by Anne Marsh
I worked from home the rest of the day after Angry Sex Day, but he texts me good-night and then good morning at a ridiculously early hour. He texts me lists, too, ridiculous lists.
Dev: Quick. List 3 things you’d try if you knew they’d be amazing.
Lola: And I have the gift of immortality?
Dev: We’re not thinking about the same things.
Lola: Hot air ballooning, cage shark diving, owning daylily farm.
Dev: Huh.
Lola: What were you thinking?
Dev: The crazy pages in the Kama Sutra, boning in Golden Gate Park, clam chowder in those stupid, carby bread bowls tonight together?
We don’t do hotel rooms anymore, although we do make out in Golden Gate Park. Instead, I either spend the night at his palatial palace in Santa Cruz or he spends the night at mine. Honestly, I admire him for not bringing up his wealth and for wanting to achieve a career on his own merits. I suspect he could have landed a cushier internship but instead he chose Calla. I get a stupid little glow thinking about that.
My apartment is in the Mission District. Unlike his house, my place is studio-sized. It turns out it’s impossible to fit two people in my shower (even if one person is technically inside the other), my bed squeaks louder than a bad porn movie but you can’t hear it over the crazy street noise and Dev is fascinated by my collection of romance novels. He keeps marking scenes for us to try. We go on what feel suspiciously like dates, even though we’re careful never to label what we’re doing.
Now we have just two weeks left. I try not to think about it but the countdown timer in my head won’t turn off. The Tuesday that’s just slipped by? One less day I have with Dev. I’ve tried talking to him about his post-summer plans, when he returns to UC Santa Cruz to finish his degree, but he just kisses me. He does that a lot, kisses me when I ask for words.
I shouldn’t overthink things. We’re not a couple, no matter how many nights we’ve spent now in each other’s arms. He’s slowly pulling away from me and I have to let him go. It’s time to put on my big girl panties and be the best boss and mentor possible. I can’t tie him down now, when he has a career to establish. After he’s had a chance to explore and build that career, he’ll either come back to me or he won’t. But he needs the chance to go.
Today’s networking lunch in downtown San Francisco is a step in that direction. It’s a mixer for software professionals and their summer interns, drawing start-ups as well as midstage and well-established companies, according to the marketing email. As an added bonus, there’s a no-host sandwich bar with a choice of turkey or tofu chicken salad. Maple laughed hysterically at the thought of me peopling voluntarily. She’d have laughed harder still if she’d known that I forgot to give Dev a heads-up about where our lunchtime destination is.
I’m used to his take-charge attitude and confidence; in the office, we’ve established a precarious but workable relationship. It’s our out-of-office time that confuses me. I don’t know what he wants from me and it might be nothing.
Still, things have shifted since he first walked through Calla’s doors and into my life. I’m not sure if it’s for the better or not. We still can’t keep our hands off each other, even though we both agree workplace relationships are a bad idea. It could still come out that we’re lovers and people might believe I’ve used my position to talk him into doing something he didn’t want to do. Most of all, I’m scared I’ll miss him so much that I’ll beg him to come back to me and let the whole world know that we’re a couple. I don’t want to be the punch line in a news story about yet another boss who took advantage of a subordinate. Somehow, there has to be a way for us to be partners.
Today’s networking luncheon is in a swank hotel fronting Market Street. I love the energy of San Francisco. It’s perpetually cold and foggy before noon and the cost of living makes Bora Bora seem like a viable option, but it’s also a place where you can’t not feel alive. Crowds of people move purposefully through the crosswalks and up and down the streets, going to work, launching companies, imagining software that could change the world against the romantic backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge. I like to think I smell the ocean in the air.
I took the BART from Calla’s office and after exiting the station it was a right and two lefts to our meeting. I expect Dev to be waiting out front, given his penchant for early arrivals, but he’s nowhere in sight. Instead, I hang with the panhandler on the corner, dropping a couple of ones into his empty coffee cup. His sign reads Friendship always free but tips appreciated.
