Chapter Two

The three of them remained uncharacteristically silent. Micki’s lips were tight with her cheeks slightly puffed out, like she was holding her breath. Joe picked up his fresh pint and downed half of it in a single gulp.

“WHAT?” I said again. “Tell me.”

Toby jumped to his feet so fast his barstool crashed to the floor behind him. “Uh, sorry about that. I, uh, need to get home.” He yanked the stool upright with one hand and grabbed his wallet and phone off the bar with the other. “See y’all later.” He purposely avoided my confused gaze as he headed out.

Micki and Joe were still frozen in place. I stood on the rungs of my stool. “What is wrong with you guys?”

Joe turned to Micki. “Rock, paper, scissors? Loser shows her?”

She nodded quickly, and they each shook their fists three times before flourishing a symbol. Joe’s fist-rock crushed Micki’s finger-scissors, and he let out a loud whoop. “Thank Christ! I’m gonna take a leak.” He hopped off his stool and headed to the men’s restroom.

Micki threw her head back and briefly closed her eyes. “Let’s go to my office for a minute.”

She motioned for one of the waitresses to cover the bar, and I followed her to the dark back area. Usually Micki only let me into her precious office if she needed my help with something, like distributing copies of the NCAA bracket for the bar pool or figuring out how to get her nightly specials marketed online in new ways.

In her tiny office she brought up a browser window on the old desktop computer and slowly typed a URL into the address bar. Before hitting Enter, she turned to face me. She didn’t make eye contact though. Her gaze went to the floor, the walls, the ceiling. “Joe noticed it first. I think because of that summer when you wore a lot of backless shirts.”

“Huh?” I asked, utterly confused. True, backless shirts were very in style a few years back, and I’d embraced it. Not the most flattering look I’d ever worn, but why would Micki be discussing my poor wardrobe choices now?

She cleared her throat. “That’s how Joe remembered your tattoo, I mean. You already know how much I like the anchor on your back.”

“Yeah…” It was one of the nicest compliments she’d ever given me, actually, since I’d drawn the design myself. Micki was a bit of an ink aficionado. Her forearms were completely covered in intricate art. But again, what did this have to do with anything?

Micki ran her hands along the close-cropped sides of her head, still avoiding my eyes. “That FSG sex tape site Joe and Toby were talking about…”

A sick shiver started at the base of my spine and crawled up until the hairs on the back of my neck rose. No. No way. “Micki. What?”

She hit enter and a webpage loaded quickly. “This is a teaser image, a still from one of his personal Chicago conquests. Joe got a link to it from the newsletter.”

A banner continuously scrolled across the bottom of the screen in a font you might see on a TV commercial for a monster truck show: “Check out my Windy City Good Time!!!” And then there was a countdown timer. “25 Days, 3 Hours, 48 Minutes.” The seconds were clicking by too fast for me to focus.

I leaned forward, praying my eyes were lying to me about the image on the screen. It was of a woman sitting on a bed with her back to the camera, looking out of a dark window at the lights of nearby skyscrapers. The woman had strawberry-blond hair that hung in ringlets past her shoulder blades, and she was topless. She had a small tattoo of an anchor at the bottom of her back.

Abruptly, I lost all of the air in my lungs. I saw stars and swayed on my feet.

“Jeez, sit down before you topple over.” I let Micki shove me into her rickety office chair even though I didn’t physically want to be closer to the screen.

“I hoped we were wrong.” Micki shoved her hands along the sides of her head again. “The hair and the tattoo were giveaways, but the girl in the picture is skinnier than you, so we weren’t one hundred percent sure.”

Glaring, I gave her a poke on the hip. “We were all skinnier in our twenties, Micki.” I looked at the screen and shuddered. “This was years ago.”

Five years, to be exact. A one-night stand. A handsome stranger I met in a bar. An impulsive decision. A short and wholly forgettable encounter I hadn’t even thought about in ages.

My brain whirred and chugged, unable to process. How was this possible? I’d made one recording in my life and it was with a semi-famous sleazebag? The FSG was fairly new to internet stardom. Had that predator been stockpiling sex tapes for years?

In my head, I heard Joe’s declaration that the girls should have been more careful about where their videos ended up. I sat up straighter in my chair. I had been careful. I met Micki’s sympathetic gaze. “But I deleted the recording. I know I did.”

