He takes a sip of his latte and nods his head while looking out the window. Is that a smile I see? I feel like the line just might be tightening back up again.

“Sure, but I still think being able to specify physical traits is the single most important thing this app should offer given where we’re at in today’s society. Let me know if you can add that as a feature and we can pick the conversation back up next time I’m in town.”

“But—”

“It’s been a pleasure, Charlotte. Keep in touch. And do yourself a favor: get some beta testers. And decide on a name for it, too. Algorithm isn’t a sexy word. Okay?”

Warren knocks the knuckle of his middle finger twice on the top of the bistro table before slipping out the front door and into the back seat of a matte black Bentley. Either he has a personal driver, or that’s the fanciest Uber I’ve ever seen. Moments later, his driver peels away and I’m left sitting alone at Bouchon, no closer to securing an investor to take my app to the next level.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Casey states. Her face is slathered in a seaweed mask. “Why aren’t you getting ready?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can go tonight,” I respond with minimal eye contact from the couch. “Do you know how to switch from Netflix to cable on this thing?”

Casey grabs the remote out of my hands and turns the television to black.

“You’re going, Rosen. Not in those sweatpants or that chocolate-milk-stained shirt you’re wearing, but you’re going,” she orders. She plops down next to me on the couch and presses on. “I don’t get it. What’s the matter? What happened?”

I never wanted things to get deep with Casey. Telling one another when we were low on toilet paper was where our relationship excelled. But I reckon that if I’m really leaving her high and dry on the day of the singles cruise, I owe her an explanation. Albeit an abridged one.

“I had a meeting with an app investor today.”

“Yay!” she squeals, putting her palm up for a high five. I spare her the celebration and lower it for her.

“It didn’t go well.”

“Oh.” She slumps.

“And last night, I was digging around in a box of Decker’s things and found his life insurance policy folder. Long story short, it looks like some asshole went through my garbage, found Decker’s life insurance policy papers, and hacked my account for ten grand. And because it was almost five years ago and I have no real proof, there’s really nothing I can do about it. So, yeah. Not a good day in Charlotte’s world.”

“How do you know it was someone random who did it?”

“The bank sent me a copy of the transfer form.”

“So?”

“So... I didn’t do it. It’s not filled out in my handwriting.”

“Right, but you said you have the policy folder here. Maybe someone didn’t go through your trash for access to the account. Who else knows you have that box with his stuff in it? Better yet, who packed it?”