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“Went to a movie with Bella and Mike. And no, I haven’t. I don’t exactly have any privacy around here.” I shrug. “Jake texted at least a dozen times today. Called too. We did sign the divorce papers, right? I swear, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Lauren sets her wine glass down and picks up her plate, seconds before Max hops up on the coffee table to steal a bite. “None for you Max, this is my dinner.” She shovels a forkful in her mouth before answering me. “You’re not losing your mind. You signed the papers, he signed the papers, and I was there holding a Taser to his balls so he couldn’t screw you over.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I laugh. She hadn’t actually been holding a Taser to Jake’s balls that day, I’d insisted she keep it in her purse. I’d had to fight back laughter at the look on his face when she pulled it halfway out before he put pen to paper.
“You’d be fine, because you’re a badass. But you know I’ve got your back. Want me to call him and find out what he wants?”
I snort. “Nah, it’s ok. I’ll call him back tomorrow. He probably needs to swap weekends with me so he can get that hair transplant surgery he always wanted.”
Lauren laughs at that and refills my wine glass. We click glasses again and drain them in a few long gulps, ready for a lazy Friday night together.
The end credits of our second movie of the night are rolling when Lauren speaks up. “So….remember how I said Sutton’s visit was no big deal?” Her voice is muffled by the mountain of ice cream she just shoveled in her mouth. We’ve been binging Hallmark movies and eating ice cream while waiting for Emma to get home. One good thing about sleeping on the sofa-bed is that Lauren and I can both fit on it. I can’t count the number of times she’s slept over after a Friday night of movies and wine since I moved out.
“Yeah?”
“I may have lied a little. He wanted to know who wrote the article on using our file sharing tech to create a national database of health records.”
I gulp. That was one of my articles. “It’s generating a lot of buzz on both sides.” I’d seen some of the arguments, both for and against my point. Some were arguing that creating a national database meant more accurate health care for everyone. Doctors could access to your complete medical history no matter where, instead of the piecemeal records they had to put together from scratch every time someone went to a new doctor. Others argued it was an invasion of privacy, that the government or health insurance companies could use it to deny coverage for pre-existing conditions or track citizens who didn’t want to be tracked.
Since Mailbox, Inc. is only interested in storing its users’ information securely, I can see how our CEO might object to being pulled into the middle of a debate about medical privacy. I’d tried to keep my article as unbiased as possible, simply highlighting the benefits of a secure place to store sensitive records, but I guess I stirred the pot a little too thoroughly.
Lauren had been the one to approve the article and put it up on the Mailbox website. Anxiety curdles in my gut. “Shit, are you in trouble? Am I in trouble?”
“I talked him down. I’m pretty sure Sutton likes the publicity even if he’ll never admit it. We’ve had a 50% increase in new users signing up since the article went up on Monday.”
My relief is short lived when the next words tumble out of Lauren’s mouth.
“He wants the author to accompany him to some gala fundraiser next week.”
“Lauren!” Panic alarms go off in my head. “I can’t go to a fundraiser with Theodore Sutton, he’ll—”
“Know it’s you?” She interrupts me. “But will he really? Has he ever even acknowledged your presence?”
“Really?” Does she not know the same man I do? “Mr. Sutton remembers everything. He’s a certified genius. Of course he’ll recognize me. He walks past me every morning, for crying out loud!”
“I had to give him something, Soph—he was threatening to interview the entire writing staff to find out who wrote it. I couldn’t do that to them. You know what he’s like, by the time he was done, they all would have quit on me.”
She isn’t wrong. Theodore Sutton rules Mailbox by instilling every one of his employees with a healthy dose of fear at every opportunity. Hardly anyone is brave enough to have a conversation with him, let alone flirt with him, despite how handsome he is. Some of the girls talk about it, but as far as I know no one has ever dared to do it.
“But why does he want me to go to some gala? It’s just a silly blog post!” I spoon way too much cookie dough ice cream and shove it in my mouth. A second later, my head explodes in an ice cream headache. I flap my hands and squirm, jostling Lauren while I fight the pain paired with my panic over having to go to this gala with Sutton.
“There’s some health insurance company big-wig who’s supposed to be there. Sutton wants to see if there’s any potential to your idea. He figured it would be easier to get around the corporate red tape if the conversation comes from a writer rather than the CEO.”
“But I am not fancy-gala material, Lauren. What would I wear? Why can’t you go?” My voice is getting higher and higher as my initial panic roars to life. I can’t go on a date with Theodore Sutton, even if it is for work. Is it a date?
“Soph, take a breath babe.” Lauren laughs at me. “First of all, you are abso-fucking-lutely fancy gala material. You’re gorgeous. Secondly, there is no reason you can’t go on a date if you want to. Papers are signed, remember?” She holds a hand up at me when I try to protest. “Thirdly, we will find something for you to wear. I’m going to be your fairy godmother.” Lauren stops to think. “No, scratch that. If Sutton wants to take you so badly he can pay for a dress. Fourth, I can’t go because Sutton specifically asked for the writer and he knows it’s not me. I don’t know the ins and outs of the healthcare system like you do. I can’t fake my way through that conversation.”
I want to argue but she has a point. Thanks to my years at the non-profit, I am intimately familiar with problems in our healthcare system. I try a different tactic. “I can coach you. Please, I can’t go out with Sutton. I’ll embarrass myself.”
Lauren just shakes her head at me. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Jake, does it?”
“I can’t go on a date, Lauren.”
“It’s not a date. It’s a work event. We don’t even have to tell him your real name. If you’re right, and he never notices you at the office, he’ll never know that Elinor Price and Sophie Alexander are the same person.”
Three
Theo