He reaches up to shake my hand when I finally give up and turn to go. “You have a blessed day now.”
“I hope so.” I flash him a smile and try not to panic as I make my way inside the hotel. The hotel smells of expensive floral arrangements and money. If this was the game where you find the thing that doesn’t belong, everyone would point at me.
Don’t panic. Inviting Dev to join me was a token gesture on my part anyhow because I’m the company founder and his boss. Despite feeling like an impostor in the tech world, I’m fully qualified to be here. Having Dev at my back just makes me feel safer, bolder about leaping out of my comfort zone—but I can do this mixer without him. He’s just late. Dev texted earlier that he had an interview, and I suggested he meet me here when he expressed timing concerns. So it’s fine. He’s just finding work for the school year. He’ll be here.
Pacing around the hotel lobby, I try to marshal my thoughts into some semblance of order.
When my phone pings, I’m relieved. He’s texted: Just pulling up.
I grin. Somehow I doubt pulling up means an Uber or even the BART. The man loves his toys. Given the speed at which he prefers to drive them, the perpetual San Francisco gridlock must drive him nuts. I scan the lobby, looking for him and pretending the twinges in my stomach are just peopling nerves. There.
Dev strides through revolving doors, barely slowing. He wears another dark, posh suit with a rose-colored tie. It’s terrifying how much my heart jumps at the sight of him. My first thought is to forget the mentor luncheon. I want to jump him on the spot, throw my arms around his neck and pull his face down to mine.
My second thought is that he totally belongs here. The price tag on his suit must be phenomenal. He’s the kind of tall and broad-shouldered guy that dominates a lobby filled with suit-wearing entrepreneurs. His blond hair is tousled about his face as if he’s run his fingers through it repeatedly while he thinks through a coding issue. The moment he steps foot inside, he’s scanning, looking for me. All those other eyes on him, watching him, smiling for him, and he homes in on me.
There’s a moment of awkwardness when I rush to meet him halfway. We both sort of come to a halt and look at each other. Do we shake hands? Kiss each other’s cheek Euro-style? Go for the passion-filled clinch?
A smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, as if he senses my dilemma. “So what are we doing today? How’s the plan to take over the world doing?”
“How was your interview?” I ask at the same moment, the words exploding out of my mouth. Way to get in his business, Lola.
“Ladies first.”
“Securing Series A funding has made a huge difference. World domination is still iffy, but bankruptcy is now in the rearview mirror. I think you’re my lucky charm,” I say. “I probably shouldn’t have said that, right?”
He shrugs. “It’s okay, Lola.”
I decide to take his words at face value and move us toward the ballroom. As we fall in with a stream of suit-wearing people, most of the suits are noticeably older than their companions. I may have a few years on Dev, but I generally try not to think about it. Older boss, younger man—it has the makings of a Lauren Weisberger book. I intercept more than a few interested glances aimed in our direction, which I attribute to Dev being hard to overlook.
I sort of wish we could go back in time, that he would make another pointed, as
shole comment about my code or my work practices so that I could go back to hating him rather than remembering what he looks like as he comes.
“You look good,” he says casually as he glances over the shoulder of the people in front of us.
“It’s my one and only suit,” I point out.
He winks. “But I prefer how it looks on my floor.”
“No.” I fight the urge to poke him in the ribs with my index finger. Injuring the intern isn’t acceptable professional behavior. Neither is sleeping with him.
“We could leave,” he suggests casually. “Skip this event.”
Part of me perks right up with a yes, please, but that part of me doesn’t get to be in charge.
“I’m trying to help you,” I say with a smile. “But I can go bitch boss on your ass if you prefer.”
A wicked smile lights up his face. “Are you going to mentor me?”
I snort even though I shouldn’t. At some point, we really do have to talk about our future. Now, however, is not the time. We step into the ballroom. It’s nice, but a trifle bland. A large plastic banner stretched across one wall announces Software Mentors Do It Best! Subtle.
