“If you’re seeing this message, it means you totally powered up! Your latest client . . .”—a weird pause, followed by an overdub in postproduction of—“. . . Tess Riley . . .”—before returning to his regular voice, “has deleted his or her dating profile. Which means you have a success story! Yes!” (Pause for overdub again . . .) “Tess Riley . . . has found true love! What does this mean? It means YOU get a $500 bonus” (KA-CHING sound effect, with animated coins falling around Clifford) “and a DIY party in your honor. Check your mail, alligator, for a bubbly surprise. Most important for YOU, it means you automatically get the next client that comes down the pike. No need to scramble, it’s all yours. Congratulations, and have a great day or night.”

I’m still reeling from the unexpected communiqué from Clifford and The Weeknd, but there’s no denying it’s wonderful news. Five hundred bucks will pay for countless taxi rides. If I ever went anywhere, I’d be psyched.

It finally hits me, the reason it’s so difficult to nab clients in the portal: Most of them are filtered into the accounts of freelancers who’ve proven themselves. Clifford’s either a dick or a mastermind when it comes to motivation. Those with no aptitude for the job won’t even need to be fired; they’ll simply never get clients, without knowing why. Like being ghosted. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but regardless, I did earn it, dammit. Tess Riley wanted an architect, twenty-eight to thirty-seven, with a soccer-player body. She crossed her fingers for a man of South American or Dutch descent. Did I deliver? You bet your sweet ass I did!

Mateo Van de Berg was both.

I close my laptop and pack up, floating on a wave of satisfaction. Time to call it a day, leave on a high note (if only; some weed would be a great way to calm down for the trek home). A siren rages in the distance, drawing ever closer, and I cringe, reminded of what I’m about to walk out into. The city, alive and unrelenting, ready to toss me around like an old hacky sack.

I pass Table Thief on my way out. He glances at me and I look away just as quickly, but not before we make eye contact. I take a deep breath and push the exit door. And then, despite the noise and crowds threatening me, I smile, briefly, to myself. Because he doesn’t know it, but today is the last day he will ever sit there.

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

MILES