Paul set down his menu, clearly frustrated.

“What’s the deal, huh? I’m trying to be nice and you’re getting all uptight about it. Megan said you were cool. Not really seeing that, to be honest.”

Andthat was the official end of that date. I’d planned on powering through with the help of a steady drip of tequila, but him getting confrontational and annoyed by me simply wanting to order my own food was one red flag too many.

“You know what, Paul? I think we’re done here.”

“Huh?”

“I’m just not seeing any connection between us. I think it might be a good idea to quit while we’re ahead.”

Or too catastrophically far behind, I considered. Before I end up dumping your slushie margarita in your lap.

“You serious? You want to just…end the date?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I doubt we’re going to click. So, why don’t you stay and finish your margarita, and I’ll take off. I’ll cover the drinks too, for your trouble.”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“Unbelievable. You know what, you’re not cool. In fact, you’re kind of a stuck-up bitch.”

He stood up, tossing the menu onto the table.

“Not nice meeting you.” He smirked as he sauntered off, as if he’d mustered the entire power of his wit for that last barb and was quite pleased with himself for it. He strolled off through the patio door, those ugly as sin loafers the last thing I saw before he vanished.

I sighed, shaking my head as I sat alone.

“I know it’s not my business,” the waitress said as she came over to the table and topped off my tea. “But that guy seemed like a total D-bag.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “No kidding. But the good thing about D-bags is that sometimes you get lucky, and they let you know about their D-bag-ness right away.”

“True,” she said with a smile. “First round is on me, by the way. You’ve earned it.”

Part of me wanted to object, but by that point I was ready to catch a break.

“Thanks,” I said. “And you know what? I think I’ll take the fajitas after all – make it the double combo, too.”

She winked. “You got it.”

With that, she was off, and I was left alone with my drinks. But I didn’t have even a moment to reflect on the awful date before my phone buzzed on the table – a text from Joanne.

Hey! Come on, go take a bathroom break or something and tell me how it’s going! I’m dying!

Where are you right now?

Claptrap Coffee, the cafe down the street. Doing some work and figured if the date went bad you could come here and vent.

I laughed, loving how my sister was always there for me.

Well, the date is over. And if you’re in the mood for some fajitas and margaritas, there’s a drink here with your name on it if you can get here before it melts.

WHAT? OK, be there in five.

I set my phone on the table before giving my full attention to the margarita. No salt, on the rocks – it was perfect. I sipped and let the limey taste of the tequila wash over my palate, transporting me to a place where first dates were actually fun. What would it even be like to go out with a guy who wasn’t a perv or a douchebag or a workaholic?

The date played in my mind a few more times before I spotted Joanne’s mint green Prius pull into the parking lot. Seconds later, she stepped out, her big, sunny smile visible even from across the lot. She waved as she hurried over, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could.

It was obvious Joanne was my sister. She was shorter and dark-haired while I was tall and auburn-haired, but we had the same freckles, same pale skin, and sunny smile – though her smile came out a bit more often than mine, I had to admit. She worked as a prosecutor at the DA’s office in Denver, living in a suburb which put her at about the exact middle distance between Denver and Whitepeak. It meant I got to see her all the time, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Joanne didn’t bother going in through the restaurant. She made a beeline for me from her car then climbed over the patio gate, sliding into the chair flashing a wide-eyed expression at me.

“What the hell happened?”

I opened my mouth to speak. But before I could get out even a single word, she held up her palms.

“Wait, which one’s mine?”

“The slushy one. Don’t worry – he stormed off before he even took a sip.”

She leaned over and wrapped her lips around the straw, taking a long pull followed by an ahh.

“Exactly what I needed after the deposition I had today. But we’re not talking about me – what the heck happened with this guy?”

“God, where to begin…”

I braced myself with a long sip before giving her the rundown. I started with the floppy hair and bad shoes and ended with him storming off in a huff after I told him I wasn’t crazy about guys ordering for me.

“Who still even does that?” she asked, wiping her hands after polishing off some chips. “We are well past nineteen fifty-five.”

“Some guys think it’s being chivalrous or something,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “Or they’re too clueless to understand that a woman can have her own opinion about what she puts in her own damn body.”

“Either way, not a good sign. Besides, who’d want to date a guy that’s gone for weeks at a time? How the hell are you even supposed to build a life with someone like that?” She raised her finger. “And furthermore, what kind of person set you up on a date with a man who’s so clearly not for you?”

“A coworker who was more concerned about making a match than considering whether or not that match would even work. But her heart was in the right place.”

“Well, don’t worry too much about it. You’re brilliant and beautiful and successful – you’ll find someone.”

“Thanks.” I meant it. Joanne always had a way of lifting my spirits. “And it’s not that I desperately need to be dating anyone, or that I’m obsessed with my love life.”

“Sure. But there’s nothing wrong with wanting someone to share your life with, you know?”

“Right. But I’m thirty-four. I know that’s not old, but…”

She raised her eyebrows and leaned in. “But…”

“You know what they call a pregnancy after thirty-five?”

“What?”

“A geriatric pregnancy. Seriously, that’s what they call it.”

“They consider you old if you have a kid after thirty-five?”

“I mean, it’s just a label. But the fact of the matter is that things get a little more complicated on that front when you get older – no getting around it.”

I took a sip of my margarita as she responded.

“I don’t know what’s weirder – that or hearing my older sister talk about having kids. I don’t remember you ever being interested in motherhood.”

“Don’t get me wrong – I don’t have baby fever or anything. But I’ve always wanted kids and a family and all that good stuff. It’s easy to imagine that happening in the hazy, distant future when you’re in your twenties, you know? But now that I’m approaching my mid-thirties…”

I shook my head, trying to come to my senses.

“It’s just that I have a great career, a great place to live, and a great family. And now, after all my hard work, I’m ready to bring someone else into all that.”

“It’s hard to do that when all the guys seem like teenagers in the bodies of grown men.”

“Yes! That’s what was up with this guy – total frat boy vibes.”

“The worst. But you know what I think?”

“What’s that?”

She grinned. “We do a couple more margs and then get an Uber. You’ve earned it, in my humble opinion.”

At that moment, the waitress brought the steaming, sizzling plate of combo fajitas.

“I’ll drink to that,” I said with a smile.