Dev tilts his head back, taking in the massive signage. “Jesus.”
“Surprise,” I say awkwardly. Shoot, we’re blocking traffic. “Hopefully, your interview this morning went well, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to make some new connections.”
I hand him a leather card case. I had business cards made up for him because I don’t know if he has his own. He didn’t give me one at our interview, so probably not. They read Devlin King, Software Engineer. He stares down at them, his brow furrowing.
A woman wearing a marigold-yellow pantsuit and an organizer’s tag rushes up to us; she shoves a glossy folder into Dev’s hands and then proceeds to twitter on and on (and on) about how thrilled they are to welcome Mr. King. As if Dev’s the boss and I’m the newly hatched intern.
I nudge him in the side as the Gusher reluctantly retreats. “Are you the Pope? Bill Gates in disguise?”
“Damn it.” He scrubs a hand over his head. “This wasn’t a good idea, Lola.”
I consider asking for a list, but a sleek, well-groomed woman in a black power suit strolls up to us. She’s the kind of lean that requires an amazing trainer and her white blouse has been unbuttoned to show the tanned hollow between her breasts. I’d bet the remainder of Calla’s operating budget that suit is designer. Like Dev, she fits in here.
“Devlin King,” she announces. He hasn’t donned his badge yet, but she knows who he is. “What a surprise to see you here. I didn’t realize you were in the business of mentoring newbies.”
Tasteful Cleavage Girl smolders at Dev, clearly torn between jumping him and killing him. And while I understand her dilemma, having faced it myself on numerous occasions, I sense some serious undercurrents. Plus, I’m not happy watching anyone eye-fuck my intern.
“So.” I give excellent loud, cheerful voice. “How do you two know each other?”
“Alicia.” She doesn’t bother with a last name—or a business card. “You must be familiar with the Billionaire Bachelors app.”
Dev sort of freezes beside me. I really need to download that app for my phone. Everyone keeps talking about it. Except I sort of thought I already had a boyfriend.
Alice steamrolls ahead. “Dev here hooked up with me. And then, true to form, he didn’t call again.”
The stab of hurt I feel is ridiculous. We’re a not-couple and any relationship we have is definitely on the down low.
“You knew I wasn’t looking for more,” Dev begins.
Funny, that’s exactly what you told me.
Alicia pulls a face. “You never are. If you’d bothered to call or text just once, however, maybe you wouldn’t be missing a key piece of your business portfolio.”
I’ve never seen this look on Dev’s face. It’s beyond angry. I’ve seen it on Shark Week, though, right as the great white lunges out of the water and chews some poor sea lion in half. Whoever she is, Alicia just made a very big mistake.
“Excuse me?” His voice is icy polite.
Alicia, on the other hand, looks gleeful. “A certain e-commerce suite that you’re about to launch exclusive access to? So sad that it’s already gotten out into the wild.” She flicks her gaze over my laminated badge. “It just might possibly have been ever so briefly available on Fiverr—where I believe Calla’s founder bought it. How cute.”
This is like one of those horrible stress dreams where you’re an entire semester late for class and the final exam is today and somehow you have to pass it, naked, completely unprepared and running slo-mo through molasses.
I look at Dev. “You wrote Calla’s e-commerce suite?”
I need to understand this, to figure out why his gorgeous face is suddenly so remote and hard. To reach up and touch him until the tension fades away and he’s just my Dev again. I’ve never seen him so furious before.
“Yes,” he says tersely. “I did. What I did not do was put it on Fiverr.”
Panic sprints through my brain. I bought pirated software? I’m two weeks from launch—not only do I not have the operating budget to replace it, but I simply don’t have the time. Calla’s minuscule amount of operating capital, after all, is why I went the Fiverr route in the first place.
Alicia winks at me. “Dev made the classic mistake of leaving his laptop unlocked while he used the bathroom. Anyone could have done anything.”
My gaze ping-pongs between the two of them. “You worked together?”
