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Could that be Cassie? I took a seat at my desk where my coffee was already waiting, freshly brewed, black.
Luke settled in the seat across from me, though I was sure he’d be on his feet again in two minutes. “You were right, by the way: it was a Tynie.”
“Those people need help. But—Philly’s Finestisn’t the police, you were saying.”
“No, it’s a morning show, channel seven. They wanted an interview.”
“AboutConnect?” They shouldn’t have heard of an app that hadn’t launched yet.
“Yes. Apparently ‘a prominent name in the music industry’ contacted them about it.”
I frowned, leaning back in my chair. I didn’t have friends in the music industry. I’d mentioned the app to my mother, who apparently had started stalking me on NetWerk and questioning my decision to leave the career she never wanted me to have in the first place, but she didn’t have music contacts since her second divorce.
Harper... ?
Maybe this was a terrible idea if it could make the business the target of the Tynies.
Luke had a solution for that, too. “I also got an email from the agent of ‘a prominent name in the music industry’ saying she’d like to try the app when she’s in town next and give a testimonial.”
“Really?” I cast him a suspicious glance. “Did you reach out to ‘a prominent name in the music industry’?”
“No, no, of course not.” Luke’s eyes were wide and innocent—and I didn’t believe him for a minute. Finally, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Her agent, maybe.”
“Clever. When doesPhilly’s Finestwant to do the story? Might not look impressive without any users.”
“They said they could coincide the story with the soft launch or the hard launch, if we want to have the soft launch and beta users’ data and maybe some soundbites from them.”
“Your idea?” More than a little wryness snuck into my tone. No wonder Jake recommended this guy.
Luke merely shrugged, standing again.
“Let’s use this opp to get more beta users. We can have them tape as soon as the meetup space is ready—or sooner if we don’t care about showing that off.”
“Got it.” He paused in the doorway and turned back. “Oh, I sent the overnight applications for the medical consultant position to your inbox.”
“Okay.” Not that it mattered. He could probably close the listing at this point. “How many tables did we order for the meetup space?”
“Twelve—but I really think you ought to look at those applications.”
I sat up straight. He couldn’t be saying what I thought he was saying. “Is it—did she—?”
Luke gestured to my computer. I logged in and pulled up his latest email. It had two attachments: cover_letter1.docx and Croft_Cassidy_resume.docx.
I must have stared at the files for a full minute before I clicked on the cover letter.
Dear Davis,
As I approached applying at an app, quite quickly I considered any qualms about the company. After all, a dealing so indelicately disclosing deadly donut deeds develops doubts about its decency.
Regardless, responsibility requires me to review my own rudeness. It is true; I’ve tampered with your trust (and your telephone). I unconscionably, cruelly criticized and adjudged you austerely, which was unmerited. I understand utterly rejecting my résumé after my really reprobate role.
If I’m not ignored, I am pursuing a position with my previous plant, Phil, a philodendron I’m profoundly fond of. Awesome alliteration is up my alley. Donut-dealing deeds do have to be discretionary and, due to my doctorly duty, decidedly not deadly. (Daily desired!)
Conversely, company culture is a concern. I won’t want to work with coworkers who concoct conflict. I crave cooperation that could create complete compatibility, within and without work.
If I could confidently come on in this capacity, I anticipate ages of auspicious association.
Alliteratively yours always,