I cringed, hearing my plaintive voice. Oh, the irony. I specialized in data recovery for a fucking living. I should know, better than anyone, that nothing is ever gone. Yes, I very distinctly remembered hitting the delete key on the guy’s laptop keyboard. But that asshole could have had cloud backups running every minute. It wouldn’t matter that I deleted the video off his hard drive if the file had just been synced to a server somewhere.

I put my head between my knees. There was a very good chance I was about to vomit on Micki’s floor.

That night had been so long ago, and my brain was too panicked for the memories to become clear. “Do you know anything about the FSG videos that are already posted? Are they explicit?”

Micki hesitated. I could almost see her debating whether to ease in or rip off the Band-Aid. “Yeah. It’s amateur porn.” She went for the rip. “It shows everything.” Her voice lowered. “Tess, this guy, this FSG—he has a huge mailing list. The hype for his Chicago release is blowing up everywhere. Joe is not the only customer I’ve heard talking about it this week.”

Tens of thousands of people. Maybe more. All of whom could simply click twice to see a video of me getting… Oh God, I was going to be sick. I lunged out of the chair and through the office door, almost knocking Joe over as he came out of the restroom. Luckily, the women’s room was right there, and I made it to a toilet stall before my dinner came up.

I looked in the mirror while washing my shaking hands. My eyes were huge and dark in my white face. If my coworkers or my sister saw that video, my life would be over. I was unapologetic about my active sex life; I liked men and felt no shame about it. But enjoying sex and knowing the people in your life had watched a video of you having sex—a video I never agreed to share—were very different things!

Oh God. Oh God. This couldn’t be happening. I hadn’t felt this sick and horrified in years.

“Tessie?” Joe rapped on the door. “You OK?”

“No!” I shouted.

“Well, don’t lose it,” he yelled back. “Maybe you can get it taken down. Sue his ass or something. You have, like, twenty-five days before the video goes live.”

Twenty-five days.

“The interesting thing about global deduplication is…” My boss droned on and on as our potential new clients struggled not to yawn. We were fifteen minutes into our Monday morning meeting, and he was already off the rails.

Nothing, Paul! I wanted to scream at him. There is nothing interesting about global deduplication! There was no way we should be this deep in the weeds at an introductory meeting. The clients didn’t want technical jargon. This early in the process, they simply expected a sales pitch.

I flicked my eyes from Paul’s face to the clock on the wall. Even that tiny movement was a mistake. Ow. Ow. Ow. Everything throbbed. The hangover headache was so bad I could feel my pulse in my nose, and I was definitely sweating bourbon out of my pores. Drinking too much on a Sunday night was a huge Tess no-no, but exceptions could be made when one learned they were about to star in a porno—

No. I could not think about that right now. Compartmentalize, Tess. I’d promised myself. Just get through today and then I’d figure something out. I always did. At this moment I needed to focus on work.

As Paul continued to use words like data compression technology, the three young execs across the conference table gave up on him and began to jab at their phones. I respected my boss, I truly did, but these initial client meetings were not his strength. Paul was excellent at actually delivering our technology solutions, but he was not a schmoozy kind of guy. Why our sales team couldn’t handle these pitches on their own was beyond me. Those guys were just plain lazy.

Companies hired our disaster recovery solutions firm to make sure that if their business was ever hit by a disaster—an earthquake or a hurricane or unexpected power outage—all of their IT and business processes would keep working seamlessly.

I’d worked here for six years, steadily shoving my way up. Paul was the best boss I’d ever had; he meandered around with an absentminded-professor vibe, but he was wonderful at seeing big-picture solutions and at mentoring people. A mentor was a valuable thing, so I’d made sure I was his number-one go-to person.

The dude directly across the table from me began to play a game on his phone. I could tell because the 'Fortnite' music wasn’t muted all the way. Wearing expensive jeans, trendy sneakers, and button-down shirts tailored to be worn untucked, these guys were from a company called Away-Ho, a newish tech-travel business that claimed to be a perfect mix of Expedia and Airbnb. This year, Away-Ho was first on Crain’s Chicago Business magazine’s list of fastest-growing companies.

Our target clients weren’t the huge guys. We didn’t go after Fortune 500 companies. No, we went after companies that were just past the start-up phase, the ones that didn’t get bought by Google and who didn’t crash and burn when their first round of VC funding disappeared. We went after companies that were just starting to put their big boy pants on. There were hundreds of companies in Chicago in that position, and I wanted them all.

