Alice swept back up to our booth, an alarmed expression flushing color high on her cheeks. She grasped both of Ben’s hands from across the table and squeezed them like they were about to depart a sinkingTitanic. “I just heard from Eugene that you’re working against us, on something that would hurt Mendax Oil.”
Ben stiffened. “It’s a piece of legislation. But it wouldn’t hurt Mendax. Maybe it would hurt the company’s bottom line a little. But it’s good for the planet, so it’s good for everyone—”
“Hush,” Alice said, putting a finger to Ben’s lips. I died and ascended to heaven. “I want to help you. I hate Mendax, too. The men at the top are a bunch of liars and assholes. And they wouldn’t know how to find a woman’s G-spot if you drew them a map.”
Ben’s eyes widened in a vivid picture of alarm, but since he couldn’t actually speak with Alice’s finger buttoning his lips, I said, “First tell us how to win. Then draw Ben the map.”
For the first time, Alice reallylookedat me, assessing, and I could tell she liked what she saw. Maybe it was the mercenary glint in my eyes. She nodded, voice terse. “Upper management’s against you, but the key is the rank and file. They’re undervalued. Convince the staff there’s something in your bill for them and you’ll win in a landslide.”
Her eyes darted around. “They’re on to you. You should leave before Eugene and Samuel Slittery find you. I was never here.” She removed her finger and blew a kiss at an astonished Ben. “Goodbye, my darling. Think of me when you drink New Zealand pinot.”
Ben and I both stood there as Alice flitted away. Then Ben burst out laughing.
I shook my head. “I can’t believe your luck. The last time some old dude was aggressively into me, he just followed me around the grocery store asking if I wanted to eat spaghettiLady and the Trampstyle. Your stalker gave you solid work advice.”
Ben’s mouth quirked. “Tramp was a good guess—”
I punched his arm.
“—but he should have known you’re more of a Cookie Monster.”
He was undoubtedly referencing that time in grad school I’d been desperate to avoid studying for a final and had procrastinated by baking every kind of cookie inThe Environmentally Conscious Chef, a blog run by this hard-core vegan who lived in a commune somewhere in Oregon. Ben had taken one bite of one cookie and declared veganism a flavorless sacrilege that had no business in his apartment. To prove him wrong, I’d eaten every last cookie over the course of forty-eight organic-sugar-crazed hours. Strangely, in the end, Ben still did not concede to me. He’d always been so stubborn.
We stood staring at each other, warm in the bubble of our shared joke, both a little too happy and blurry from the wine.
Then Ben’s gaze swept past me and his face abruptly changed. “Oh,shit. I think that’s actually Eugene.”
On the opposite side of the wine festival, an irate silver-haired man in a sports coat stomped through the tasting booths, headed in our direction.
“That’s our cue.” I yanked the Green Machine banner off the booth, pulling at the Velcro seam, and shoved the crumpled heap into Ben’s arms.
“No pamphlets to grab?”
“I told you, I gave them all away.” I hustled to the minifridge that had come with the booth. “I just need to grab the rest of the vinho verde.”
“Stoner, we don’t have time.”
I stacked wine bottles in my arms. “Shh, he doesn’t mean it.”
“Party crashers,” Eugene yelled. “Stop right there.”
Ben yanked me from the fridge. “Let’s go,now.”
“This doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” I called, stumbling to keep up with Ben.
“Hoodwinkers!” Eugene yelled from behind us. “You arenotfrom the lobbying firm!”
Ben glanced over his shoulder. “Shit. He’s faster in those boat shoes than I expected.” He turned to me and took my hand. “Run for it?”
“Are you serious? We’re not teenage shoplifters.”
“Tell me what you said to my wife!” Eugene demanded at the top of his lungs. “You uncouth gigolo!”
“And that’s my limit,” Ben said, tugging me faster. “I’m not getting murdered over this.”
“Ahhh,” I shrieked, as Ben and I sprinted through the massive white tent, passing a sea of astonished faces, my bottles of vinho verde clanking like angry maracas with each step. We streaked into the grassy parking lot and down the rows of cars.
Ben jerked left and I was forced to follow, since he still had a grip on my hand.
