The hostess led her to a table, and Lark arranged her bags and sat down on a banquette with a view of the bar. A number of solo business travelers, all male, hunched over drinks and thumbed their screens. One of them, tall and shaven headed in a shiny charcoal suit, looked up and made eye contact, his eyebrows going up either in surprise or invitation. She hoped it was involuntary.
In response, she scrutinized the happy hour menu the hostess had dropped on the table, and when the server glided up, Lark ordered a vodka soda and a wild-mushroom flatbread. By then the man’s attention was again on his phone, allowing Lark to take in the scene unobserved.
A business trip was still a novelty to her, something to savor. For the weary road warriors at the bar, she imagined it was something very different: a blurred routine they would hope to break with any diversion possible. She thought with a twinge that Trip traveled more than anyone she’d ever met, and even though he remained engaged and alive, surely he’d felt the grind of being alone in a strange city. He had to have worked his charms on other single women in other hotel bars.
And that was fine. Lark’s mom had raised her to believe men’s and women’s bodies were their own, and what they did for pleasure was nobody’s business. Sex wasn’t love. Trip could lay no claim to her sexual past, nor she to his. What was happening between them now was new for both of them, shared by nobody else.
Her mom hadn’t even batted an eye at the age difference—though she did suggest, “Let’s not be too specific about that to your father, at least for now.” Lark wanted to introduce them soon, but she and Trip already had so little time to themselves that she planned to wait for one of his longer visits.
Her drink came quickly, and she took a refreshing sip, watching in amusement as the guy with the shiny head jumped up and offered his seat to a woman, ordering her a drink before she’d had a chance to sit down. Lark lifted her phone and pretended to look at it, trying to make her surveillance less obvious. Anyone glancing back would see a hip, young businesswoman checking her email and wonder why she was in town. Would anyone in a million years have guessed she was selling a tabletop game to a chain store?
Thank god for Trip’s insane list of connections. He’d told Lark he’d met Alanna, the Target buyer, more than a dozen years ago, when they’d both been in finance. Attractive and roughly the same age as Trip, Alanna had asked how he was doing, and Lark couldn’t help but wonder if they’d been romantically involved. Not that she cared. And Alanna certainly hadn’t shown any signs of having a still-smoldering crush. Trip was just so damn likable that everyone wanted to help him. Maybe that was his big secret, even though he’d never said it succinctly: Make everyone love you.
She had just taken her first bite of flatbread when her phone vibrated and Trip’s name appeared on the lock screen. After chewing and swallowing as quickly as she dared, she answered.
“You’re all set,” he told her. “It must have been a problem with their website. I was on a flight when I booked it, and the internet was going in and out.”
“But they said they didn’t have any rooms,” said Lark, puzzled. “How did they magically find one?”
Trip laughed. “They always have rooms.”
Reminding her that not all businesspeople were created equal.
“When you’re ready, check in under my name,” he continued. “And when you turn out the lights, imagine I’m there with you.”
Lark, suddenly missing him, promised she would.
Chapter Fourteen
JESSICA
You can’t control every narrative, but you damn well better try.
—“How I Lied about My Name and Discovered My Truth,” a TED Talk by Jon M. Wright
Taco Tuesdays lured everyone out of the deepest recesses of Cancura and up to the fifth floor, where they joined the line at the café by eleven thirty. Any later, and the most popular varieties—korean chicken, thai shrimp, and middle eastern lamb—would be sold out. By twelve thirty, there was little chance of scoring even a spoonful of classic carne asada.
“Craziness,” announced Olivia Zsofka from the condiments table, where she grabbed a dangerously spicy-looking bottle of hot sauce.
“Complete and utter,” Jessica agreed as she spooned cilantro and sliced red cabbage onto her shrimp tacos. “But I suppose that’s what you get when the employee café is practically Zagat rated.”
Olivia chuckled. “If Jon could make that happen, you know he would.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in here,” Jessica allowed herself to say, despite the fact that Olivia was Jon’s executive assistant.
“Not on Tuesdays, anyway,” Olivia said. “Too hectic.”
Because everyone piled into the café at the same time to score their favorite taco combinations, the dining area transformed from a lovely, Zen-like gathering space into an adult, all-science-nerd version of a high school cafeteria. The Innovation group (what Jessica now knew to be Cancura-speak for product development) took over the tables by the windows. Translation (a.k.a. marketing) crowded into a group of four-tops by the condiment and silverware stations. Discovery (advanced trials, better known as Area 51) commandeered the two long community dining tables.
“I have a table and an extra seat if you want to join me,” Olivia said, pointing to a nearby two-top she’d reserved with a black sweater.
“I’d love to,” Jessica said, following her to the beverage station. While she filled a glass with ice and sparkling water, Olivia helped herself to a splash of every flavor from the organic soda machine.
“Please, no judgment,” she said. “I call it a ‘natural suicide,’ and it’s one of the only things that helps my all-day-long morning sickness.”
“Whatever it takes,” Jessica said sympathetically as they
