Page 46 of Meet Cute Reboot
Sarah draws back. “Shedid?”
“She said he pines after me while drinking alcohol!”
My office mate, my friend, my confidante goes silent. Her shoulders slump, and she looks thoughtfully past me. Her lack of enthusiasm for my very pressing issue confuses me.
“What’s wrong with me, Sarah? Why did I dream about him? He cheated on me. He hacked my app. He invested in my company to control me.”
Sarah looks at me. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure he cheated. I saw the text from the woman he almost kissed. She told him she’d do anything with him.Anything.”
“No, I mean, are you sure he’s trying to control you by investing in MatchAI?”
“Why else would he do it?”
“Maybe because he’s a venture capitalist and he believes in your business plan.”
I fold my arms, pace to the exposed brick wall, and then back to Sarah’s desk, repeating this process multiple times while Sarah manages to maintain her objective expression.
“I don’t think so,” I say finally. “I think this is all a ploy to reel me in and then crush me. It’s what he does for fun.”
Sarah leans back and anchors her head with her interlaced fingers. “I watched the livestream of your date.”
“You and thousands of others.”
“Have you watched it?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Maybe you should.”
I plant my hands on my hips and regard Sarah with distrust.
Sarah shrugs. “I’m just saying, maybe he’s changed. People do change.”
“They change their underwear.”
“Zac Efron probably doesn’t.” Sarah sighs.
“Even if Zac does, you’d find something else wrong with him.”
“I know. But you’re not really one to talk. You had guys all over you and you decided to marry a wet rag.”
“Michael wasn’t a wet rag.”
Sarah leans forward and drums her fingers against her desk. “I’m using your own words.”
“I called Michael a wet rag?”
Sarah nods.
I perch on the edge of Sarah’s desk and hang my head. “Wet rags don’t cheat.”
“Nope.”
This quickly turned into a role-reversal. The strong employee versus the weak boss. While rubbing my eyes, I ask, “What should I do?”
She scoots up to her desk and taps the end of the purple easy-glide gel pen that she managed to retrieve from her purse without me noticing. “Is there anything to do at this point?”