In Hero, Colby attends the Climb & Conquer Grand Opening Party with his family, in support of Kat and her new boyfriend, Josh. Here’s what was happening for Josh and Kat at that same event:

Josh

The band onstage behind Jonas and me finishes playing a cover of Pharrell William’s “Happy” and the partygoers packed into Climb & Conquer’s flagship Seattle gym applaud uproariously. 

“Welcome to our grand opening,” I say to the crowd, speaking into the microphone in my hand. “I know you’re all chomping at the bit to keep climbing and conquering our rock walls for the first time ever today—so we’re gonna keep the talking to a minimum. We just wanted to thank you all for coming out to the gym today to celebrate the birth of our baby.”

Everyone claps and cheers. 

“For those of you who don’t already know,” I continue, “I’m Josh Faraday and this is my brother, Jonas—and we’re the founders of Climb & Conquer.” The band behind us breaks into a spontaneous riff of “For He’s the Jolly Good Fellow” and everyone laughs. “Wow, could you guys follow me around wherever I go?” I say.

Everyone in the room chuckles.

“Although, if you’re gonna follow me around playing my own personal theme music, I think it’d have to be ‘The Joker.’”

The band instantly breaks into a few bars of that song, and everyone in the entire building, including me, bursts out laughing.

“Wow, you’re good,” I say, pointing at the bandleader, and she points back at me, a huge smile on her face. I address the crowd again. “Jonas and I have worked hard to bring Climb & Conquer to life—but it’s really Jonas who first had the vision—so I’m gonna turn the microphone over to my brother and let him tell you what Climb & Conquer is all about. Jonas?”

Everyone applauds and I hand the microphone to my brother.

“Hi, everyone. Thanks, Josh.” Jonas flashes his most charming smile and begins telling the rapt audience about what climbing has meant to him personally during his life and how he’s always dreamed of sharing his passion with the world.

Wow. For a guy who despises public speaking as much as Jonas does, I’m duly impressed with how well Jonas is pulling this off—especially since, when we were planning our speeches for this event a few days ago, Jonas practically begged me to do all the speaking. “How about I stand onstage next to you and nod while you talk?” he said. “I’ll be the ‘something shiny’—remember that?”

“Sorry, bro,” I told him, much to his obvious chagrin. “Your ‘something shiny’ days are officially over—you’re our frontman now, baby. And, anyway, C&C has been your dream from day one—you gotta be the one to explain it.”

He looked totally bummed.

“Plus, as a practical matter,” I continued, “a bunch of local news stations are gonna be covering the grand opening. If one of our faces is gonna be plastered all over the news talking about our company’s mission, it’s gotta be yours, Pretty Boy.” 

Jonas groaned.

“Oh, just nut up, Jonas. It’s not my fault you’re the pretty one.”

“But that’s the thing, Josh,” Jonas replied. “You always say I’m the pretty one—that I’ve got the looks and you’ve got the personality—but in all seriousness—and believe me, I hate to stroke your ego about this—I truly think you’re better looking than I am.”

“Well, yeah, duh, I’m better looking than you are, numnuts—of course, I am,” I said. “It’s just that, for some reason, no one else seems to recognize that obvious fact.” 

Jonas laughed.

“It is what it is, bro—embrace it. You’re the pretty one, which means you’ve got to do the pretty-brother-speech.” I patted him on his pretty cheek. “Just pretend everyone in the audience is naked. Isn’t that what they always say you should do for public speaking?”

“Yeah,” Jonas sighed, resigned to his fate.

“Except for Kat—don’t pretend Kat’s naked or I’ll have to punch you in your pretty face.”

“Isn’t Henn gonna be there?” Jonas asked.

“Good point.” I grimaced. “Don’t picture Henn naked, either, or you might give yourself an aneurysm.”

“And Sarah’s mom? And Kat’s parents? Because I’d rather cut off my arm than imagine any of them naked,” Jonas said.

“Okay, fine. Shit,” I replied. “I wasn’t being literal. I was just saying don’t stress about the speech—you’ll be great.”

Jonas laughed. “Don’t worry—I’ll be fine. I’ll hate to do it, but I’ll manage it. I’ll just look at Sarah the whole time and I’ll be fine.”

The audience in front of me laughs at something Jonas is saying and my brain tunes back into the present moment. 

“. . . . our initial twenty gyms in five states,” Jonas is saying into the microphone, “and we’re just getting started.” 

My eyes scan the crowd and land on Kat’s gorgeous face—and then immediately drift down to the adorable baby bump that’s only recently popped out of her slender frame. Damn, Kat’s hot as hell. I can’t get enough of that terrorist under normal circumstances, but nowadays, with her cute little belly and blossoming tits and raging pregnancy hormones, my Kat-addiction is now officially completely out of control. If Kat were a drug, there’d be no choice but for my loved ones to stage an intervention.

“How’s our avocado today?” I asked Kat just this morning in our bed, running my hands over her naked belly, pressing my hard-on into her side, licking her nipple, inhaling her scent. 

“Oh, no, babe,” she said, sighing with pleasure when my fingertips migrated south and began gently stroking her tip. “The kumquat was an avocado a couple weeks ago—the kumquat’s a freaking bell pepper now.”

 “A bell pepper?” I said, running my fingertips lightly over her slick tip, coaxing her into delicious hardness. “Whoa, this kid’s unstoppable.” 

Kat shuddered with pleasure and arched her back as my fingers began massaging her in earnest, and that was all the dangling carrot I needed to stop talking and get serious about pleasuring her. With a loud growl, I opened her thighs, burrowed my head between them, and begin licking my hot little momma into a delicious frenzy. 

“. . . and that’s why the Climb & Conquer brand embodies adventure, fitness, and, most of all, the pursuit of excellence,” Jonas is saying. “Each person’s individual but universal quest to find the ideal version of himself.”

I smile to myself. Jonas had originally planned to say “each person’s individual quest to find the divine original form of himself,” but I told him no fucking way. “Mark my words, the news stations will run that one sound-bite out of context, and all anyone will remember is the word ‘divine,’” I said.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Jonas asked.

“Dude, they’ll think we’re some sort of religious cult, not a rock-climbing gym. It’s off-brand. Tell Plato he’s gotta stay the fuck away from my grand opening. He’s cramping my style.”  

“Fine,” Jonas said begrudgingly. “I’ll kick Plato to the curb just this once and dumb it down, Josh Faraday style. Happy?” “Yes. Happy as a clam,” I said. 

