“This is all about getting started and scaling up,” said Lark. “The more games we make, the cheaper they’ll get. And if they’re successful at Target, we’ll pitch other chains. There are direct sales to think about, institutional sales to schools—”
“What happens when everyone who wants their own Activate! has one?”
“By then we’ll have four new games in development.”
“You have more ideas already?”
“A couple. But they don’t all have to be my ideas.”
Callie shook her head. “You are amazing. Most people would have just done a Kickstarter and left it at that.”
Lark didn’t bother telling Callie she had wanted to leave it at that until Trip convinced her otherwise.
“I’ll bet Trip is over the moon.”
“He doesn’t even know yet,” confessed Lark. “He’s on a flight somewhere.”
“That sucks. I feel like I’ve hardly seen him lately.”
“Me too. We had that weekend in Chicago, but he spent the holidays with his brother’s family.”
Callie took another drink and set her glass down. “I hate to bring this up, but Dylan has been texting me.”
“Dylan? What about?”
“Well, apparently, ever since his plan to woo you back with a song was such a disaster, he’s become a little bit obsessed with Trip Mitchell. Googling him, even doing database searches at the library.”
“Unfuckingbelievable.” Lark didn’t even try to conceal her irritation.
Callie looked pained. “He says he can hardly find anything. Which he thinks is somehow suspicious. Trip doesn’t even show up as ever having been enrolled at Indiana University. You have to admit it’s kind of weird, if Trip is such a big shot.”
Lark felt a flash of anger at her usually sweet and supportive friend. “It’s over with Dylan. I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me with him, of all people.”
“It’s not like that. The only time I even answered was to tell him to knock it off. I just . . . Dylan got me thinking, so I googled Trip a little bit myself, and heck, there are more results for me, and I’m anything but a wealthy financier.”
“Well, the reason neither of you are finding results is that his real name is Jonathan. I mean, his friends have called him Trip since he was a kid, but obviously he wouldn’t use his nickname for business deals and stuff like that. He also told me he intentionally keeps a low profile because he doesn’t want people hitting him up for money all the time.”
“I’ll bet there are a million Jonathan Mitchells,” said Callie.
“If you want to keep Dylan really busy, let him search for that,” said Lark.
Because she had done that very thing, back when Trip first offered her a contract. Once she’d gotten past his frustratingly nonspecific website, the list of authors, politicians, lawyers, athletes, and scientists who shared his name had seemed endless.
“I won’t tell him anything at all,” said Callie. “I know you and Trip are crazy about each other, and I’m so happy he’s making you happy. Just keep your guard up a little, okay? It’s only been three months, after all.”
“You’re a good friend, even if you’re kind of a cop,” said Lark, regretting the remark when Callie winced. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Callie set her glass down half-full. “I’ve gotta go. I have to go back to work, and I shouldn’t drink too much.”
“So glad you came. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Then Lark was alone in the office, feeling a little buzzed but with half a bottle to go. There was no fridge and no way to put the cork back in the bottle. And she didn’t want to go home until Callie was out of the house.
She texted her parents to share her news but wasn’t surprised when they didn’t answer right away. Her mom was probably in the classroom, and her dad was so old school he didn’t even check his personal cell phone at work.
“It’s you and me, buddy,” she said to the bottle, filling her glass.
She was drunk, sleepy, and about to take an Uber home when Trip finally texted.
YES! YOU DID IT! CONGRATULATIONS, BABY!
I had help. Thank you.
You closed the deal. Time to celebrate.
I already did. Callie helped me drink a bottle of Dom. Not telling him she’d done the heavy lifting herself.
Attagirl.
I want to celebrate with you, too!
We will. Soon.
When? Resisting the urge to put it in all caps.
I’ve got to put out a fire. Then I’ll come, even if it’s just for 24 hours. I miss you so much.
I miss you, too.
Callie left and it’s weird to be alone in the office after something so big happened, she added.
It’s lonely at the top, baby.
It certainly was.
Chapter Twenty
JESSICA
Underpromise and overdeliver isn’t just a cliché—it’s a philosophy.
—“How I Lied about My Name and Discovered My Truth,” a TED Talk by Jon M. Wright
Randy Warner, AHS vice president of technology implementation, stepped into Jessica’s field office. “Sorry to hit you with this first thing on a Monday, Jessica, but I believe we have an issue.”
“What’s wrong?” Jessica asked.
Randy closed the door and handed her a folder. “The Revelate picked up nothing in two cases where a CBC showed low platelets and a high white blood cell count. If this is indicative of the accuracy—”
“Were all these patients prescreened according to our parameters?” she interrupted pleasantly, trying to slow his momentum. Feeling déjà vu as she flashed back to her confrontation with Kate.
“Of course.”
“And the blood tests?”
“They were run simultaneously.”
“Were the patients given the Revelate nano pill exactly twenty-four hours before scanning?”
“I’ve already confirmed that we followed your protocol precisely.” Randy seemed exasperated. “I thought the whole point of the technology was painless diagnosis?”
“It is,” she said.
“Try telling that to the kids who had to undergo bone marrow biopsies anyway.”
“We all know we’re still a ways off from making tests like that obsolete,” she said, as fine beads of sweat formed on her face, back, and under her arms.
“But you
