“Their marriage? I know what happened,” the masked hockey player says. Aisha and I nearly leap out of our skin at his arrival.

Also, his voice is familiar.

I squint at him, trying to convince myself this isn’t what I think it is. Trying to convince myself it’s not, in fact, Clifford who put on a stupid costume and a hockey mask in order to “infiltrate” his own meeting.

I can hear his thought process for such a stunt: I thought I’d mingle amongst you, an undercover boss if you will, so as not to intimidate anyone into censoring themselves. I want to hear the word on the street. I want to get a feel for the worker bees, learn what they really think.

“Yes, yes, the Story of Clifford and Leanne,” the hockey player intones, rubbing the chin portion of the mask. “Sometimes two creative souls yearn to collaborate in their pursuits, but the resulting Venn diagram does not overlap in the manner or circumference both had wished for. It’s tragic, but those are the thorns of life’s roses.”

It’s him.

Aisha refuses to make eye contact with me. It’s for the best; if we acknowledge the situation in any way, we’ll lose our shit, and possibly our jobs. Mercifully, Clifford moves to the middle of the room for his great unveiling.

He removes his mask and shouts, “Guys! It’s been me all along! Why am I dressed this way? Because, starting this moment, Sweet Nothings is the hockey team of online matchmaking! We brawl for our clients. Defense, offense, we’ve got your backs! Gather ’round, gather ’round, I’ve got an announcement to make.”

The twenty-odd group of employees encircle Clifford.

He’s a boisterous, forty-something white guy whose unadulterated excitement is infectious. I have a sense, momentarily, of what Leanne might have seen in him. Genial and eager, he’s the living embodiment of “jump and the net will appear.” In his bizarre memos he comes off as Michael Scott from The Office, but in person he’s more like Jim. Failure, he seems to imply, will only happen to those who aren’t lucky enough to throw their lot in with him. I can understand how someone might buy in to his total belief in himself, because what if, just what if, he’s right? I can also understand how, after a few years of this, it would wear thin. To put it mildly.