“What?”
“About ghosting. I wanted to apologize to her. See, Jenny and I had dated for a couple of weeks—nothing serious, but I think maybe she had a different idea of what was going on between us. And the way I left things... I wasn’t very nice and so I apologized. But then, I don’t know, I think maybe she took it like I was trying to get back together with her, so she sent me this picture out of nowhere, and then—”
“Wait a minute—I thought you told me that was your first date with her.”
His mouth fell open as he realized I’d caught him in a lie.
And then it hit me.
Jenny was the J in JBoogie.
“When I asked you if Jenny was your girlfriend, you told me no.”
“She wasn’t my girlfriend. She never was. Like I said, we’d been out a few times, it was never serious.”
“Right. You guys weren’t serious. That’s why she just happened to have a stash of tampons in your bathroom.”
“They’re not hers, they’re—”
“Oh, so there’s another woman I should be worried about?”
“What? No! I’m telling the truth. Melanie, I swear to you.”
“I’m not sure why I should believe that.”
“Because as soon as I walked into the bar and saw you sitting there, I realized you were the woman I wanted to be with. I stopped talking to Jenny the very next day, before you and I ever started anything.”
“Then why weren’t you honest with me in the first place? Why did you tell me it was a first date when it wasn’t?”
“I was afraid it would scare you away.”
“It probably would have. And I’d probably have been better off.” I yanked my shirt off the floor and pulled it over my head. “Jenny said you were a liar and she was right.”
He cocked his head. “Wait a minute. You’ve been talking to her?”
I zipped up my pants and slipped on my shoes, ready to leave without an explanation. But when I grabbed my purse, I realized: Alex needed to know. He needed to be aware that he no longer lived in a world where he could lie with abandon. From now on, women would hold him accountable for his actions.
It was time to fess up.
Grabbing my phone, I loaded Alex’s JerkAlert page into the browser. Then I handed it to him and let him scroll, to see the truth printed out in pixels.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “What is this?”
“It’s JerkAlert. It’s this popular new website where women can go online and post about all the shady shit men have done to them. So they can warn other women not to get involved.”
He looked up at me, his face twisted in pain, like I’d punched him in the stomach. “All this time, you’ve known about the stuff that was written here, and you haven’t said anything to me? You’ve just been keeping it a secret?”
Without a word, I took my phone back and tucked it in my purse.
“That’s pretty dishonest, isn’t it?” he said.
“Don’t even.”
Pushing past him, I rushed toward the front door, eager to be anywhere but here. As I flung the door wide, he called after me, “What kind of terrible person would make a website called JerkAlert, anyway?”
I stopped short, turning around with daggers in my eyes.
“Me. I did it. Because of lying men like you.”
The whole building shook when I slammed the door.
22
The worst part about breaking up with someone isn’t the initial shock of betrayal, or the ensuing loneliness, or the humiliation of having to admit you snooped underneath their bathroom sink.
It’s the death of hope. The idea that you’d staked your faith in someone, grown comfortable in their continued presence, daydreamed about a possible future together, and then it was all ripped away, suddenly and painfully.
With Alex, I’d had something to look forward to, and now it was gone.
Though I had to look on the bright side: at least I hadn’t gotten in too deep. Since we’d barely been dating two weeks, I hadn’t even had the chance to put a picture of him on my Instagram yet. Not like Lia, who’d spent days deleting all traces of Jay from her social media accounts, only to have random people from high school ask her, “Hey, what happened to your boyfriend?”
The internet is a terrible place.
Then again, my apartment was a terrible place, too. Oh, the bathroom was looking pretty snazzy; Ray had installed one of those luxury rainfall showerheads to replace the broken one, and while he was at it, he’d thrown in a heated towel rack for post-bath coziness.
But these upgrades came at a price. Namely, listening to Vanessa and Ray engage in athletic sex at all hours of the day and night. It was hard hearing the soundtrack to their burgeoning love affair while I was busy licking the wounds of my shattered one. Which is why I barely left my bedroom the whole weekend. Instead, I lolled around in my dirty sheets, eating junk food and watching Gossip Girl and definitely not tearing up whenever I thought about how Alex sort of looked like Dan Humphrey.
It was almost a relief to go to the office on Monday morning. Of course, I wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of running into Alex, but since we’d barely had reason to talk to one another at Hatch before we’d started dating, I was sure it’d be easy enough to avoid him now.
Truth be told, I wasn’t as worried about running into him as I was about him running his mouth. Aside from the girls, he was the only person who knew I was responsible for JerkAlert. I wasn’t concerned that he’d spill my secrets out of spite. More that he’d carelessly let it slip without even thinking. After all, this was a man who had no idea his ex-girlfriend’s razor was still hanging out on the ledge of his bathtub. Prudence was not his strong suit.
Everything was going fine so far, though. Just a typical Monday at the help desk: answering emails, unlocking frozen user accounts, battling an existential crisis. At noon, I took my scheduled lunch break, eating at my desk to avoid a potential encounter with Alex. Or with anyone, for that matter.
