“Ooh, I’m going to google him!” she squealed, wheeling her chair over to the one giant desktop computer that was by the intern station. Before I could protest, she had some Forbes profile up. “OMG, he’s hot. That chiseled jaw, wow. And rich.” She scrolled through the article before getting bored and going back to his Google results.

“Stop. You know I hate to google them this early,” I whined. She clicked on one profile of him in Bloomberg and started skimming.

“You know how nuts that is? What if he was a serial rapist? Or dated someone you knew? You always have to check these things.” She went back to the Google search page again.

“I’ve made it this far unscathed. Besides, until recently, my middle school poetry was like my first hit. I wouldn’t want dates prejudging me for that.” But she was already clicking on a Times article, which happened to be his marriage announcement.

She turned to face me. “You know about this, right?”

“Of course. They’re separated. In the midst of a divorce.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I slept over and there was no one else home. I guess I have to take his word for it.” But Huda was already going onto Facebook, typing in his ex’s name.

“OMG, I especially don’t want to Facebook stalk her. That feels like a total invasion of privacy.”

But Huda clicked. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.” I turned away and went to fix us more drinks. Within a moment, though, she was calling me back over. “You’re safe. He’s being honest. He’s not in her profile picture and she has no relationship info.”

And a small part of my chest that didn’t know I was worried, let alone cared, unclenched.

“You’re going to be a stepmommy, though. He has a kid, if he hasn’t shared that crucial piece of information yet.” She clicked out of the profile, her mission completed.

“Shut up. We went on one date. You know how much of a slut I am.” Huda snorted, took her cup out of my hand and downed a big gulp.

“Yeah, you do not like settling down. But maybe a once-married man is the one for you. He’s mature, so he probably wants something more serious. He’ll respect your career. He probably won’t expect to see you every day, just how you like it.” I grinned, sloppily, the drink going to my head. I always respected, even admired, Huda, but these were the moments during which I forgot our power dynamic completely, the fact that she had this knowledge about me, about my essence that usually only a close friend possesses. Some would say it was a dysfunctional work relationship. But I didn’t care—yes, she was my boss. But she was also one of my best friends.