Page 69 of The Comeback Summer

EVERY ONCE INa while, we have an emergency at the Freedman Group. I’m aware these aren’t actual emergencies—no one is going to bleed out or suffocate if we don’t manage this PR crisis—but if it matters to our clients, it matters to us.

And in this case, it matters to ourclient’sclients, since it’s their data that has been leaked.

MySole is a tech start-up that makes an instrumented insole for runners so they can optimize their gait. We connected with them because their new CEO is the son of the infamous Mr.Rooney of UnderRooneys, the company that dumped us and forced us to grovel for Lou’s business. In contrast to my feelings for the older Mr.Rooney, I genuinely respect the younger Rooney as a person. Plus, I think the technology is awesome.

Today, though, the company that secures MySole’s cloud was hacked, spilling their clients’ names, ages, heights, weights, and other health information. We need to do damage control, ASAP.

Libby’s already gone home; she said she wasn’t feeling well.My first thought is to call her and beg her to come back. Anxiety is chattering away in my mind, reminding me that I can’t do this on my own, detailing all the things that could go wrong. But I take a deep breath, call Libby, and tell her I’ve got it under control.

To my surprise, she agrees, on the condition that I send her the copy to look over before we send it to the client.

Next thing I know, I’m on the phone with MySole’s CEO, Noah Rooney. He’s understandably frantic about the data leak, plus he’s on his way to O’Hare to catch a flight to Minneapolis.

“I don’t know what to do,” he’s saying into the phone, panicky. “Our clients are never going to trust us again.”

“Theywilltrust you,” I tell him in my most confident voice. “It’s not the mistake that damns you, but your response to it.”

That’s a GiGi-ism, and it feels good rolling off my lips.

“Tell me honestly: Do I need to stay in Chicago to deal with this?” Noah asks. “Because this weekend I’m planning to ask a very important woman a very important question.”

I straighten up; even more reason for me to take this off his plate. “Absolutely not. I’ll draft an official statement while you’re on the plane. With your approval, we can have it sent to all your customers tonight.”

“You’re sure?”

“This is what you pay us for, remember? We’ve got this.”

He thanks me, we both hang up, and I get to work.

•••

I’M WAITING FORsome information from a software engineer at MySole when my calendar pings with a reminder.

MEET ADAM, 7:00PM

Ugh.It’s currently 6:35 p.m. There’s no possible way I can leave right now.

I text my sister:I’m still working. Can you reschedule tonight’s date?

My phone immediately rings.

“Hannah!” Libby wails. “You can’t cancel at the last minute!”

“I’m not finished cleaning up this mess,” I say, rubbing my temples. It’s bizarre that I even have to explain; she should understand. “We can’t risk losing another paying client and weespeciallycan’t risk being known as the kind of company that doesn’t show up when the stakes are high.”

My voice is snippier than I intended—headache plus stress plus the inevitable feeling of guilt for letting my sister down. But staying here and finishing my work is the right thing to do.

“Adam’s a great guy,” Libby says, her voice tinged with disapproval. “He doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

“I’m not standing him up! Message him and let him know I have a work emergency and ask if we can reschedule—”

“Han, that’s not—”

“Tell him I’m sorry,” I say. “But I need to go. I have work to do.”

I end the call, proud of myself for standing my ground. Proud of myself for handling this crisis, too. I give myself a figurative pat on the back, plus a hat tip to Lou. My dating challenge might be silly, but the journaling is making a difference.

Beneath those thoughts there’s a deeper current, something not so easy to explain. I’m relieved to have an excuse to skip the date tonight. It feels disingenuous to go out with someone when I have feelings for someone else.

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