Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
11
HANNAH
Henn puts down his menu and smiles at me across the table. “You’re the one who’s been here a bunch of times. What do you recommend?”
As if on cue, the waiter arrives bearing the wine he recommended earlier. I discuss some food options with him, as Henn looks on and expresses adorable excitement about everything we come up with.
As the waiter walks away, Henn and I launch into easy conversation. First, about the fact that our waiter looks uncannily like the Where’s Waldo? guy sprung to life in the cutest way. And then, about the fact that Kat flew to LA to visit Josh last weekend and, apparently, things went spectacularly well for the pair.
According to what Kat’s told me in confidence, she and Josh have now jumped headfirst into fulfilling each other’s sexual fantasies. Also, they’ve agreed to be exclusive while doing so, much to Kat’s delight. I think it’s probable Josh has told Henn at least something about his crazy shenanigans with Kat. For all I know, Henn knows even more than I do about all that. But I’d never even hint at the stuff Kat told me, confidentially, in order to tease out whatever details Henn might know.
When our brief discussion about Josh and Kat ends, I consider asking Henn about his recent work trip to DC. Thanks to what Kat told me at the pool in Vegas, I know generally what he was doing there—but also that he’s sworn to secrecy about it. Okay, but what about Henn’s work, in general? What, exactly, does he do? When I asked Henn about that topic during dinner in Vegas, he said his work was far too boring to discuss. But now that I know Henn swooped in like a superhero to protect Sarah from her shady employer, and that he’s skilled enough at whatever he does to be flown to DC to work with the freaking FBI, I’m thinking he was probably being humble when he said that.
“So, I googled you,” I admit. “I saw your company’s website: Your Nerd for Hire.”
“Impressive, right?” He’s being sarcastic.
“Actually, yes. I’m impressed you’ve got your own company, though I’m not smart enough about computers to understand exactly what services you provide.” I’ve meant my comment as a prompt for Henn to explain his work in detail. But he doesn’t take the bait.
“I googled you, too,” he says. “Devoured every photo of you I could find.”
Is he deflecting? Changing topics on purpose?
With a wink, I mimic his sarcastic tone from a moment ago. “Impressive, right?”
“Honestly, yes. You’re definitely out there living your best life.”
“I’m trying, at least. I noticed you’re not online much. At least, not under a name I could find. Do you have any social media?”
Henn shakes his head. “Social media isn’t my thing. For me, it’s not conducive to robust mental health.”
“Well, that’s probably true for most.”
The waiter appears with an appetizer, and we dig in.
“If I’m being honest,” Henn says, “I actually consider social media the root of all evil. The downfall of civilization as we know it.”
“Wow.”
“We won’t be around to see it, probably, but I think we’re witnessing the slow slide of civilization into a dark abyss from whence we’ll never return. When anthropologists two hundred years from now, if there are any, look back and track the history of our slide, they’ll pinpoint the inception as the advent of social media.”
“That’s kind of dark.”
“Is it? Oh.”
“And yet, it rings true.” I take a bite of food. “For me, social media is a nice way to see my friend’s photos. Plus, I genuinely enjoy being bombarded with ads for stuff I don’t need. Oh, and I’m addicted to random dog videos. Have you ever seen that dog who presses buttons to talk?”
Henn deadpans, “I love her like she’s the child of my loins.”
“Same! If getting to see that dog chit-chatting with her owner every morning brings about the end of civilization, then so be it. It was totally worth it, if you ask me.”
“That’s a fair point.” Henn chuckles. “That dog is probably representative of our future as a society. One day, we’ll all communicate solely by pressing buttons.”
“Aren’t we pretty damned close to there?”
Henn makes a face like I’ve just scored the final blow in a formal debate. With a nod, he murmurs, “Touché, mademoiselle.”
“Isn’t that what you do for a living, in essence? You press buttons to communicate?”
“By George, it is.” Henn side-eyes me. “Wait. You’re saying I’m basically a talking dog?”
“A cute one, though.” I laugh along with him, thoroughly enjoying our easy, silly banter. After eating another bite of an appetizer, I ask, “What kinds of things are you typically working on when you’re pressing all those buttons? I know you said cybersecurity is your main thing, but your website lists some other things, too—stuff I didn’t understand.” I smirk, feeling damned pleased with myself for so seamlessly bringing our conversation back to Henn’s work—a topic we still haven’t explored in much depth.