“So what should I say if not ‘divine original’?”

“I dunno. What would Josh Faraday say? That ought to lead you to the right level of dumb.”

“. . . all about reaching higher than you ever thought you could reach—literally and metaphorically . . .” Jonas is saying—and I have to force myself not to roll my eyes at that last bit. That’s Jonas’ idea of pretending he’s a dumbshit like me—saying our company’s all about reaching one’s highest peak ‘literally and metaphorically’? It’s true, of course—that’s what we’re all about—but Josh Faraday would never say that particular phrase in a million fucking years. 

“. . . and becoming better than you ever thought you could be,” Jonas says.

Everyone claps enthusiastically.

“And as part of our genuine commitment to extraordinary aspiration,” Jonas says, yet again making me want to roll my eyes at his word choice, “Climb & Conquer has identified certain designated charities we’ll be supporting with a portion of our proceeds.” 

I look at Sarah in the crowd. She’s standing next to Kat and Henn and Hannah, staring up at her new husband like he’s a golden god. Just as I’m about to look away from Sarah, she pushes a lock of dark hair away from her face and her rock sparkles at me all the way up onstage. Shit. I hate seeing Sarah’s big-ass diamond—no offense to her. As happy as I am for Mr. and Mrs. Jonas Faraday, that goddamned ring only serves to remind me how much I’m physically aching to slip a big-ass ring onto Kat’s finger, too. 

The good news is that, last night, after watching Pride and Prejudice, the last of the movies on my “Kat’s all-time favorites” list, I finally figured out exactly how to propose to Kat. Actually, the gist of my plan came to me weeks ago in Argentina while watching Pretty Woman—specifically, the scene where Julia Roberts goes into that ritzy store in Beverly Hills, all dressed up in her brand-new clothes, and tells the bitchy store clerk she made a “huge” mistake the prior day by refusing to help her—but, last night, every last detail of my entire plan finally came together in my mind.

Everyone claps at something Jonas has said, so I clap, too, not wanting to look like I’m not listening (which I’m not). 

“So, without further ado,” Jonas says, “let’s let the band play while you guys climb and conquer our rock walls and have a great time.”

Everyone claps and cheers. 

I grab the microphone from Jonas. “Thanks for coming, everyone—Happy Birthday, Climb & Conquer!” 

Everyone cheers again.

I motion to the band and they launch into a rousing rendition of “Shout” that has everyone instantly throwing up their hands and singing along.

Jonas and I stand for a moment, smiling together in front of a “Climb & Conquer Grand Opening!” banner as a photographer takes a hundred shots. When we finally make our way offstage, Sarah and Kat greet us, both of them sporting huge smiles.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kat coos into my ear, throwing her arms around my neck. “Watching you up there made me wanna attack you, babe—you’re a freakin’ rock star. Gorgeous. Funny. Charismatic. The sexiest man alive.” She literally growls and presses her body into mine, making my dick open its single eye and say, “Did I just hear a cock-a-doodle-doo?” “Oh my God, you make me horny,” Kat whispers, pressing her body into mine. “I feel like I’ve got a vibrator permanently pressed against my clit these days.”

“Babe,” I whisper. “You can’t say that to me right now. You’re making me rock hard.”

“Oh my God. Press it against me.”

I do.

“Ooph. I can’t resist you,” Kat says. “I wanna give you a blowjob right now.”

I don’t hesitate. “Bathroom in my office in twenty,” I whisper.

“It’s a date.” She makes a sexual sound. “God damn you turn me on, Joshua.”

“You’re killing me, Katherine,” I whisper. “I still gotta say hi to your fucking parents, for Chrissakes.”

“Sucks to be you, I guess,” she says. “Except that it’s about to be freaking awesome to be you, baby.” She winks.

“You’re killing me,” I whisper.

“What a way to go,” she whispers back.

“Come on, Kitty Kat,” Sarah says. “Dance with me.” 

“Great,” Kat says, letting Sarah pull her to the dance floor. But just before she disappears into the crowd, Kat flashes me a look that’s so naughty, I have to put my hands in front of my crotch to hide my arousal.

Damn. Who knew pregnancy could be this fucking awesome? It started out rough, I’ll admit that, but these days, it’s nothing but fun. The woman’s been on fire lately, even for her. 

“Can I ask you a few questions?” a female reporter asks Jonas to my left, her cameraman in tow—and for a split second, I’m reminded of Heidi Kumquat, who I seem to recall asked the Super Bowl MVP that very question. Kat. There’s never a dull moment with her. I’m so fucking head over heels in love with that girl, so obsessed with the idea of making her my wife, so addicted to her, mind, body, and soul, I can barely function these days. I can’t even remember how it felt not to love her and sleep with her every night and fuck her at every opportunity. I truly never knew I could love someone this way—so completely. So honestly. It’s like Kat’s unlocked something that was hidden deep inside me, and every day I become more and more fully me, as ridiculous as that sounds.

“Sure,” Jonas says to the reporter, but then he looks at me with desperation in his eyes, clearly hoping for some backup. 

But he’s shit out of luck. For once, Jonas’ ever-reliable brother is going rogue.

I smile and wave at Jonas and, much to his obvious shock and annoyance, quickly slip into the crowd. Deserting him is a chicken-shit thing to do, probably, especially today—but I’ve got some important personal business to take care of before my bathroom date and only a limited opportunity while Kat’s distracted on the dance floor. Plus, there’s no doubt Jonas can handle that reporter on his own—she’s a woman, after all—which means all he needs to do is smile at her and she’ll throw her panties at him and offer him the lead-off spot on the six o’clock news.  

I scan the crowd looking for Louise, and quickly locate her standing next to Thomas, Ryan and Colby (who’s leaning on crutches), all of them watching the band and looking festive.

“Hey, everyone,” I say when I reach the group. “Thanks for coming.”

“Lambo!” Ryan says. He bro-hugs me. “Congrats. This is awesome.”

“Thank you.”

“Congratulations, Josh,” Colby adds, shaking my hand. “Really impressive.”

“Thanks. You’ve all got lifetime memberships, if you want ‘em,” I say. I motion to Colby’s leg. “Standing offer for you, Colby, whenever you’re up to it.”

“Thanks,” Colby says. “Gimme three more months and I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Fantastic. I’ll personally climb with you whenever you want.”

“I’ll join you guys,” Ryan says. “Best work-out, ever. Hey, Dad, you should try it with us. I think you’d like it.”

