Page 42 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"Oh yeah." Grayson pulls up his phone again. "According to the corporate grapevine, they're reading 'Das Kapital' while doing dramatic interpretations of agile methodology. There are berets involved."

Before I can process this latest development in Keith's ongoing revolution, my office door bursts open. Mac strides in, tablet in hand, looking like she's either about to solve world hunger or commit homicide.

She stops short at the sight of my visitors. "Oh. I didn't realize you had... company."

There's something off about her voice. Something that makes me want to clear the room and figure out what's wrong. Which is exactly the kind of thinking that prompted this "intervention" in the first place.

"Ms. Gallo," I stand, ignoring my friends' knowing looks. "These are my college roommates, Grayson Dixon and Connor Reeves. They were just leaving."

"No, we weren't," Connor grins, extending his hand. "So you're the famous Mackenzie Gallo. The one who baptized our friend in champagne."

Mac shakes his hand, but her usual sharp wit seems dulled. "My aim's usually better. Next time I'll go for his ego instead of his suit."

"Next time?" Grayson perks up. "You're planning another assault on Mr. Stiff Back here?”

"Only if he deserves it." She turns to me, all business. "The feedback program results need your signature. And Keith's book club is requesting an expanded budget for... revolutionary literature and authentic French berets."

"Denied." I take the tablet, trying not to notice how she flinches slightly when our fingers brush. "Anything else?"

"Just Brad asking if the wellness journal can be optioned for a movie deal."

Connor chokes on his coffee.

"Tell him no," I sign the documents quickly. "And maybe suggest he focus on actual work instead of documenting office drama?"

"I'll add it to the list, right after 'convince Keith that poetry slams aren't an appropriate use of meeting rooms.'" She takes the tablet back, careful not to touch me this time. "Gentlemen, it was... interesting meeting you."

She leaves before anyone can respond, her usual confident stride slightly off.

"Well," Connor drawls into the silence, "she seems..."

"Professional," I cut in. "She seems professional."

"I was going to say 'distracted,'" he finishes. "Trouble in corporate paradise?"

I think about Mac's odd behavior in this morning's staff meeting. About the email she'd been staring at when I walked into her office. About how she's been avoiding eye contact since yesterday's meditation room incident.

"Just focus on your dating app, Gray.”

"Speaking of dating," Grayson pulls out his phone again, "have you seen the latest post from your anonymous blogger? They've got some interesting thoughts about tech CEO dating habits."

My heart stops. "What?"

He reads aloud:"@MizzByteMyAlgos: 'Breaking News: Local tech bros are basically frat bros wit corporate cards. Honey, if your commitment issues are old enough to drink, maybe it's time for therapy. #TechDating #BroCode #WhoNeedsEmotionalGrowth'"

"That's..." I grab the phone, scanning the post. "When was this posted?"

"This morning." Grayson watches me carefully. "Right after a certain consultant left your office looking like someone pissed in her Raisin Bran.”

"Mac doesn't like Raisin Bran.”

“Weird that you know that. And…you’re missing the point spectacularly there, buddy."

Connor leans forward. "You know, for someone who's supposedly just your corporate culture consultant, you're awfully quick to defend?—"

A commotion outside interrupts him. Through the glass walls, we watch Keith march past with what appears to be a procession of developers, all wearing berets and carrying copies of "The Communist Manifesto."

"Is that..." Connor blinks. "Are they singing 'Do You Hear the People Code'?"

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