Page 31 of Due Diligence

“Cool, good talk,” I replied as I ran my hand over her shiny black coat. “Okay, let’s be creative. I’ve got a lot of money, a lot of connections, and I work in tech. How do I find the only twenty-eight-year-old woman in the city who doesn’t have social media?”

At my feet, Frank finished his dinner and immediately trotted off towards my living room for his usual evening nap. I followed him past my grand piano and took a seat on the white shearling couches surrounding my coffee table. I leaned back and gazed up at the high ceilings, fixing my eyes on the inset lighting above me.

“Who do I know who knows everyone?” I murmured, just as Sammy leapt over and landed on my stomach, forcing a grunt from me.

The answer was clear to me, but I kept avoiding it—dodging it like a caltrop.

“Whatever,” I said. “I’ll just talk to her on Monday. Tonight, we’ll just—”

I paused, my upper back raised off my couch as I reached for the television remote on my coffee table. I was a few minutes away from putting on Netflix with both of my pets snuggling up next to me, just like Alex said I would be.

Fucker.

“Fine,” I snapped, letting my head fall back on the cushion. I pulled up Alex’s number and he picked up on the second ring.

“We good?” he asked without saying hello.

“Maybe.”

I could hear him chuckling on the other end. “When are you coming over? What are you doing?”

“I think I’m going to go out,” I lied.

Silence. Then after a pregnant pause, Alex said, “That’s hilarious. When are you coming over?”

“I’m serious. I’m going to go out.”

“Oh fuck yeah,” he murmured. “Hey, Marcus is going out!” he called out. In the background, I heard the faint sound of cheers.

“Who are you with?”

“Just a bunch of beautiful people,” he exclaimed, which incited more cheers from whatever troupe of socialites he was plying with alcohol tonight. “Where do you want to go? We’ll swing by, grab you, and we can all go together.”

“No, I’m just doing something low key,” I insisted, running my hand over Sammy’s tail as I spoke. “I can’t bring you along. You attract too much attention.”

“That’s not true.”

“You were on TMZ last week,” I reminded him, “making out with that woman from the Real Housewives who is fourteen years older than you, by the way.”

“Truly don’t remember that,” he responded, nonchalant as usual. “But if you’re not going to let me come out with you, why are you calling me?”

“I need a favor.”

“Ah.”

“I need a favor, and you owe me for killing that story and saving this deal with Davenport-Ridgeway. I’m calling it in now.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“I want the password to your Instagram account for fifteen minutes.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“Just fifteen minutes. I’m trying to find someone, and you know everyone, so…”

“Who are you trying to find?” I hated how much this amused him. “You haven’t expressed interest in a woman in, like, four years.”

Not interested in her.Not anymore.

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