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ANONYMOUS: I vote for “or something,” but coffee will do.

Even with her anxiety in full swing, she couldn’t believe she was amused by his forwardness. But this round of anonymous speed-dating would have to wait. Approaching footsteps pulled her attention. Through the glass wall, she saw a uniformed delivery man heading towards her office, his vendor key card hanging prominently from his lanyard.

MADISON: Hey, I’ve gotta run. Coffee sometime sounds great.

ANONYMOUS: Yes. Sometime soon.

The delivery man peered in. “Madison Taylor?”

“Yes,” she said, stylus in hand, ready for whatever required her signature. Instead he handed her a Venti, clear-plastic Starbucks cup revealing a creamy, green, iced liquid inside. Taken aback, she just stared at the delivery man. He quickly reassured her, “Don’t worry. The tip was already covered. Enjoy, and have a great day!”

She whipped back to her computer screen. Mr. Anonymous was suddenly offline. She did what any girl in her position would. She drew the straw to her lips, and slowly sipped the scrumptious drink, the flavor instantly putting her at ease. Through the noise of her mind, a single thought crowded out the others. He might be a corporate spy, but until I’m sure, next time, I’m telling him I also like paninis.

8

Working through the morning was difficult, her mind preoccupied with the events of the day before. All Madison could think of was her mystery pen pal. But as the hours ticked by, not a Skype-peep was heard.

Thinking he might have given her an accidental clue during their dialogue, she dusted off her best detective skills and started striking up conversations with random employees in the break room. She started with what could be considered the most obvious lead.

First, she asked about the Morale Committee. Was there one, and if so, who ran it? The responses ranged. Some responded with “Morale Committee? What a great idea.” Others came back with, “We’re paid too much to need morale.” And then there was the “Like I need one more bullshit thing wasting my time. Additional duties as assigned, my ass.”

Then, she hit the IT department. The super geeky and ultra-friendly Techie Twins were always up for a challenge, and a possible favor. The tech guys were apparently called twins because they look eerily similar, with the same 1960s NASA engineer glasses and button-up, short-sleeve shirts. Although, by age, they could easily be father and son. The side-by-side rolling chairs didn’t help. Playing to the hype, they shared the nameplate “TRex” a hybrid of Ted and Rex, their actual names. “We can help,” Ted volunteered while looking at Rex. They’d given each other a not-so-subtle glance, an idea brewing. “For the right price.” Ted rolled his chair to a wall cabinet, and pulled open a drawer. Rex just smiled.

If he pulls out a metallic bikini and Princess Leia hair buns, I’m out of here. Instead, he grabbed a glossy sheet of paper and unfolded it. To her surprise, it was a Girl Scout cookie order sheet. “We’re not supposed to have this out, but my daughter can really use some sales, if you don’t mind.” Madison’s eyes lit up, giving way to a big smile of relief. She quickly signed up for a box of thin mints, and handed over some cash for the cookies as he handed her a box. Ted rolled back to return the order form and shut the cabinet. By the time he rolled again to Madison, she’d already popped the box, ripped open a sleeve, and had shoved two cookies in her mouth. The twins just stared.

“Sorry, I haven’t had lunch,” she said with a mouth full of cookie, imagining herself appearing like the cookie monster, mouth overflowing, cookie crumbs flying everywhere. She offered the open end of the sleeve to the guys, who eagerly appreciated the mid-afternoon snack.

Rex pointed a cookie at Madison, remarking, “We’re just glad to see a girl eat. We’ve heard rumors that your kind stopped doing that.”

“Not this girl,” Madison said, popping another cookie in her mouth like a chip.

TRex let Madison know that an anonymous Skype account was totally possible. Yes, that smoking gun tidbit is why I’m here. And there were only a handful of ways one could do it from within the D.G.I. firewalls. “They’d have to be either a guest user or a privileged user. Guest users are rare for us. We don’t like outsiders on our networks. Privileged users ... well, there might be a few dozen.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“We’re happy to look into it, but ...”

“But?”

“Well, as soon as we figure out who they are, we have to report it. It’s technically grounds for immediate termination.”

Well, hell, I don’t want to get anyone fired, necessarily. I mean, What if it’s not espionage? What if they’re just really, I don’t know, shy? Madison quickly covered the question by saying she was just doing some investigating for a class she was taking, apparent nerd code for open the floodgates to a barrage of questions and free tutoring offers. Without actually naming a school, professor, major, or course, Madison skated through their friendly interrogation, and avoided more questions by flipping the script.

“Hey, is there a volume discounts on the cookies?” Ted’s eyes shined. He only kept a minimum amount onsite to satiate a usually predictable level of demand, and handed her the only other box he had, promising to deliver the rest in a few days.

Her cookie booty in hand, she high-tailed it back to her office. Once there, she plopped in her chair, deciding to hang up her investigative pumps for a while.

As soon as she logged onto her computer, a Skype window popped up.

ANONYMOUS: How was your drink?

Madison unintentionally beamed, determining that a privileged user was not likely recruiting a new analyst for some extreme corporate spy-game. She was up for round two.

MADISON: Amazingly refreshing. Thanks. So, I take it you’re the President of the Morale Committee?

ANONYMOUS: I do what I can. You wouldn’t open those two little blue boxes brimming with potential, so I figured I’d better step up my game and buy you a drink.

His casual banter drew her in, despite her aversion to office romances. One bad date would mean a tightrope walk of avoiding awkward situations day in and day out. She hesitated her response, finding relief as Mr. Anonymous typed. After a moment, his message popped up.

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