Just as I was about to cut Paul off and put the Away-Ho bros out of their misery, the door to the conference room opened. To my shock, Jack Sorenson, the CEO of our company, let himself in and took a seat at the far end of the room. If Paul was surprised to see his boss, he didn’t look it. He simply interrupted his own monologue to say, “Jack’s just here to observe.” I didn’t share his nonchalance. I hadn’t been in many meetings with our CEO.

I sat ramrod straight in my chair. Under the table, I began to twist the thin silver ring I wore on the longest finger of my right hand. It was the only ring I ever wore, and I’d bought it for myself. I saved it to wear on days when I had big meetings or presentations. I even kept it in my purse instead of a jewelry box on the off chance I’d need to slip it on in surprise stressful situations. In high school I learned that my hands shake when I’m nervous or tense—and I didn’t like people noticing that sign of weakness. When I twisted my silver ring, the shaking stopped.

I stared at Paul, willing him to start wowing our potential new account—and our CEO. Instead, oblivious to my wide-eyed plea, he said, “Where was I? Oh yes. Most data stored on disk today has at least some statistical redundancy…”

Damn it. I didn’t want Jack Sorenson to see Paul foundering. Paul was absolutely amazing at his job; this was not representative at all. Everyone on the technology side of the company loved him. He shouldn’t be forced to do this sales crap; he wasn’t good at it.

Wait a minute. I was in the room and I was good at it. Enough was enough.

I cut off my boss, sweetly and with a modest smile. “Paul, I think what you’re discussing would be essential for us to talk about with Away-Ho’s DBA team, but maybe we should go a bit higher level for now since this is our introductory meeting. What do you think, Chad?”

Surprised, the 'Fortnite' player put his phone on the table. “Huh? Uh, yeah, OK. Whatev.”

Eloquent. “Wonderful, thank you so much.” I’d been silent for much of the meeting thus far, so all three guys looked at me with interest. After watching them the last twenty minutes, I was pretty sure what they’d respond to. I just hoped it wouldn’t come across as unprofessional to Paul and Jack.

I plunked my elbows on the table, leaned forward, and put my chin in my palms. “I think we all know the world is going to hell, right?”

They blinked, laughed a little. “Climate change, pandemics, the threat of war, mass shootings, et cetera. I hope I don’t offend you when I say that lately…shit is getting a little real.” Fortnite Chad laughed louder and nodded.

I continued. “Every single company in existence right now has some sort of disaster recovery plan or is scrambling to put one together. That’s good. But your disaster recovery solution should be as individualized to Away-Ho as it can be. Too many DR solutions try a one-size-fits-all approach.” I widened my eyes for emphasis. “We don’t. Our team is focused on learning the nuances of your business and designing a custom, scalable, cost-efficient solution for you.”

I hadn’t said anything of substance, but I had their focus back and they were nodding. Good. “Let me show you some testimonials from other companies your size.”

The sales team finally reappeared to retrieve the Away-Ho contingent and take them out to an overpriced lunch. I shook hands with them and exchanged business cards, relieved the meeting was over. I was ready to escape to my office and chug a bottle of water. I needed to fight through this hangover and figure out a way to get my video off the Fucking Sex Ghost site.

Paul and Jack Sorenson remained seated at the conference room table. As I was about to excuse myself, Paul gestured for me to sit back down. “Stick around a minute, Tess.” Jack closed the door and took the seat right next to me this time.

Oh crap. Maybe they hated the way I’d handled things. I glanced over at Paul. He never swore, and I’d noticed his lips thinning when I’d done so with a client in the past. “Hope you didn’t mind that I stepped in or the way I approached them.” I swallowed and fell back on one of my favorite handling-Paul themes. “You know millennials,” I scoffed, cheerfully throwing my own generation under the bus. “They just need that drama to actually pay attention.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Indeed. So juvenile, isn’t it?” He turned to Jack. “Didn’t I tell you? Tess handles herself perfectly in meetings with new clients.”

A rush of heat hit my cheeks. This was unexpected. Paul was always good at handing out praise when earned, but a shout-out straight to the CEO was pretty special.

“You were right,” Sorenson said. “And your replacement is going to need to hold their own when dealing with some of these forceful young tech guys.”

Wait, what? “Your replacement?” I blurted, looking at Paul. “You’re leaving?”

He smiled at me, the wrinkles around his eyes growing deep. “Retiring. At the end of January.”

