My phone vibrated. I checked my text, my stomach darting to my toes when I read my ex’s name.Can we talk?
Everyone knew that ignoring problems made them go away, so I left the text unanswered. I tilted my head. “Pardon?”
She gestured toward the PTO printout I’d brought in. “I’ll grant this on one condition.”
I put my hand on my hip. “Despite the fact that, as HR reminds me annually, PTO is not conditional?”
“Oh, honey.” Samantha snorted. “You gonna report me?”
I narrowed my eyes. The machine spluttered and hissed, the scent of coffee curling into the room. My mouth watered.
“Our research team has found that people are really, really into the...” Samantha hesitated. “Spiritualaspect of the soulmate situation.”
“Well, sure. That’s reasonable.” I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, thinking. “You’re basically proof of the fact that this is bigger than we are.”
“Exactly.” Samantha whipped the espresso pod into her trash can. “Anyway, there are a ton of people inspired by that guy Michael Newton—”
I rifled through my memory looking for the name, but nothing matched up. “Who?”
Samantha shifted my paperwork to the side, revealing a giant yellow notepad. “He’s labeled a ‘spiritual regressionist.’ Which is some kinda bull, but people are eating it up as usual.”
“And what exactly does a spiritual regressionist do?”
“You know. Stuff like NDEs.”
“Endies?”
“No. Sorry. The letters N-D-E. Near death experiences.” She held up her palms at the look on my face. “I know. I know. It’s new age crap.” She read again. “He ‘enabled people to access the wisdom of the spirit world and become informed on their past lives,’ while living their own lives.”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “I believe in facts. Facts are not beliefs. I’m not interviewing him.”
“Correct. You are not. Because he’s not among the living. But he has followers who we’ve lined up.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Followers?”
“Not social ones. The believer kind.”
I sighed. “It’s too... orchestrated, Sam. It’s constructed, not tangible. You know I don’t mess with that stuff.”
“But people believe inyou,” Samantha said. “Besides, Soulmail is kind of New Age bullshit in and of itself.”
“But—” I faltered. The trio of framed Matisse prints above Samantha’s desk were bright and poppy in the gray-and-steel office space.
“Look.” Samantha’s voice hollowed. “When I think about the baby I lost? Reading that Soulmail was the first time I’ve felt totally complete in years. It feels like she mattered.”
My heart went heavy. “I can see why.”
“Think of it as you interviewing some kind of religious leader. It’s not all that different. It’s just a belief system about the spirit world, accessing information about what happens in the beyond.” Samantha flicked her hand to punctuate the last word.
“You’ve gone New Age on me,” I murmured.
Samantha shrugged. “Call me whatever the hell you want, doll. I’ll go woo-woo all the way if it woos you to do this for me.”
“What do I have to do?”
“We’ll pre-tape an interview and announcement clips...” She scrolled through her calendar. “On Monday, you have a block of time before your meeting with Yvonne.”
My eye twitched.
