Page 36 of The Alibi Club

The Arthur J. was a swanky, retro-inspired steakhouse with a dimly lit dining room and a damn good martini. Jamie sat at the bar with a book and a file, waiting for her new client, Duncan Reeves. She munched on complimentary olives, grateful for a few minutes alone while she reviewed his file.

Duncan Reeves was a tech mogul and cofounder of the TwinFlame dating app. Net worth: $800 million. University of Southern California dropout. Divorced. Curiously, he’d created the company with his wife back when they were in college. TwinFlame was the premiere dating app when it came out, a notch above the other dating apps because it had a snazzy- sounding “intuitive, proprietary algorithm designed to seek out and match you with your perfect person.” A bold claim, indeed.

On the app’s landing page, TwinFlame claimed it was built for people in pursuit of the real deal. Love without blinders on. But the entire dating world knew that was a load of horseshit. It touted itself as “The first and last place to make a true connection.” Despite the depressing reality of the app’s shortcomings, Jamie had bought in to the app to the tune of $34.99 a month. Dating was a numbers game, after all. No wonder Duncan Reeves was a rich man.

Duncan, however, had run into trouble several times with his own C-suite of executives. Some of her notes claimed that Duncan’s ego was roughly the size of Nevada, which was no mystery. That kind of unhindered success and exponential wealth at a relatively young age was a perfect incubator for narcissism. In a twist of irony, Duncan was single, too. Jamie bet that if she tracked the timing of the fall of his marriage, it would coincide with the exponential success of their dating app.

The case was referred to Jamie by the chairman of Duncan’s own board of directors, a friend of her mother’s, who—unbeknownst to Duncan—was on the verge of kicking Duncan out of his own company unless he got his management style under control. It seemed in the wake of the divorce from his first wife, Duncan had gone on a sexual conquest mission, dating (the term used in the ever so loosest way) a bevy of women throughout his own departments, starting with Social Marketing and Account Management before sleeping his way through the entire female contingent of the User Experience department. Several women who, now jilted or harassed or both, had threatened to sue the company for a myriad of reasons. It had to stop. Otherwise, Duncan would face becoming the Harvey Weinstein of the online dating app world.

She looked at his profile pic. Shockingly unattractive. Tall, schlubby, unshaven. Unruly, uncombed hair, small intense eyes, and a mouth that had no sense memory of how to smile. Incredibly successful. Massively rich. Which meant he was likely bored. Jamie suspected Duncan didn’t need another private island, another company to swallow whole, or another superyacht. Duncan needed a challenge.

She looked briefly at his history, curious about how he’d gone from Ellsworth, Illinois, a drab Midwestern, poverty-stricken, rust-belt town, to becoming one of the wealthiest men in the state of California. Engrossed in a deep dive down Duncan’s past, she felt a presence take a seat two barstools down. She heard a familiar deep voice. Her ears tingled at the sound.

“Hi there, are you Josie?”

Jamie glanced up at the bartender—curly haired, perky breasts, spritely smile—as she answered warmly, “Guilty.” Her eyes followed the bartender as she walked over toward her patron.

The voice said, “Paul from the Guitar Parlor sent me, said you have the best martini in town.”

Josie chuckled. “I’m going to have to start shelling out a finder’s fee to Paul. I do indeed, want one?”

“Yes, please.”

Jamie discreetly swiveled on her barstool to get a better glimpse of the man behind the voice, her curiosity piqued, but something in her already knew. She took in his frame; his forearms rested on the bar, clad in a sport coat and Converse, his brooding dark eyes examining the menu. It was him; the guy from the Petal Café. He of the dognapped backpack. She felt heat rise on the back of her neck, an uptick in her heartbeat, the sensation of excitement.

He tilted his head up from his menu and their eyes met. He dropped the menu and with a genuinely happy expression, waited a long moment before saying, “It’s you.”

Jamie felt a rush of adrenaline and her skin grow hot. She also hesitated before saying in a dreamy, unfiltered voice, “My dog attacked you.”

The man let out a soft chuckle but did not take his eyes off her. Again, a full moment passed before he spoke again. “Remind me to thank him for that.” The man rose from his seat and took two slow steps in her direction. “May I?” Jamie gave a single nod.

The bartender arrived with his martini and paused, unsure of where to set it down. Jamie motion for her to place it next to her. He moved over a seat. The bartender retreated to the other end of the bar, seeming to sense this was a moment.

“I’m Cliff. “He held out his hand and Jamie took it. “How is the little menace?” he asked warmly.

“Ferocious and untrainable, thanks.” Jamie smiled. “I’m Jamie. So, what brings you here?”

“I secured my first client today. I’m celebrating.”

“How lovely. Congratulations,” she said warmly.

“I once read somewhere that happiness is knowing how to celebrate.”

She looked around. “You’re celebrating alone?”

“I’m not alone.” His smile was devastatingly handsome. “What are you reading?” he asked, as he motioned to her stack on the bar.

“Oh, just a client’s file.”

“Isn’t that a worn, well-loved copy of The English Patient under there?”

Jamie picked up and then fumbled her book. “Oh, yeah, it’s my emotional support book.”

Cliff looked up recalling. “The cave scene, where he reads to her–“

“–even though it’s too late.” Jamie looked at him, he returned her gaze while she remembered the details of the Cave of the Swimmers scene in the book.

Finally, Cliff spoke. “It’s the last thing he could give her. His attention.”