When I reached into my bag to pull out my peanut butter sandwich, I noticed a missed call on my phone. It was some random 415 number; a quick Google search told me this area code was from somewhere in northern California. Nobody I knew lived in San Francisco, so I figured it was a robocall. Especially when they called again, thirty seconds later. I sent it straight to voice mail and unwrapped my sandwich.
As I ate, I surfed the internet, scrolling through the news and catching up on the latest celebrity gossip to distract myself. Halfway through reading a juicy blind item, my phone buzzed with a new email notification.
* * *
From: The Fluttr Executive Team
To: Melanie Strickland
Subject: CONFIDENTIAL
Dear Ms. Strickland,
We’ve been provided with your contact information as the primary owner of the website JerkAlert.biz. We have unsuccessfully attempted to contact you by phone, and would like to discuss some urgent confidential matters with you.
Please call us at (415) 555-2493 at your earliest convenience.
Regards,
The Fluttr Executive Team
* * *
Oh, shit.
My first instinct was denial. Maybe this wasn’t from Fluttr at all. But if it wasn’t really from Fluttr, then who could have possibly sent it? It wasn’t like the girls to play a prank on me like this, and I doubted Alex had the time to be screwing around. Unless he opened his big mouth and told someone who does.
On the other hand, it was pretty easy to forge an email, but to spoof phone calls from a 415 area code takes a lot more effort. So maybe this actually was from Fluttr. But if it was, how did they get my contact information?
To make matters worse, the wording of this email wasn’t particularly promising. Urgent confidential matters. Were they going to try to
shut me down? Was this the precursor to some sort of cease-and-desist motion? Because I could not afford to hire a lawyer that would be tough enough to go up against whatever powerhouse legal team Fluttr employed.
I was in a full sweaty panic when Whit’s text popped up on my screen: Did someone reach out to you today?
So Whitney was behind this.
At this point, I wasn’t about to put anything potentially damaging in a text message. Those were admissible in court, and I was already at a strong disadvantage without digging myself into a deeper hole.
Grabbing my phone, I stalked through the halls, deliberately avoiding the Fizz area, and heading toward the row of conference rooms situated against the north wall. Most of them were occupied, but I spied one open door at the far end of the corridor. I broke into a run, dashing inside and turning the lock, before dialing Whitney’s number.
“Isn’t this exciting?” She sounded positively bubbly.
“I don’t know. Is it? The email they sent sounded like a veiled threat.”
“Look, they’re not gonna give anything away in an email. But trust me, this is huge.”
“Huge how? I don’t even know what they want from me.”
“Mel, this is the amazing opportunity I was talking about. Fluttr is impressed with what you’ve got going on, and they are willing to pay big bucks for it.”
“Oh my God.” This was it. The reward for all my hard work. “How did you make this happen?”
“A friend of a friend of a friend is a Content Strategist at Fluttr. She passed it on to someone on the design team, who passed it up the chain to someone on the board, who apparently flipped his shit when he saw it. You’re welcome.”
“Thank you so much, Whit. This is unbelievable.”
“You deserve it, girl. All I ask in return is that you invite me to those parties in Silicon Valley when I come out to visit. I heard they’re nuts.”
“Slow down, I’m not moving to Silicon Valley.” Yet.
“The hell you aren’t. Go, call them back and see what they have to say. I wanna know all the details, immediately.”
I hung up with Whit and pulled up the 415 number in my call history. While listening to the digital click of the ringtone in my earpiece, I stared out the window, at the East River, the Brooklyn skyline, the two bridges connecting the boroughs. The only thing I’d miss about working at Hatch was this breathtaking view.
“Fluttr Corporate Offices. This is Sheila. How may I direct your call?”
“Um, hi.” I cleared my throat, affecting what I believed to be a professional tone of voice. “Hello. My name is Melanie Strickland. I’m returning a call that—”
“One moment, please.”
Apparently, my name was recognizable enough that I didn’t even need to finish the sentence. This was good. Very good.
The hold music cut out and a man came on the line. “Melanie?”
“Yes. Hello.”
“Hey, it’s great to hear from you. My name is Johnny Holder.” An echo rang through the line. It sounded like he was on speakerphone. “I’m the CEO of Fluttr. I’m joined here in the room by my Chief Strategy Officer, Will Hertz, and my VP of Product, Mitch Lansford.”
A chorus of faceless men said, “Hi.”
“Uh, hi. Nice to...meet...you all,” I said.
“You’re probably wondering why we’ve contacted you. So let’s cut right to the chase. JerkAlert is hot. We want it, we want you, let’s do this.”
This was moving faster than I’d anticipated.
“What do you say?” This guy was insistent. What did he say his name was again?
I opened my mouth, hoping one of the five thousand questions floating around in my brain might come sailing out. But all I managed to say was, “Okay.”
“Okay, great! Listen, let’s get you out here to the office to discuss logistics...” He trailed off, his voice lowering as he addressed his colleagues in the room. “When are you guys free? What’re your schedules like?” After some unintelligible mumbling, he came back with a forceful, “Tomorrow at noon.”
“Um...that sounds good, but you know I’m in New York, right?”
