Lisa

My office on a Sunday looked much like my office on a Wednesday. I was going to have to re-institute required weekends off for the team.

It wasn't that I was a whip-cracking, demanding boss. I'd simply hired people who cared very deeply about their jobs.

Which was why I was in the midst of a Chinese-takeout-fueled informal staff meeting on a Sunday afternoon.

Seulgi pointed her chopsticks at one of the screens on the wall. Her feet, clad in scarred combat boots with magenta laces, were propped up on the metal top of the conference table. "Okay, screen one," she said around a mouthful of pork lo mein. "These are Jennie Kim's highest performing social media posts in the past month. Pre- and post-kerfuffle."

We didn't like the term "scandal." Created by my very creative team, our rating scale of undesirable situations began at Oops and escalated to the top with WTF. WTF was reserved for Code Black, angry mob, nuclear fallout. Jennie's situation fit in at kerfuffle on the higher end of challenge but still winnable.

Seulgi walked us through the data—no real surprises. A large swing of general attention. A significant uptick in negative perception. Trolls had crawled out of the woodwork to add their worthless two cents.

Even after all these years of "fixing," it surprised me how many people took such vicious pleasure in eviscerating their fellow humans. Often for such infractions that included having the audacity to star in a movie, write a book, or—God forbid—not be a size eight or smaller. Were I a bigger person, I would feel pity for them. But I wasn't. So I simply wished each one of them a scorching case of herpes and moved on with my day.

"So our beloved data whores coughed up this gem," Seulgi said, clicking to the next slide.

The data whores—or analysts, as they were called for human resource purposes—were Ancarla, a former CIA analyst, and Roger, a world champion gamer/semi-pro hacker, that I had enticed into the corporate world with generous bonuses and flexible schedules. Half the time they didn't even come into the office, and when they did, one of them was invariably in pajama pants. Somehow, I'd ended up with both of them present on a Sunday.

Ancarla chomped on a stem of black licorice, dessert to her beef and broccoli, and then pointed it at the screen.

"You'll see the spike in media mentions here the night of the kerfuffle. It's stayed consistently high since. The smiley face line denotes our measurement of public positivity—likes, nice comments, wardrobe items selling out, etc. The barfing face line represents the trolls, the baddies, the 'how dare you be a human' judgies."

Every time the vomiting faced negative line redrew itself, a fart noise sounded.

"Kim had a pretty sterling rep prior to this deal," Roger said, picking up the thread. He had an open energy drink at his elbow and two iPads in front of his sweet and sour soup. "Squeaky clean, kinda boring. Should have called us in before this deal to make her more likable."

I agreed with that assessment. But most leaders didn't realize they could use some humanizing in the public's perception until it was too late.

"The baddies have a good run for these dates. And then—"

"Along comes Lisa Manoban in a tux with her hand just coasting into inappropriate ass grab territory," Seulgi observed.

The image I'd posted to Jennie's Instagram from last night appeared on the screen.

"Daaaaaaaaamn," Lance said, pretending his glasses had steamed up.

We did make an eye-catching couple, I thought smugly. Jennie with her polished platinum looks. And I was certainly no slouch either.

"Don't keep us in suspense," I said.

The next slide twirled onto the screen with a digital "woo hoo."

The smiley faces were the clear victors as of about 7 p.m. last night. Leaving the barf faces meekly descending toward the bottom.

"Lisa, I'd like you to consider dating all future clients," Seulgi quipped.

"All in favor," Roger rumbled.

"Aye."

"The ayes have it. Ma'am Lisa will prostitute herself for the good of the company henceforth." Roger was also really into Renaissance fairs.

I sighed.

"I dunno. What if this turns out to be the real thing?" Ancarla asked, reaching for another stick of licorice.

"It's fake. You can't build real off of fake," Lance argued.

"Yeah, but look at L's face," Seulgi said. "She's all like glowy and happy."

"Maybe she just got a facial?" Roger suggested.

One of my team's favorite hobbies was talking about me as if I weren't there.

"Maybe she got lucky."

"With a client?"

"Maybe Jennie's more than a client."

"Maybe boss is having a mid-life crisis?"

"Isn't she too old for that?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and wondered if I could get away with murdering them all. "Don't make me start locking everyone out on the weekends," I threatened.

"I don't know. I think it was all for show and that, once Kim's back on top, L will be back to her old 'I love the single life' boogie," Lance guessed.

"What if she likes being in this fake relationship and decides she's missing out?" Ancarla said.

"Who wouldn't want to be in a fake relationship with a billionaire?" Roger chimed in.

"Nah, dude's got happily ever after written all over her face," Seulgi decided. "I think this could be the real deal. From the dossier, Kim's pretty great."

"Thank you. I agree."

We all swiveled in our chairs toward the conference room door.

Jennie leaned against the door frame smiling politely. She'd left the house this morning dressed for brunch with her friends. Now she was back in black cropped pants and a simple tank. She'd swapped out the usual stilettos for black trainers.

"Whoa. Great hair!" Seulgi said, reaching for her phone. "Did you post a pic yet?"

"Get her with the windows at her back," Roger suggested. "Arms crossed like 'I'm a bad billionaire. You got a problem with that?'"

I scrubbed my hands over my face in irritation. "Take five, kids. Or, better yet, go home."

Clients were never privy to the behind-the-scenes sausage-making of Alpha Group. And I was especially not thrilled with Jennie strolling into a conversation about whether or not I was in love with her.

Unruffled, my team packed up their food and electronics and introduced themselves to Jennie on their way out.

Jennie closed the door after the last one out.

"The single life boogie?" she asked me, taking the seat Seulgi had vacated and crossing her arms. She looked more amused than annoyed. Maybe I wouldn't have to murder my team.

I peered over her shoulder, making sure the team was at least pretending to not eavesdrop.

"That's not an appropriate conversation to have with a—"

"A what?" she pressed. "A client? A lover?"

Whatever spell she'd cast on me was in full effect. Just looking at her smugly taking up space at the head of my conference table and I was hard for her.

"What can I do for you, love?" I asked, not finding an adequate answer to her question.

"I thought you might like to take a field trip with me," she said, drumming her fingers on her upper arms. "Unless you're busy manipulating the world."

"My time is all yours," I promised her.

"Great." She held up a set of keys and dangled them. "Want to drive?"