“Maybe I will.”

“You’ve never climbed a rock wall?” I ask Thomas.

Thomas shakes his head.

“Gimme a call. I’ll give you a private lesson.”

“Thanks. That sounds fun,” Thomas says.

“Sure thing.” I glance across the room, making sure Kat is still dancing. “Hey, Louise, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Louise’s face lights up. “You bet, honey. Excuse us, fellas.”

Kat’s mom and I move several yards away from the group, both of us looking furtively toward Kat on the other side of the large room. The band is playing “Brown Eyed Girl” and Kat’s twirling Sarah around and singing the song to her.

“Did you get it?” I whisper. “Hey, that just sounded like we’re doing a drug deal, huh?”

Louise giggles and looks covertly across the room at her daughter. “It came in yesterday—and it’s gorgeous.” She fishes into her purse and pulls out a ring box and then palms it to me like she’s handing me a kilo of hashish. “It’s sized and polished and ready to go.”

“Thanks for picking it up for me. I’ve been crazy-busy this past week.”

“Oh, honey, it was my pleasure. Plus, it was safer this way—it would have been terrible if Miss Busy-Body somehow intercepted the delivery at your house.” Louise glances at Kat across the room again. “Just a little warning for you—Kat’s peeked at every single Christmas present I’ve ever gotten for her. She unwraps the gift and then rewraps it and puts it back under the tree.” Louise rolls her eyes. “Kat doesn’t know I know she does that, by the way, so don’t tell her I know. This year, I’m gonna beat her at her own game and put a wrapped box of hemorrhoid cream under the tree for her to peek at—that ought to teach her a lesson about peeking.”

I chuckle. “Now I see where she gets that little dash of evil I love so much.” I slip the box into my pocket. “Thank you again.”

“Aren’t you gonna look at it? It’s beautiful, Josh. Gives me chills every time I look at it.”

Carefully, taking great care not to let anyone around me see what I’m doing, I open the box a tiny crack, just enough to confirm it contains the engagement ring Louise and I picked out for Kat on our highly enjoyable shopping trip together last week.

“Wow,” I say. “It’s incredible.”

“Just be prepared—Kat’s gonna lose her mind when you give this to her. Like, seriously, honey, she’s going to go completely ballistic on you. Just be ready to scrape her off the floor.” 

“Oh, God, I pray you’re right,” I say. “If Kat says anything but hell yes, you’ll have to scrape me off the floor, and not in a good way.” 

Louise touches my forearm. “Why on earth would Kat say no? She loves you.”

I shrug. “Unexpected things have happened to me before, Lou. Bad things. I’m kind of used to getting blindsided by life.”

Louise’s face melts. “Oh, honey. No. Kat loves you. She’s having your baby. For God’s sake, she’ll say yes.”

“But you heard her: ‘Marriage just isn’t in the cards for us.’”

Louise snorts. “Oh, please. Kat’s full of it and we both know it.”

I grin. “I sure hope so.”

“Josh, I know so. I’m her mother. Trust me.”

I give Louise a quick hug. “Thank you again.” I pause. “Momma Lou.”

Louise blushes. “Oh my gosh, I love the sound of that!” She giggles. “Although, I must admit, Thomas is right—it does sound a bit like I run a soup kitchen in the South, doesn’t it?” She giggles again, reminding me of Kat for the millionth time. “Don’t tell Thomas I said he’s right, by the way—I wouldn’t want him to get a big head.”

“I’ll never tell.”

“Josh.” 

I turn around. It’s Theresa. 

“Jonas asked me to come get you. He wants you to join the interview. He says please.” She motions across the room to where Jonas is still talking to that same reporter. He’s feigning comfort quite well from the looks of him, but I know him well enough to know he’s dying on the inside.

I chuckle. “Okay. Josh to the rescue. Bye, Louise. Thanks again.”

“My pleasure. Keep us posted.”

“Will do.”

I cross the room quickly and help Jonas finish up his interview, much to his obvious relief, and when that’s over, Jonas disappears into the crowd to find Sarah.

I scan the room looking for Kat and spot her talking to her family—looks like I’ve still got some time—so I survey the place, searching for Henn. Boom. He’s talking with Hannah and Sarah, and when I catch his eye, I motion for him to meet me in a quiet corner behind one of the rock walls.

“Hey, man,” I say, bro-hugging Henn when he reaches me. “Thanks for coming today. You didn’t have to do that.” “I wouldn’t have missed it,” Henn says. “Plus, it gave me an excuse to come see Hannah.” 

“So, hey, man, do you think you could do me a favor? I need to find someone—get me dialed in.”

“Sure. Who is it this time, boss?”

I tell him the name of the person I want him to locate and everything I know, which isn’t much.

“Okay. Shouldn’t be hard. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks, man. As soon as possible, please.”

“Yeah, I figured. When have you ever asked me to find someone ‘whenever it’s convenient for you, Henn’?”

I chuckle. “Sorry.”

“No worries. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thanks, bro. So what’s been shaking with you?” I ask. “Work good?”

“Yeah, finally finished working with the feds on our sitch. They’ve got enough to put the pimpstress extraordinaire into an orange jumpsuit forever, probably. Bye-bye, Oksana. Nice knowing you.”

“That’s a relief. Any sense there’s anyone else left in The Club organization we should be keeping an eye on?”

“There are definitely some heavy hitters in Russia and Ukraine who ran a big part of the show from there, but no one stateside with any real power—and certainly nobody who’d know about us.” 

“Keep an eye on things, though, would you? Just so we know if there’s ever something we should be concerned about. Jonas is already starting to doubt his decision to leave Oksana standing—we should probably give him periodic assurances that everything’s still quiet.”

“No problem.”

“So what are you working on now that The Club stuff is all done?” I ask.

“Oh, I just did a really fun job.” He tells me about a large department store chain that recently hired Henn to try his mighty best to breach their own computer system for the purpose of testing their security. “It was awesome,” Henn says. “They truly believed they were impervious to hacking. They’d supposedly hired ‘the best cyber-security team money could buy’ to protect their data, but I dug around and broke ‘em wide open in less than a day. I waltzed into my first meeting with their supposedly ‘expert cyber-security team—’” He snorts loudly with glee. “And I was like, ‘So, hey, folks, great to meetcha. Oh, by the way, I got into your piddly-diddly system four different ways from Sunday in about six hours—here, here, here, and here,’ and they totally shit their Depends.” He sighs happily. “God, I love my life.”