“Yeah, no problem. Sheila will hook you up with a flight out of JFK tonight.”
Wow. So this is what life was like at a big Silicon Valley tech firm. Cross-country flights booked hours in advance. No biggie.
“Sound good?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure; I hadn’t had a chance to think about it. This guy was asking me to make a tremendous decision in a matter of seconds. Almost like the Fluttr app itself.
But I couldn’t keep him waiting. What if he had second thoughts, and realized JerkAlert actually wasn’t all that hot? I had to pounce, now, before this opportunity passed me by.
“Sounds good,” I said.
“Fantastic. I’m gonna shoot you over to Sheila now—she’ll help you work out all the travel stuff, the flight, the hotel, the whatever. We’re looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“Likewise.”
While hold music chimed in my ear, someone started pounding on the conference room door.
“The room is occupied,” I called.
Muffled yells resounded from the hallway, followed by more pounding. I tried my best to ignore it as Sheila came back on the line, telling me she’d booked me on a direct flight to SFO at 7:25 p.m., with a reservation at the Westin in Union Square for the evening.
“Feel free to charge whatever meals or services you’d like to the hotel room. A car will be by to pick you up at 11:30 tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you so much,” I said. “See you then.”
I ended the call and ran to the door, flinging it open to see Greg on the other end, one meaty fist balled up and ready to pound. “What are you doing?” I said. “I told you, the room was occupied.”
“It’s 12:30. We booked this room for the next two hours. Check the office calendar.”
At his mention of the word we, I glanced over his shoulder. Alex was standing behind him, looking in every direction but mine. Instantly, I was overcome with regret for breaking the golden rule of dating: never shit where you eat. Not that it mattered all that much, since I wouldn’t be eating at Hatch much longer.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s all yours.”
“No harm, no foul,” Greg said, then winked and twisted his lips into a sickening pucker. Was he trying to make a kissy-face at me? Because it looked like he just had bad gas.
I walked away, not looking back, clenching my fists to keep my hands from shaking uncontrollably. This was all too much. The call from Fluttr, the trip to California, the unexpected hallway meeting with the one person I’d been trying to avoid. Frankly, I was impressed with myself for keeping it together.
Instead of going straight back to my cubicle, I turned left, toward the server room, where I swiped my access card and hunted down Bob. I found him in his usual spot, on the floor, looking as surly and shabby as ever.
“What are you doing in here?” he said, by way of greeting.
“Remember when you said I needed a vacation? Well, I’m taking tomorrow off.”
“You can’t. It’s Update Tuesday.”
Shit. “I need the day off. And maybe Wednesday, too.”
He made a patronizing face, sucking in his lips and raising his eyebrows. “Boy trouble got you down?”
My stomach dropped to my feet, which had somehow become soldered to the floor. How did Bob know about my breakup with Alex? How did he know I’d been involved with Alex in the first place?
“It has nothing to do with that,” I said. “I just need the time off.”
“Sorry. You can’t have it.” His eyes were already on his laptop. I’d been dismissed.
Well, fuck him.
No one was going to stop me from getting ahead. I planned to be on
that plane tonight, whether Bob liked it or not.
23
I didn’t bother to finish out the day. My flight took off in less than seven hours, and there was a lot to do beforehand. Like pack a suitcase, and take the A to Howard Beach before switching to the AirTrain. Plus, the security line at JFK would undoubtedly be a nightmare. I had to hustle if I wanted to get on board before they closed the cabin doors.
After leaving the server room, I went straight to my desk to enable my out of office message, then ran for the elevator. I made it home in under twenty minutes, which was some kind of record, and found Ray inspecting our kitchen countertops.
“Hi, Melanie, how you doin’?”
“Good.” I moved toward him, but stopped abruptly when I noticed that our kitchen looked completely different. And much, much nicer. “Did you install new countertops?” I ran my hand over the cool, smooth surface. “Is this granite?”
“Nah, it’s not real.” He held up a roll of what looked like thick, shiny wrapping paper. “It’s called ‘Instant Granite.’ Pretty cool, huh? Found it on Pinterest. It’s an easy upgrade. Makes the place look nicer without spending a fortune or pissing off the landlord.”
“It’s awesome. Thanks a lot.”
Vanessa emerged from her bedroom. Still engrossed in a full day of virtual assisting, her Bluetooth headset flashed in her ear. “What’re you doing home?” she asked.
“I have to catch a plane tonight,” I said, remembering how much there was to do and how little time there was to do it all.
“Where are you going?”
“San Francisco. I’ve got a...job interview tomorrow.”
Her bottom lip protruded in a tragic pout. “Are you moving away?”
“No. I don’t know. I’m not really sure what’s gonna happen. But I have nothing to wear.”
She held up her hand. “Say no more. I can help.” Turning to Ray, she said, “Everything okay out here?”
He smiled as if he worshipped her existence. “Everything’s great, baby.”
In my room, Vanessa closed the door and clapped her hands together, surveying the tangled mess that was my tiny closet. “This is...” She trailed off and sighed. “We can work with it, we can. Where are you interviewing?”
How to Hack a Heartbreak Page 20