That was only four months away. I blinked a few times, disoriented. This place wouldn’t be the same without Paul. Whoever stepped in to replace him would have huge shoes to fill.

As both Paul and Sorenson waited for me to catch up, I cursed my hungover and slow-moving brain. “Are—are you considering me for Paul’s role?”

Sorenson lifted one shoulder. “I’d prefer to promote internally rather than hiring from the outside. Paul has nominated you as the person he’d feel most comfortable taking the reins.”

I didn’t know whether to cry over the lump in my throat or scream for joy. I did sit on my hands so I wouldn’t do a huge fist pump in the air. I met Paul’s kind eyes. “Thank you.” This was incredible. If I moved into Paul’s role, it would be a career-changer. A big jump in salary, a VP title, and an office with a window.

“But,” Sorenson went on, a clear note of warning in his voice, “I don’t know you as well, Tess, and I need to feel confident in your abilities before offering the promotion.”

“Of course.” Bring it on. Whatever he needed to see or hear from me, I would show him. I forced myself to make eye contact and speak calmly. “I’d be thrilled for a chance at this opportunity, and am happy to formally interview—”

Sorenson waved a hand. “You’re a good talker, Tess. Even I know that. I don’t think an interview is what would make me feel comfortable.” He folded his hands on top of the table. “What I need to know is if you can handle the tough stuff, the truly tricky situations.”

Tricky situations, eh? Like figuring out how to get a sex tape off the internet? I quickly stuffed the panic back in its designated compartment.

I nodded at Sorenson as if I understood but snuck a questioning glance at Paul. Tricky situations? What was that supposed to mean? I handled sensitive and complicated circumstances all the time. We planned for—and reacted to—actual disasters, for God’s sake. Wasn’t that the tough stuff?

Paul understood my confusion. “Jack wants to be sure that the new VP can instill confidence in difficult clients.”

“Naturally,” I responded, still unsure what that meant in practical terms for me getting the promotion.

“Let me be blunt—and a touch politically incorrect,” Jack said. “These young tech guys come through the door with a lot of ego. Piss and vinegar, we used to say.” I smiled at the older expression. I knew what he meant. The Away-Ho guys had been a little rude but in a quiet way. A lot of the execs we met with brought more attitude with them. They swaggered in, daring us to impress them.

“Our sales team does a good job bringing in clients,” he continued, “but the technology team is what gets contracts signed.” I nodded in total agreement. Our products and service were top-notch. Jack sighed. “I think these young execs look at Paul and see an established man with a long career… He’s immediately trustworthy. He reminds them of their fathers.”

He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head apologetically. “You would be a very different person to have in the role. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but you have to agree that it’d be a very different first impression.”

I knew he was just trying to be honest, but the implication that I would somehow be seen as less trustworthy because I was a thirty something woman…it stung. I stifled my irritation. “I understand your hesitation,” I said. “But I’m very confident I can represent the technology team and assure new clients that we’re the right solution for them.”

“I agree,” Paul said firmly.

Jack moved his head from side to side. “Well, I’m going to give you a chance to prove it, Tess.”

Challenge accepted. Eyes flashing, I leaned forward in my chair. “How?”

Jack gestured at the empty seats across the conference room table. “Away-Ho. I want them. You can’t buy the kind of press they get. If we land them, it’ll bring six or seven other clients through the door—and that’s a conservative estimate.”

My brow furrowed. Away-Ho? Those guys weren’t the kind of alphas he was worried about. Why would they be such a challenge?

Jack grinned, following the direction of my thoughts. “Those fellas weren’t the decision-makers. They were just a scouting team. Their CEO is a guy named Zack Morris, and he’ll personally be deciding which firm they go with.”

Zack Morris? The theme song from Saved by the Bell popped into my head. I ignored it. “So this Zack Morris is…demanding?”

Jack snorted. “He’s a hyper-aggressive little shit, actually.”

I had to laugh. “Sounds like fun.”

He pushed his chair away from the table. “It won’t be easy. He’s turned down two of our competitors already. But Away-Ho is the consummate example of the clients we need to bring on board to meet our goals. It has brand-name recognition, a strong projected forecast—and, unfortunately, a difficult leader.”

Sorenson stood and shrugged. “Those are your marching orders, Tess. Keep up everything you’re doing for Paul—and land us Away-Ho. I’ll be watching you.”