I chuckle. “And how’s everything else? Things with Hannah good?”

“Better than good. Awesome. She’s moving to L.A. next month.”

“Really? Wow. That’s fantastic.”

“Yeah, the long distance thing is killing us, man. And since Kat’s decided to put her PR company on the back burner for a while to become a mommy, Hannah’s decided to look for a PR job in the entertainment industry.”

“Awesome. Hey, you should ask Reed if he knows someone who might be able to help her with her job search. Reed knows everyone.”

“Yeah, I already talked to him. He’s on it.”

“Good.”

“So how are things with Kat? Have you two been nesting, getting ready for baby?”

I glance at Kat across the room. She’s dancing with Sarah again, wiggling like she’s got ants in her pants, throwing her tiny belly around with abandon. “I’m gonna ask Kat to marry me.” I pat my pocket. “Got the ring right here.”

“No shit?” Henn hugs me. “Awesome. When are you gonna do it?”

“As soon as you get me that info.”

“Ah. Interesting. What does one thing have to do with the other?”

I briefly explain how I’m planning to propose to Kat, using the information Henn’s gonna get for me. 

“Very cool,” Henn says. “Okay. I’ll put a rush on it, boss.” He grins. “Wow. I never thought I’d see the day Josh ‘YOLO’ Faraday would get married and settle down.”

“I never thought I’d see the day, either. And now it’s all I want.” I bite my lip. “Let’s just hope Kat says yes.”

Henn waves his hand dismissively at me. “Bah. Just dick it up and she won’t be able to resist you.”

I laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ve recently learned the whole dick-it-up-strategy might not be quite as effective as I originally thought.” I steal another look at Kat. “At least not with Madame Terrorist.” 

“I’m really happy for you, Josh,” Henn says. 

“Thanks, man.”

“You’ve definitely come a long way from the dude who got YOLO inked onto his ass-cheek over a quote from Happy Gilmore.”

“God, I hope so. Hey, what was that quote we were arguing about, by the way? I can never remember what it was.”

“Oh, it was really deep and profound. Grandma in the nursing home asks Ben Stiller if she can trouble him for a warm glass of milk because it helps her sleep. And he goes, ‘You could trouble me for a warm glass of shut the hell up!’”

I laugh. “Oh, shit. Really? No.”

“Yes.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yes.” 

“I got YOLO stamped on my ass over that?”

Henn nods, laughing. “You were positive Ben Stiller says, ‘You could trouble me for a tall glass of shut the fuck up.’”

I shake my head. “God, I was such a little punk. Please tell me I’m not that big a tool anymore.”

Henn puts his hand on my shoulder. “You were never a tool, Josh—you’ve always been the greatest guy ever, right from day one. And you’ve only gotten better with age. You’re a fine wine, man.”

My heart pangs. “Thanks, Henn. Back at you.” He smiles.

 “Okay, well, this fine wine had better get back to his adoring public,” I say. “Thanks again for coming—and thanks for the favor.” 

“Any time,” Henn replies. 

We bro-hug again and then Henn slips into the crowd, saluting me as he goes.

My eyes drift to where Kat was dancing with Sarah a moment ago—but she’s not there. I reflexively look at my watch. Oh shit—it’s been way longer than twenty minutes since Kat and I made our “date.”

I practically sprint toward my office in the back of the gym, getting stopped at least ten times along the way by well-wishers, and finally manage to slip unnoticed through a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” Once inside my darkened office, I beeline to the bathroom in the back and rap softly on the door. “Kat?” I whisper.

The door opens a crack and in one fluid movement, Kat grabs a fistful of my shirt and yanks me forcefully into the bathroom. 

“I just made myself come while waiting on you, Playboy,” she whispers, furiously unbuckling my belt, her eyes on fire. “You’re such a naughty boy for making me wait.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, my dick throbbing with anticipation. “My pregnant whore is feeling horny, huh?’

She reaches into my pants and strokes my hard-on furiously. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “Heidi Kumquat’s on fire. She’s aching to give you your money’s worth, baby.”

“God, I love you,” I growl, my body jerking as she works me with her hands.

“I love you, too,” Kat says. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” She fondles my balls. “And I love your dick.”

Without further ado, Kat kneels down and swirls her tongue on the tip of my cock—right into my little hole—making me jolt. “Oh my fuck, Kat.” 

She looks up at me from under my straining cock and smiles. “I never knew I could love someone the way I love you, Joshua William Faraday,” she purrs—and then she takes the full length of my cock into her mouth and proceeds to deliver a blowjob so intense, it makes me grip the sink ledge to keep from falling to my knees.

“Oh, God, I love you,” I growl, trying to hang on. I grip her hair and press myself farther into her open throat. “You’re worth every fucking penny, baby,” I choke out, my passion reaching its boiling point. But even as I’m saying those words—because, of course, those are the magic words Kat loves best when she’s giving me head—what I’m actually thinking is something new for me while in the midst of receiving a mind-blowing blowjob: If a guy needs more than this to be eternally happy with one woman, then he’s either crazy or just a greedy-ass motherfucker.

***

In Captain, we attend the same grand opening party, but in the story of Ryan Morgan and his furture lady love, Tessa. Prior to this scene, Ryan met a flight attendant named Samantha at a bar and he became obsessed with her. Unfortunately, after a miscommunication, Samantha ran off without giving Ryan her phone number. Little does Ryan know, “Samantha the Flight Attendant” was actually Theresa/Tessa, Josh Faraday’s personal assistant, who also attended the same Climb & Conquer Grand Opening Party for her job. At this point, Ryan still hasn’t found Samantha, despite him asking for help in tracking her down from a hacker named Henn. 

Here is what happened at the Climb & Conquer Grand Opening party for Tessa and Ryan (Captain):

Tessa

“. . . and that’s why the Climb & Conquer brand embodies adventure, fitness, and, most of all, the pursuit of excellence,” Josh’s brother, Jonas, says into his microphone, and everyone packed into the massive gym applauds enthusiastically. 

I’m at the grand opening for Josh and Jonas’ chain of new rock-climbing gyms, observing the festivities from a spot at the far back of their flagship Seattle location. At the moment, the Faraday twins are standing on a stage in front of an idle band, the two of them kicking off the party by telling everyone about their shared passion for climbing and their company’s inspiring mission to make the world a better place—and, honestly, after what happened last week at The Pine Box, being here among these excited, happy people on this joyous occasion feels like a balm for my downtrodden soul. 

