“Ready?” I ask after handing the last iPad over to Zareen.

“Wow, a digital presentation? I’m already impressed,” says Eyebrows as he elbows Bald.

“The iPads are a nice touch, right?” Bald volleys.

“They make it so easy to follow along,” chimes in a subtly sales-y Monica.

“How do we get it to start?” asks a tech-challenged Loafers.

“Just swipe your finger across the bottom to activate the screen,” I say, somewhat concerned that the screen might not respond to his greasy fingers.

“Aha! There we go! Would you look at that?” Bald nudges Loafers.

They are loving this. Take that, Marigold.

I look to Monica and Zareen, who gives me a confident nod that says, Go get ’em, girl.

“Okay, gentlemen. Slide one. As you can see, it all starts with our proprietary—”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” our waitress says as she does a lap to refill our waters and wine. “But before you begin your presentation, can I get any desserts sent over to you this evening? I can put the order in immediately and then we can stay out of your way while you chat.”

“Sure. One of everything is fine,” Zareen answers for the table. She then inconspicuously hands our server the company’s black AmEx card. Only I’m sitting close enough to hear her whisper: “Bring one more bottle of wine and tip yourself 30 percent. Don’t drop a bill when you bring my card back. I want this to be smooth, you understand?” Her attention returns to the table and she gives me permission to start once again.

“As I was saying, our proprietary software is configured to understand your target demographic, which in this case we have already determined to be fitness-minded women ages eighteen to thirty-five. Because of our research, we can pitch to them in creative new ways that’s never before been explored. For instance—”

“Excuse me, Charlotte,” says Loafers. “Zareen mentioned you coded this program yourself. Is that correct?”

I’m not usually comfortable patting myself on the back like this, but I remember Zareen mentioning this was a key reason she wanted me here, to show off a bit. So I allow myself—or maybe the oaky red wine allows me—to soak up a bit of the spotlight.

“Yes. I designed the ins and outs of this program entirely on my own, which means I know it better than anyone else. So basically, if you want this program to do something special, I can code it to perform in that specific way and export the data you are looking for in whatever format you need—Excel, PDF, you name it.”

“That is very, very compelling.” Loafers’ eyes light up. He looks like the kind of guy who likes spreadsheets.

I have to admit, I may not have my personal life together, but I feel like a boss right here, right now.

“Swipe to the left to advance to the next screen.” I am a cruise ship director, riding my professional high.

About a minute later, the food runner comes back as promised with a speedy tray of desserts. But as he approaches the table, his foot gets stuck on the drop strap of my Birkin and he loses his footing. A plate with key lime pie tumbles off the tray, landing first on the outfit I’m wearing, and then onto my bag. The mason jar sundae topples next, knocking over Zareen’s wine and Eyebrows’ Moscow Mule as well.