She doesn’t catch my tone but shoots me a thankful look.
Walking into the Ignite office always feels like stepping into an alternate universe where feminism neverexisted. I never understood why they put the Product and Development teams at the front of the office. Maybe it has something to do with their complimentary coffee and snack bar being an arm’s reach away, but the first impression it gives off is awful. They all adopt a uniform of stained meme-based T-shirts paired with baggy jeans or sweatpants, finished off with the most expensive trainers I’ve ever seen. Nothing says “I get paid a ton but don’t care enough to shower” like drifter on the top, party on the bottom.
Conversely, the women of Ignite are all immaculately styled from the highest point of their sleek ponytails to the lowest point of their stilettos.
“Gracie Hastie!” Jeffrey points finger guns at me as I walk toward his desk, making myself as small as possible.
“Jeffrey... Schmeffrey,” I wince out.
“What brings you to my... humble abode?” He holds his arms out and gestures to the four computer screens creating a glowing semi-circle around him.
“Codes to the nuclear missiles from Harriet,” I say, flopping the papers in his direction. I keep my hand as close to the edge of the folder as I can without throwing it at him the way you throw a flip-flop at a cockroach.
“Thanks, babe. You look great by the way—got a hot date?”
I look down at my outfit, a black blazer and jeans with a vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt.
“Funeral,” I respond in a deadpan tone.
“Oh, right...” He purses his lips, studying me. “Mustbe my funeral, closed casket because I’d be upright at the sight of you... if you catch my drift.” He winks.
“Good thing they take your eyes out first when they embalm you.”
He laughs. “You’re feisty today. If you need a shoulder to cry on just let me know.”
“Will do!” I reply sarcastically across the rows of desks; then I hesitate, feeling the hmmm of my phone searing a hole of curiosity in my pocket. “Actually, I could do with your help if you’re not too busy?”
“Never too busy for you.” He winks again.
“Great.” I flash a breezy smile. “Could you find an account for me?”
I try to keep my hand from shaking as I hold the screenshot of William’s profile out to him like a “Wanted” poster.
“Sure.” He shrugs. “For a price.”
My stomach sinks as I mentally check my bank account. “How much do you want?” I sigh, trying not to fiddle with my necklace.
He shakes his head. “Not your money, beautiful.”
I cross my arms. “Then what?”
“Four words: me, you, lobster dinner.” He grins, mouth full of coffee-stained teeth.
“How about...” I say seductively, leaning in and lowering my voice. He creaks forward in his seat to meet me. “... you do this for me and I won’t tell all my female colleagues you still live with your mother and her six cats?”
His face blanches. I don’t tell him that everyone atFate already knows this fact, but that’s not the reason they avoid him.
He clears his throat and returns to his keyboard, not meeting my eye. “I need the phone number attached to the account.”
I pull up William’s number and read it out loud.
We remain in an awkward post-blackmail silence for a few seconds while Jeffrey’s software filters through millions of Ignite users to find the right account.
“William... Salter?” he asks.
I nod my head. “How long has he been a user?”
“Looks like he’s had an account for a few years.” His beady eyes continue to scan the account information. “Is there anything specific you’re looking for?”