As busy as I’ve been this past week pulling this event together, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Ryan from The Pine Box—about how charismatic and honest and emotionally intelligent he seemed to be—about how truly certain I was I’d finally met the man of my dreams—and about how totally wrong, wrong, wrong I turned out to be about him (surprise!). Talk about a girl with a defective picker! Every freaking word Ryan said, every smile he flashed me, every touch of his fingertips—and, in those last few, delicious moments, every soft kiss of his delectable lips on my cheek and ear and neck—every swirl of his tongue on the sensitive flesh under my ear—and, oh god, that bite on my neck—made me absolutely dizzy with desire for him. No matter what I babbled to Ryan about wanting to “take things slow,” I’m certain if we’d wound up going out on our dinner-date as planned, I would have wound up naked and spread-eagle in that man’s bed for dessert, the city-tour he’d promised me be damned.

“. . . a part of each person’s individual but universal quest to find the ideal version of himself . . .” Jonas says to the rapt crowd, eliciting enthusiastic applause.

I rub my forehead. Crap. I’ve got to stop thinking about Ryan. What’s the freaking point? As I so jarringly found out last week at The Pine Box, he has a girlfriend—a very blonde and “Extroverted Barbie” girlfriend who’s my physical opposite in every way. Plus, as his charming girlfriend so eloquently informed me when she stormed into the bar, it seems Prince Charming hit on a blonde during a dinner date with her earlier that same night, the very second his raving bitch of a girlfriend got up to use the bathroom. Oh, but that con-artist-player didn’t stop there. Oh, no. He then proceeded to head out to a meat-market-bar later that same night all by himself (yeah, sure, he was waiting for a friend who never showed up!) to hunt for yet another blonde to fuck behind his girlfriend’s back. And then, when no blonde presented herself, apparently decided instead to settle for hitting on the dark-haired idiot in a flight-attendant uniform.

Why do men like Ryan and my ex-boyfriend, Stu, even bother having girlfriends if they’re simply going to compulsively cheat on them? I don’t get it. Do they have raging Madonna-whore complexes—they love having a good girl at home on standby while they fuck their hidden fantasies on the down-low every chance they get? Although, I must admit, Ryan’s girlfriend didn’t strike me as anything close to the Madonna by any stretch of the imagination, so maybe scratch that particular psychoanalysis. 

Well, whatever the motivation for Ryan and men of his ilk, the bottom line is they’re all scumbags. It makes me physically ill remembering how Ryan so expertly wooed me that night at the bar, the same way he surely wooed the blonde in the restaurant earlier that same night. I could scream when I think about Ryan flashing that panty-melting smile at me and coaxing me to reveal more and more of myself to him in the name of fostering “true intimacy,” of course, not to mention the way Ryan snowed me with complete bullshit-lines like, “I’m looking for something real” and “Put you in a room with a million Extroverted Barbies and I’d go straight for you like blanco on arroz every time.” Asshole.

“And that’s why Climb & Conquer is all about reaching higher than you ever thought you could reach, literally and metaphorically,” Jonas says from the stage, his face aglow. “It’s about becoming better than you ever thought you could be.” 

The crowd erupts into enthusiastic applause and I join them, partly because I’m hoping the physical act of clapping my palms together will somehow miraculously trigger my brain to stop thinking about Ryan from The Pine Box; and, also, even more so, because I’m genuinely inspired by Jonas’ obvious passion for what he’s saying.

After watching Jonas for a moment longer, my gaze drifts from him to his gloriously handsome brother and then grazes across the backs of all the heads in the large crowd. Oh, hey, I think the back of that one guy’s head in the middle of the pack belongs to Josh’s longtime hacker-friend, Henn.

Hey.

An idea pings my brain.

Maybe I should ask Josh if it’s okay to ask Henn to help me track down Ryan? I know it’s stupid for me to want to contact Ryan, seeing as how, one, he’s a lying cheater-player-douche, and, two, I’m the one who fled the bar without a backward glance when his girlfriend showed up and started reading him the riot act and calling me a cunt; but, for some reason, I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about contacting Ryan and, at least, getting the chance to give him a piece of my mind . . . and also, maybe, hearing him out?

The truth is, now that I’ve had a week to process everything, I deeply regret not sticking around for at least a couple minutes outside the bar that night, just in case Ryan maybe came outside and wanted to talk to me. I mean, obviously, there’s nothing Ryan could have said in that moment to Febreze-away the stench of his two-timing-assholery, but, still, I can’t help wondering what he might have said if I’d stuck around long enough to hear it. I mean, crap, at the very least, I should have given myself the opportunity to tell the guy he’s a complete asshole, right? Maybe then I wouldn’t feel this almost desperate need to talk to Ryan again. 

So, okay, that’s what I’ll do, then: I’ll ask Josh if it’s okay for me to pull Henn aside during this party and . . . Wait. No. Am I stupid? I can’t ask Josh for Henn’s help to find Ryan! How the heck would that conversation go? Well, Josh and Henn, there’s this guy named Ryan I met last week at The Pine Box and I’m desperate to find him and ask him if every single word out of his mouth was a lie, or only some of them. Why do I need your help to find Ryan, you ask? Oh, because Ryan never told me his phone number or last name because his girlfriend burst into the bar and started calling him a “fucking cheater” and me a “cunt” before we’d exchanged our contact info. Isn’t that awesome? Believe me, it was super-duper awesome!

Yeah, obviously, I can’t breathe a word about my encounter with Ryan to Josh and Henn. 

Ah, who am I kidding? Even if I could enlist Henn’s assistance, he wouldn’t be able to find Ryan, anyway, not based on what little I know of him. What hacker, no matter how talented, could possibly find a guy named “Ryan” knowing only that he’s twenty-eight, a Taurus, has three brothers and a sister; was born and raised in Seattle, makes amazing guacamole, and can fold a fitted sheet?

“And as part of our genuine commitment to extraordinary aspiration,” Jonas continues from the stage at the front of the gym, “Climb & Conquer has identified certain designated charities we’ll be supporting with a portion of our proceeds.” 

My eyes continue skimming the backs of heads in the packed crowd. The place seems to be filled with lots of twenty-something-year-old fitness types as I would have expected; but there also seems to be a surprisingly large number of families and older—

My brain freezes mid-thought. My heart stops mid-beat. 

I put my palm over my mouth. 

The back of that guy’s head way over there in middle-front of the packed audience looks like it belongs to Ryan from The Pine Box!

