Page 21 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"BREAKING: When will tech bro CEOs stop thinking that buying a failing startup will fix their midlife crises? Honey, that's what sports cars are for. #TechTakeover #WhoNeedsTinderWhenYouHaveAcquisitions #StartupDating"

Mac chokes on her coffee. "Well, they certainly have... opinions."

"Accurate ones," I admit. "They've been following acquisition trends closely."

"The whole industry has," she points out. "It's not exactly a secret that tech companies treat startups like Tinder profiles - swipe right for acquisition, left for bankruptcy."

The tension between us shifts. And so do I.

“Think this calls for dinner," I say abruptly.

"Excuse me?"

"If we're going to work together on this, we should discuss strategy. Over dinner."

"That sounds suspiciously like?—"

"A business dinner," I clarify. "To discuss the salary adjustments. Unless you'd prefer another midnight meeting in your office?"

Her cheeks flush slightly, and I wonder if she's remembering how close we stood that night, how the air felt charged between us, how?—

"Fine," she says quickly. "Business dinner. But I pick the place."

"Let me guess – the famous La Famiglia?" I remember the details from her file - three generations of Gallos running oneof Seattle's most beloved Italian restaurants. "Your grandmother's place, right?"

"Been studying up on me, Mr. Drake?"

"Thorough background checks are standard procedure." I don't mention how many times I've reread her file since she started. "Though I have to admit, the five-star Yelp reviews about your nonna's 'life-changing tiramisu' were particularly interesting."

"You've been reading our Yelp reviews?"

"Know your enemy, Ms. Gallo."

"Is that what I am? Your enemy?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities.

"Let's just say I like to be prepared," I deflect. "Though I notice most reviews mention something about your grandmother force-feeding people while judging their life choices."

That gets a real laugh from her. "Yeah, that's Nonna. Food is love, but it's also reconnaissance."

"Seven o'clock?" I cut in, saving us both from that particular conversational landmine. "I'll have my driver pick you up."

"I can drive myself."

"I'm sure you can. Seven o'clock?"

She sighs, but I catch the smile she's trying to hide. "Seven o'clock. But I'm still picking the restaurant."

"As long as it's not your family's place.”

"Afraid of a little home cooking, Mr. Drake?"

"Afraid of being ambushed by a group of Gallos who, if they’re anything like you, can throw a mean glass of Chianti my way, Ms. Gallo."

She laughs again, heading for the door. "Smart man. There's hope for you yet."

I wait until she's gone before pulling up the latest blog post again.

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