Page 8 of Phishing for Love
They make an effort. After a few seconds, however, because I’m the daughter of a mother who tries to see humor in even the most disastrous situations, a chuckle of my own bubbles up. “On a scale of one to ten?” I ask.
“Ten,” they both answer without hesitation.
“To be fair,” Kenzie says as she spreads a thin layer of strawberry jam on her croissant, “I was going to click on the video. I just hadn’t got around to it yet.”
“What this Aaron guy did was sneaky,” I say. “He should’ve at least warned us we were being tested. I do well when I’m prepared.”
Kenzie gives me a shoulder bump in commiseration. “Me too.”
Sofia is silent. We all know she’s magnificent under pressure. At least she’s sensitive enough not to rub it in to us mere mortals.
“I hate Aaron Sinclair,” I say.
“I hate him too,” Kenzie echoes loyally, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it and feels guilty for even voicing the words. I doubt she possesses a hateful bone in her body.
Sofia, who’s just as loyal a friend, but without the inconvenient attacks of conscience, declares, “I’m happy to lie and say I hate him too.”
I nod. “I’ll take it.”
We finish our food and step out onto the sidewalk to head back to the office. Main Street is the beating heart of our medium-sized town of Brown Oaks. I love the mix of restaurants, shops, and offices lining the street, cobbled walkways branching out in all directions to host vintage clothing shops and artisan eateries. Window boxes filled with purple pansies draw the eye and we’ve adopted the Parisian trend of lining the streets at neatly spaced intervals with leafy trees.
The sky feels big in Brown Oaks. I worked for a year in a large city, and honestly, I hated it. I hated the commuter bustle, construction noise always ringing in my ears, and buildings obscured by ugly scaffolding. I was eager to return to my hometown and leave behind my depressing view of a small, smog-smeared sky.
Walking along Main Street’s wide sidewalk, Sofia and Kenzie link their arms in mine and I feel a rush of love for my two friends. In our ladies-only evenings every Wednesday, we’vebeen binge watching the television seriesThe Last Kingdom. What sticks with me (other than Uhtred flexing his biceps while wielding a sword) are the battle scenes between the Saxons and Danes. When the Saxons fight, they form a shield wall where the soldiers stand so close together their shields overlap, protecting each other, as well as themselves. Sofia, Kenzie, and I, we are our own shield wall, fiercely protective warriors standing shoulder to shoulder in life’s battles. It’s been like that for the three of us since we started working together. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
As soon as we exit the elevator, Mevia waves me over from behind her reception desk. I say goodbye to Sofia and Kenzie, and head over. The phones are thankfully quiet.
Mevia jumps up and offers me a sympathetic arm squeeze when I reach her. “Hey, that sucks what happened to you in that meeting.”
“Thanks, Mev.” I’m not at all surprised she knows. Mevia’s the eyes, ears, and wagging tongue of Amell Greetings. Of course, she’s heard about what happened.
She makes a pouting face and her lip ring jumps out at me like a jack-in-the-box. “It’s also pretty cool because everyone’s talking about you now.”
Dismay shoots through me. “I don’t want that.”
“Really?” Mevia looks surprised. “I love it when people talk about me.” Clearly sensing my unhappiness, she whispers, “If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t the only one.”
“The only one what?” I ask, confused.
“To click on a dangerous link,” she elaborates. “There were other fake emails sent out. You know, what Hot Guy calls ‘phishing’ emails.”
I gape at her and repeat stupidly, “There were others?”
She nods, loving all this drama. “Practically everyone in the company fell for them. That’s why Calvin’s in such a state.”
“But I was the only one mentioned in the meeting!”
“I know,” she says with wide, approving eyes. “You’re famous.”
It’s definitely not the sort of fame I’m after, but Mevia appears to be a fan of any sort of notoriety. I take a moment to collect myself. Why weren’t the other phishing emails mentioned in the meeting? Why was I singled out?
Through gritted teeth, I ask, “Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Aaron.”
“Hot Guy?”