I clutch my chest.

Could it be?

I crane my neck, trying to get a better look—but, damn it, the crowd is too packed for me to make out the guy’s build or see if his arms are covered in tattoos. 

It’s not a crazy thought, is it? I’m not hurtling into some sort of psychosis? I mean, it’s perfectly reasonable to think the one man on earth I’m thinking about at this very moment, the man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this entire week might be one of the four hundred or so people in a city of three-and-a-half million who happens to be standing in this room right now?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. 

Motherfucker. 

I’m doing it again. 

I’m glimpsing yet another “Ryan” in yet another crowd, the same way I’ve done at least ten times this past week. On Monday morning alone, I spotted Ryan three different times—once at the gym, another time at Starbucks, and a third time sitting in the adjacent lane in traffic; and, of course, none of those “Ryans” turned out to be Ryan from The Pine Box. At Starbucks, for instance, “Ryan” turned out to be an attractive man of about forty, holding a toddler. And on Tuesday, when my pathetic brain spotted “Ryan” walking into a bank, that guy turned out to be a black man. A highly attractive one, I might add. But most definitely not the man I’m currently obsessed with. And so it went all week long—Ryans, Ryans, everywhere, and not a drop to drink or kiss or suck or lick. And, on top of all that, don’t get me started on how many times I suddenly heard “Sex on Fire” playing in banks and grocery stores. Gah!

“Miss Rodriguez?” a female voice says, drawing me out of my rambling thoughts. “Clarissa Taylor, Channel Seven News.”

“Yes, of course,” I say, shaking the woman’s hand. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“My pleasure. The mission statement of Climb & Conquer is inspiring.” The reporter smirks. “Plus, the Faraday brothers are what we in the industry like to call ‘easy on the eyes.’” She glances appreciatively at Josh and Jonas onstage. “They’re definitely going to make for good TV.” 

I follow the reporter’s gaze to the guys onstage. “They look like superheroes up there, don’t they?” I say. “Superman and Thor.”

The reporter chuckles. “I like that. I think I’ll make that the theme of my piece: ‘Seattle’s own Superman and Thor, climbing indoor mountains in a leap and a bound.’”

“Oh, that’s great. The guys will love it. Do you have everything you need for your story?”

“Almost. We’ve got footage of the gym and the crowd and the guys’ speeches, but I’d love to get an up-close-and-personal interview with both brothers—something where we can clearly see their pearly whites and baby blues.”

“Sounds good. Let’s wrangle them as they come offstage. Follow me.” 

I lead the reporter and her cameraman toward the stage at the front of the gym, working my way along the left periphery of the crowd, weaving in and out of protruding rock-climbing walls and packed people, until we arrive at the side of the stage.

Finally, after Jonas and Josh have given their concluding remarks, posed for a flurry of photographs, and stolen a few private moments with their beloved women all while the band plays a rousing rendition of “Shout!”, I usher the guys toward the reporter. Phew. I think my work here is done. Time to hunt down the latest “Ryan” only to discover he’s actually an eighty-year-old man with a walker, I’m sure, and then head home to crash with a bottle of wine, a smutty book, and my battery-operated-boyfriend the only boyfriend in the past three years who hasn’t been a real dick to me. 

But, what the fuck, no! My ever-unpredictable boss isn’t following me toward the waiting reporter. To the contrary, with a cocky smile and wave to Jonas and a mischievous wink at me, Josh takes a hard left and strides with great purpose into the crowd.

Okay, now I’m pissed. I’ve worked tirelessly to get top-notch media to cover this event for Josh and Jonas, and now, when the most popular TV reporter in Seattle wants to conduct a double interview for her Thor-and-Superman-themed story, Josh can’t be bothered? “Josh!” I yell, trying to get my rogue boss’s attention. But it’s no use. He’s gone.

Motherfucker.

For several minutes, I hang around watching Jonas gracefully answer the reporter’s questions, and when it’s obvious the reporter is putty in Jonas’ hand, I turn to leave, eager to do a quick lap of the gym in search of Ryan Number Eleven and then head out for the day. 

But I’ve no sooner taken two steps away from Jonas than he politely calls my name. I turn to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Could you please find my brother and ask him to join the interview?” Jonas asks. His tone is calm and in control, but his eyes are burning with intensity. “Make sure you tell him I said please?”

“Sure thing, Jonas,” I reply, my stomach knotting up. Poor Jonas. I don’t know him nearly as well as I know Josh, but it’s no secret to me the guy would rather gouge his eyes out than give any kind of speech or interview. “I’m on it.”

I spot Josh in an alcove behind one of the more challenging rock-walls, talking to a fifty-something blonde I instantly recognize as Kat’s beautiful mother. I met Mrs. Morgan at Jonas and Sarah’s wedding last month and fell in love with her after we’d struck up a conversation while waiting in line for the bathroom and then continued chatting for another twenty minutes after using the facilities. I don’t remember everything about my conversation with Mrs. Morgan that night. As I recall, we were both pretty buzzed on champagne and the band was cranking. But I most certainly remember two things about our encounter: one, I couldn’t stop giggling with Mrs. Morgan as she told me the secrets to her own happy marriage: laughter, forgiveness, and lots of hanky-panky.” And, two, I walked away from Mrs. Morgan thinking, “That woman is the human equivalent of chicken noodle soup.” 

I stride toward Josh and Mrs. Morgan, determined to physically drag my wayward boss to his camera-shy brother if need be, but I stop short when I realize the pair seems to be enjoying an intimate moment. Specifically, it appears Josh is peeking into a ring box while Mrs. Morgan looks on excitedly.

I wait and watch as Josh slides the ring box into his pocket and kisses Mrs. Morgan on the cheek. Mrs. Morgan hugs him. Josh looks anxious. She’s obviously assuring him.

Okay, I’ve got to go in now. I’ve got a job to do.

I tap my boss on his broad shoulder. “Josh.” 

Josh turns around, his face aglow.

“Jonas asked me to come get you,” I say, doing my best to communicate the urgency of Jonas’ request with my body language. “He wants you to join the interview. He says please.” I motion across the room to where Jonas is still talking to the reporter and scowl at Josh ever so slightly to let him know he’d better get his playboy-ass over there, pronto.

Josh chuckles. “Okay, Josh to the rescue.”