Alicia is staring avidly at Dev. He’s not the only sharkish creature in the room. “We hooked up. He has a reputation for being a one-and-done guy and I deserve more than that.”
“So you took his software project hostage?” Something here isn’t adding up.
Alicia shakes her head playfully. “Let’s just say I exacted a penalty for his rudeness. If he’d called or texted, you’d have saved five bucks and he’d still have his exclusive software.”
Dev just looks at her. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”
“They’d have to prove it, darling.”
“They will.” His gaze flickers over her name badge, taking in her company affiliation. “I’m in the mood to acquire. You won’t work in Silicon Valley again.”
Do I know you?
Something is very, very not right here.
Alicia gives me a quick, dismissive glance. “Is he as much of a bastard as a boss?”
“He makes an excellent intern.”
“Intern?” She laughs. “God. He’s a billionaire and the CEO of King Me. Devlin King hasn’t interned a day in his life.”
She holds her smartphone up so I can see the screen. Dev’s face stares back at me from the Billionaire Bachelors app. The list underneath his picture promises me that he’s single, worth a billion dollars and owns King Me.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now, so I walk away. Were we even really dating? What was he doing at Calla? It’s not as if there weren’t clues. He drives a Porsche, for crying out loud. He owns a luxury beach house. Humiliation spirals through me. He must think I’m stupid. Possibly, it’s another move in his never-ending games. The entire summer has been one lie after another.
I make it as far as the lobby when I feel Dev’s hand on my arm. Fine. We can argue here as well as anywhere.
I laugh, shaking off his hand. “You’re a billionaire.”
He actually freaking hesitates. “It depends on the market, Lola.”
“Let’s stick to yes or no answers.” My face is flaming with embarrassment and anger now. No wonder everyone rushed to greet him when we arrived. He’s a rock star and a king, and I’m the little girl who was too naive to recognize him.
“Yes,” he says.
“You obviously didn’t come to Calla look
ing for an internship.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t, no.”
“Then why did you come?”
“Not a yes or no question, Lola.”
“Don’t make me kill you, okay? San Quentin’s only picturesque from the outside.”
“Calla deployed my software,” he says quietly. “I build in alerts so I can pinpoint pirates. I came to shut you down. You mistook me for your interview candidate.”
“Where is my real intern?”
“My team tells me he’s currently holidaying in Australia. My best guess is that he ghosted you.”
“I’ll pull the software.” I look away. “But you could have told me up front about it. Some of us feel pretty strongly about doing the right thing. Instead, you’ve demonstrated clearly that you have no respect for me. You lied to me, and quite honestly, right now I’m torn between feeling stupid and feeling dirty. I’d like to tell you that I’d love to hear your reasons why, but I honestly don’t give a rat’s ass.”
“Lola—” Something brushes my hair.
I don’t know what he’s about to say, but there’s no fixing this. Plus, if I blink now, I’ll cry. There’s only one thing to do.
“You’re fired,” I say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dev
LEAVE.
Do not pass Go.
Do not collect two hundred bucks.
Do not see Lola again.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter, but it does.
I tell myself she’s just another hookup, but she’s not. She’s not a one-night, onetime deal—she’s a once-in-a-lifetime deal. Lola is different and I love different. So I need to figure out how to be different, too.
I make a list. And then another list. Dozens of lists. Ten Things I’d Like to Do with Lola. Ten Things I Wish I’d Said to Lola (When I Had the Chance). Ten Ways to Win Lola. I send her instructions on how to remove my Trojan horse from her code. I tuck the step-by-steps and the magic password into a box of that horrible, too sweet Turkish delight she stress eats. I could hack in, but I’m working on respecting her boundaries. But she sends the box back to me and tells me she’s already implemented new shopping cart software. And as much as I know she’s got this, that she will rock the world, I still wish I was there. Beside her. Part of her world. But she doesn’t want me and I don’t need Max and the others to tell me that I’ve lost someone important.
