She reached for her four-leaf clover, holding it tight, missing Danny and her bed at home and the way her family used to be before her parents turned into people she no longer recognized—ones she didn’t really even like anymore. She suspected their juvenile behavior of late, badmouthing each other and jockeying to be seen as the true force behind the agency, was a precursor to a split—personally and professionally. Maybe it was for the best. But telling someone wouldn’t change anything. So she didn’t. She just watched the now-angry version of Lucy that she was familiar with get smaller and smaller as she walked away.

TWELVE

EARLY STAGE • When a startup’s product or idea is undergoing development or testing and not yet ready for release

FOR THE FOURTH TIME, Delia regretted letting Lucy straighten her hair. Because every time she reached for a nonexistent curl to wind around her finger, she must have looked ridiculous—like she was swatting invisible flies.

The dress she let Lucy talk her into wasn’t just three inches too short and so tight it was bruising her ribs; it didn’t have pockets. She’d spent the past ten minutes trying to concentrate on what Eric was saying all the while wondering what to do with her hands.

Eric leaned on his, clasped behind his back, which rested against the side of the building. He’d opened the door for her as they’d exited the club. Delia coming out second meant he got the building to support him while she only had the sidewalk under her feet and not even a curl to fiddle with.

“Turns out,” Eric said, finishing a story he was telling her about his last customer of the day, “he didn’t realize he had the wrong power cord. Guy was trying to jam his roommate’s adapter into his laptop. Took a damn drill to the thing.”

“Did you say a drill?”

“Yup. Figured all he needed to do was make the opening bigger.”

“He’s lucky he didn’t fry the whole motherboard.”

“And that he had enough juice for me to transfer all his files since he doesn’t own a backup drive and doesn’t believe in the cloud.”

“Meaning he doesn’t believe it exists?”

“Oh no, he believes. And if you’ve got twenty minutes and nothing better to do I can tell you all the things he believes, like how it’s an alien planet’s way of infiltrating our minds.”

“He really said that?”

“Nah, just doesn’t understand how it works.” Eric grinned, and something fluttered in Delia’s stomach. “But my story’s better, isn’t it? Keeps things interesting, at least. ‘Don’t count the days, make the days count.’”

Delia stared at him.

“Smooth, Shaw.” He hung his head, and some of the long brown strands casually swept across the top fell over his ear. “Real smooth, quoting your grandmother.”