Josh says goodbye to his soon-to-be-mother-in-law with an exuberant hug and a kiss—a display of affection so earnest and effusive, it makes my heart melt—and, after a quick fist-bump and cocky wink at me, Josh lopes away like the superhero he is to save the day, leaving me standing alone with Kat’s mom.

“Hi, Mrs. Morgan,” I say, putting out my hand. “Remember me? Theresa Rodriguez? We met at Jonas and Sarah’s wedding.”

“Of course, I remember you, Theresa,” Mrs. Morgan says, ignoring my hand and going in for a warm hug. “I loved chatting with you that night—it was one of the highlights of the wedding for me.”

“For me, too.”

“Plus, there’d be no forgetting who you are, what with Josh talking about you so affectionately when he and I went ring-shopping together last week. He couldn’t stop talking about how indispensable you are to him—and how trustworthy and kind.” 

“He said that? Wow. Thank you for telling me that, Mrs. Morgan. That means a lot to me.”

“Please, call me Louise. Or Lou—that’s what my friends and family call me. Actually, if you want to make my day, call me Momma Lou.” She giggles. “Josh started calling me that the other day and it tickles me pink. I’m hoping maybe he and Kitty will teach the baby to call me Gramma Lou.”

“Momma Lou it is. But only if you’ll agree to call me the name my friends and family have always called me: Tessa.”

“Oh, that’s pretty.” 

“Thank you. I’m named after my Grandmother Teresa, so my family has always called me Tessa to avoid confusion. Actually, nobody outside of work has ever called me Theresa—I’ve always been Tessa.”

“Tessa suits you. It’s elegant and down-to-earth, all at once, just like you.”

I blush. “Thank you. I could say the same about you, Momma Lou.”

We talk for a bit about the success of the party, and then Mrs. Morgan looks at me sideways, a sparkle in her eyes.

 “So, Tessa,” she begins, “I know this is maybe an incredibly forward thing to ask, but are you single, by any chance? I meant to ask at the wedding but chickened out.”

I open my mouth and close it again. 

“The reason I ask is I’ve got this son who just broke up with his girlfriend last week. Thankfully. Apparently, she was a real piece of work. And I think you two would hit it off. I thought about setting you two up the minute I met you at Jonas and Sarah’s wedding, actually—I know my son’s taste in women and I’m positive he’d enthusiastically like you—but, like I said, he still had a girlfriend a month ago so I decided not to meddle. But now that he’s single, I feel like it’s fate you’re both here today.” She leans forward. “I’ve actually got quite a gift for matchmaking. Ask anyone.”

Okay, I’m having several simultaneous thoughts here:

First, Kat has a brother? Who knew? I must say, if he looks anything like his jaw-dropping sister, he’s one dude I wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers. 

Second, Louise Morgan is adorable. Would I want my own mother to meddle in my love life the way she’s trying to do for her son? Hell no. But, hey, Mrs. Morgan’s not my mother so I’m actually finding her meddling irresistibly charming. 

Third, no offense to Louise intended, but whatever type of woman she thinks her son wants to screw, I can almost guarantee he secretly wants the polar opposite. In my experience, mommies don’t know their grown sons as well as they think they do.

And, finally, fourth, but not least, there’s no way in freaking hell I’d hook up with Mrs. Morgan’s son, no matter how handsome he surely is, even if she’s right and I’m somehow his idea of the perfect woman. Why? Because he’s Kat’s freaking brother! I mean, come on, what if this guy and I were to hit it off and miraculously fall in love and get married and have three gorgeous babies—which, at the end of the day, is the point of dating in the first place—am I truly going to feel comfortable having Josh and Kat as my brother- and sister-in-law? Ha! No. The idea gives me hives. Plus, besides all that, I honestly don’t care about meeting Mrs. Morgan’s son right now, however gorgeous and wonderful he might be, because I’m currently way too obsessed with the idea of finding Ryan Number Eleven to think about any other man.

“Wow, thank you, Mrs. Morgan—Momma Lou,” I say. “I’m honored you’d even think of setting me up with your son. The thing is, while I’m technically single at the moment, it’s because I want to be. I’ve had a string of bad luck in the romance department lately. My last boyfriend was a real doozy, and then, just last week, this guy I liked asked me out on a date and then turned out to have a girlfriend.”

“Oh no.”

I laugh. “Yeah, that guy last week took the wind out of my sails. So I’m taking a bit of a break from the ‘search for love,’ as it were, just for a while.” Reflexively, my gaze drifts across the gym to confirm that Josh made it to the interview with Jonas. He did. “So, um, I mean no disrespect, Mrs. Morgan, but I think I’m just going to lay low for a little while longer, at least until I figure out why I seem to be attracted to cheating scumbags.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, it sounds to me like you’ve got it backwards, honey,” Mrs. Morgan says. “If you’ve been meeting nothing but scumbags lately, that’s all the more reason for you to meet my son. He’s one of the good ones, honey—and, like I said, he’s for sure single. He and his girlfriend broke up last week.”

I grin at her. Damn, she looks so earnest and hopeful—but if her son and his girlfriend broke up only last week, then that’s even more reason for me to avoid him like the plague: being some guy’s rebound relationship isn’t high on my List of Things to Do. “Thank you, Mrs. Morgan. Momma Lou. You’re so sweet. But I’m just not up for getting my feet wet in the man-pool quite yet. Let’s give your son a bit of time to play the field after his break-up and me some time to restore my faith in mankind again, and then we’ll revisit the idea at some later date?”

Mrs. Morgan smiles. “All right, honey. A rain check it is. It sounds like we’re going to be seeing each other again at a certain wedding, so perhaps I’ll introduce you to my wonderful son then.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We say our goodbyes as the band launches into an energetic cover of my all-time favorite song “Bailando” by Enrique Iglesias. It’s one of the perks to being the girl who organized the party: approving the band’s song list. And then, for a long moment, I watch Louise dance her way across the gym to join her husband . . . who’s standing next to a human slab of godly perfection leaning on crutches. Oh my god! Is that guy Mrs. Morgan’s wonderful son? I feel like screaming, “Wait, Momma Lou! I take it all back! Introduce me now!” I laugh to myself. I think I’m a wee bit horny these days. And, holy hell, that guy on crutches is gorgeous! Actually, now that I’m getting a good look at Mr. Handsome on Crutches, I’m realizing he totally reminds me of Ryan from The Pine Box. 

Ah, jeez. There I go again. Hello, Ryan Number Twelve!

I’ve got to get a grip. 

