Chapter Four
“Oh, wow.” The cheerful young woman standing at the teller window smiles at me bright and early the next morning. “Senior Branch Manager and Vice-President. You must be the right person to talk to here.”
Being vice-president in a small-town bank is nothing like working for a big bank in New York City, but I’ll take the compliment. “I hope so. What can I do for you?”
“We’re interested in opening a joint account.” She hugs the man next to her and nearly squeals with enthusiasm. “We’re moving in together this weekend!”
They both have smooth skin and clear eyes. And they’re beaming. Clearly naïve to the perils of love. But then the guy grins back at me, suddenly looking less naïve and more like a young college grad who’s in way over his head with this commitment and joint account business. He looks far too much like Nate for me not to notice. This could be a hard sell. But this is why I still love to run the teller window for a few hours each day; I enjoy the customer contact, and I love the challenge of converting non-customers into customers.
From her teller station next to me, Cassandra glances at the guy, and then scribbles “you got this” on her pad, shoving it close enough so I can read it.
I lock the cash drawer as I straighten the nametag on my blazer and grab my favorite pen.
“You’re the best deal closer at Union,” Cassandra whispers to me. “This should be a walk in the park for you.”
I smile at her and step around the teller station. “If you would please follow me,” I say to the couple.
When we arrive at my desk in the corner of the platform section, I direct the couple into chairs and then take a seat across from them behind the desk.
“Oh,” the woman says, sounding disappointed. “No private office for the vice-president?”
“Only the president has a private office at Union Bank,” I say. Vivian has been the president for over twenty years, and she doesn’t believe in offices for anyone but her. She says it leads to laziness and chit-chat behind closed doors.
I pick up a brochure that highlights the different checking accounts. “Shall we begin?”
Despite my lack of a private office, being a bank manager has its benefits. I like money. I like being around money, and I like making money. Getting the reputation as the branch’s deal closer was easy for me. I focus on the end result, visualize it in my mind, and I’ve been able to convert a ridiculously high percentage of non-customers to new customers.
So yes, my financial health is great. I am gainfully employed, fiscally stable, and my money is in good hands, all the way from a strong 401K and several stable stock funds to a savings account I hardly touch. But having all of that economic security didn’t fix my personal problems. With Jenson off-limits, I got engaged to a guy I didn’t love, and even though I managed to come to my senses enough to break it off, I then married another man impulsively. I tried to rectify all of it by reaching for a killer job on Wall Street. But the man kind of came with the job, and when I filed for divorce, there went Manhattan.
I guess I thought being inside a bank all day would help to insulate me from the outer world, the world of relationships. But not always.
Right now, for example, a relationship is sitting right in front of me. I exhale behind the paperwork I’m riffling through as a means of stalling. When I finally hand the pamphlets to the couple, they barely notice. They’re too busy kissing, being all mushy and lovey-dovey.
I clear my throat.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” The woman giggles. “I almost forgot where we were!”
“Love can do that to you,” I say, remembering being in Jenson’s truck with him last night.
My desk phone rings as I’m reviewing the options with them. “The basic checking account is no charge,” I say. “But if you’re willing and able to pay a small monthly fee for the premier account, the benefits can really be worth it.” The phone stops ringing as it goes to voicemail, but then it begins again insistently. It’s too distracting to ignore. “Excuse me while I take this call,” I say to them.
“Hello and welcome to Liberty Falls Union Bank,” I say. “This is Olivia. How may I help you?”
“Let me think.” Jenson’s voice comes through the phone in a flirty tone, and I turn toward the windows so the couple I’m working with won’t see me blush. “Um…” He draws out the next four words. “I have an idea.”
“J, I’m working.”
“Me too.”
Loud voices on the other end of the line get my attention. “Wait. Where are you?”
“On a football field.”
“Really?”
I remember how hot Jenson always looked when I watched him play quarterback for state, and I smile. “What are you doing on a football field?”
“I’ll tell you tonight. Let me take you to dinner,” he says to me.