It’s not like Ryan and I had some sort of soul connection, even if it felt that way at the time. I have to remember Ryan had a girlfriend when he was saying all that amazing stuff to me—even the part about him “looking for something real.” And that means Ryan from The Pine Box is a liar and a scumbag and a player and I shouldn’t believe a word he said. Which is why I’m going to wipe the guy from my mind forever and never think of him again . . . right after I find Ryan Number Eleven.

As the partygoers around me rock out to the last, energetic chorus of “Bailando,” I scour every inch of the gym in search of Ryan Number Eleven, but, dammit, he’s nowhere to be found. Shoot. He must have left the party already. Well, I guess it’s a sign from the universe: it simply wasn’t meant to be. 

Time for me to make like Ryan Number Eleven and get the hell out of Dodge, too. I pull out my phone and tap out a quick message to Josh and Jonas: 

Congrats on an amazing grand opening, guys! I’m heading out now. The stage, tables, chairs, etc. will be hauled away at 6:00 and the cleaning crew will come shortly thereafter. I’m so proud of you both and excited to watch you climb and conquer the world! XO T-Rod.

***

Ryan  

“Those are the employee-identification cards of all fifty-seven Samanthas currently employed by Delta as flight attendants,” Henn says. “When I couldn’t find a perfect match across the board—name, age, Virgo, hair color, eye color, Spanish-speaking, residence in LA—I decided to grab screen shots of every Samantha on their roster, just to be on the safe side.”

I’m standing with Henn and Kat in a small office at the back of Climb & Conquer’s gym, swiping through headshot after headshot of unrecognizable women on Henn’s phone, the muted sounds of Josh and Jonas’ grand opening party wafting through the closed office door. The band’s current song is “Bailando,” just in case I want to be tormented by yet another reminder of Samantha.

“Thanks for trying, Henn,” I say, swiping past the very last photo, my shoulders slumping. I hand Henn’s phone back to him with a long sigh. “Just as you suspected, Samantha’s not here.” 

“Yeah, I figured. Sorry, man,” Henn says.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” I say. “I sent you on a wild goose chase. And I was so sure there were little red triangles on Samantha’s scarf—I would have sworn on a stack of bibles I got that detail right.”

“Meh,” Henn says. “Memory can be a slippery motherfucker. It’s no big deal. Now that we know for sure Samantha’s not with Delta, we’ll just have to expand our search, that’s all.”

“But expand our search to what?” Kat pipes in, taking the words right out of my mouth. “Aren’t there, like, hundreds of airlines in the world?” 

“Five thousand, actually,” Henn says. “But only nine of them, including Delta, had flights from LA to Seattle on the day in question.” 

“Ooooh,” Kat says. “Brilliant, Henn.”

“I’m confused,” I stammer. “Even if you’re able to narrow the field of potential airlines to eight, how do you know which of those eight to hack?”

“I don’t,” Henn says matter-of-factly. “Which is why I’m going to hack all eight of ‘em, beginning with the biggest and working my way down the list.”

My heart leaps with a sudden jolt of hope. “You’d be willing to do that for me?” 

“Of course.” 

“But won’t that be a lot of work for you?”

Henn waves at the air. “It’s all good, Captain Morgan. Kat’s been going on and on about what an awesome brother you are and how bad she feels about texting your ex-girlfriend that night; plus, I’m happy to report my life’s the most awesome it’s ever been, thanks to Kat setting me up with my girlfriend, so I’m definitely in the mood to pay it forward by helping Kat’s big brother.” He winks at my sister and she coos like a cockatiel at him.

“Thanks, Henny,” Kat says. “I hate seeing Ryan looking so sad and knowing it’s all my fault.”

“I told you not to worry about it, Kat,” I say. “And I’m not ‘sad’—I’m obsessed and tortured and hurtling into a dark abyss of madness from whence no man could crawl. But I swear I’m not sad.”

We all laugh.

“Unfortunately, I’m not kidding,” I mutter.

“Well, then, dude, it sure sounds like I’d better find this amazing girl for you,” Henn says. “There shall be no ‘hurtling into an abyss of madness’ on my watch, dude.”

 “Thanks, Henn. At least let me pay you for your time.” 

“Your money’s no good to me, Captain,” Henn replies. “Kat’s family to me—which means you’re family, too.”

“But hacking into eight airlines?” I say. “Come on, man. That’s too much work to do for free.” 

“Bah. The odds are low I’ll need to hack all eight of ‘em to find your girl—I might even get lucky and find Samantha at the first airline. Plus, like I said, I owe Kat big. I could hack a thousand airlines for you and still not repay my debt to Kat.”

Kat smiles proudly. “See, Ryan? Unlike you, Henn appreciates my gift for matchmaking.”

I roll my eyes. “Kitty, no offense, but you’re batting zero as far as I’m concerned. The one time I begged you to set me up with a certain someone, you refused and said it wasn’t a match.”

Kat scoffs. “Because you were a slut.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “The point is, Henn, you’ve got to let me pay you, man. Please. I’ll feel like a douche otherwise.” 

Henn shakes his head. “Would it make you feel any better to learn I recently got paid a mint for a job I did for Josh and Jonas in Vegas? I can afford to do this pro bono.”

“Henny’s a mill-ion-aire now,” Kat says proudly.

“Holy shit,” I say, flabbergasted. “Josh and Jonas paid you a million bucks for a job?”

Henn shrugs. “It was a big job.”

“What was it?”

“Saving the world,” Henn replies.

“From the evil empire,” Kat chirps, and the two of them chuckle.

I can’t tell if they’re yanking my chain or what the fuck they could possibly be talking about if they’re serious, but all of a sudden, I’m too excited to care. “All right, then, cool. Thanks so much. You think you can find her?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Henn says. “If she’s a flight attendant who flew from LA to Seattle on the day in question, then it’s only a matter of time before I find her.”

“Well, she’s either a flight attendant or she’s got some seriously fucked up fashion sense,” I say.

We all laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find her,” Henn says. “Fair warning, though, it might take me a while to get going on your job—I’ve got a bunch of other projects already in the pipeline.”

“Oh, I totally understand.”

Kat looks down at her watch and her eyes pop out of her head. “Holy-I-Totally-Lost-Track-of-Time, Batman!” she blurts. She lurches over to the office door and swings it open violently, blasting the small room with the last bars of “Bailando.” “Consider this meeting officially adjourned, fellas. Josh is going to be here any minute for a private grand-opening-celebration, and you two cock-blockers most definitely can’t be here when he arrives.”