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And so Dooley and I were on Gran’s desk, taking in the exciting world of commerce from our vantage point, while Gran and her friend worked like beavers to further the interests of Dear Gabi. They still hadn’t given up on their matchmaking efforts, and had come up with a new plan of campaign. Gran would work on Natalie, while Scarlett would focus her attentions on Natalie’s prospective beau Tom.

Michael Madison’s office had been completely remodeled—perhaps the fastest remodel in history—with all remnants of the murdered CEO’s reign removed. The new CEO hadn’t yet taken up their position at the helm, but rumor had it that negotiations had entered the final stage. And so the office was abuzz with wild speculation and gossip about who could possibly become their new boss—always an important aspect of office life!

Scarlett had sashayed up to Tom, and took a seat next to the embattled young man. He looked just as miserable as ever—perhaps it was his signature look?

Scarlett must have thought the key to making him more palatable to Natalie was to do something about his general appearance, for she opened proceedings by saying,“Girls don’t like it when a guy looks like a slob, Tom.”

“Are you saying I look like a slob?” asked the lovesick editor, glancing down at his costume. He was wearing his usual faded jeans, a T-shirt that announced that he favored Team Chewbacca, whatever Team Chewbacca was, and his hair telegraphed that it hadn’t been touched since he stepped out of bed that morning: one side was up, the other was down. Not exactly the hot stud most girls favor!

“You need a haircut, stat,” said Scarlett, subjecting him to an uber-critical look. “You need a change of clothes—a change of style, in fact. And you need to stop looking like the end of the world is near and it’s happening on your block.”

“I haven’t been feeling so well,” he said. “And I guess it shows.”

“It shows. Badly. So let me take you to my favorite hairstylist. And my favorite boutique. And let me give you a couple of books to read that will buck up your self-confidence and put a pep in your step.”

“I don’t want a pep in my step,” he said morosely. “I just want Natalie to talk to me without mentioning the name ‘Michael Madison’ every second sentence.”

“That’s going to take time,” said Scarlett. “The love of her life just died, so you can’t expect her to just get up one morning and fall madly in love with you. But in due course, I think she might be induced to move you out of the friend zone.”

“I’m not even in the friend zone right now,” said the kid. “I’m in the ‘you don’t exist’ zone. The zone where a meteor just struck and wiped out all sign of life.”

See what I mean? Depressed is the best word for it. And a depressed individual has never been able to interest another individual to see him as a love interest. Especially when that other individual is also depressed because the love of her life, as Scarlett so rightly indicated, has just been shoved out of a window.

“If Tom murdered Michael,” said Dooley, “because he was hoping that with him out of the picture Natalie would turn to him looking for a shoulder to cry on, he’s going to be very disappointed.”

“Yeah, whatever shoulder she wants to cry on, it’s not Tom’s,” I agreed.

We glanced in the direction of Natalie, and saw that she was getting up from her desk, and as she passed Gran’s desk, the latter also got up, gave us two thumbs up, and followed the personal assistant to the office canteen.

And since Dooley and I were now heavily invested in this budding office romance, we jumped down from Tom’s desk, where we’d eagerly followed Scarlett’s attempts to make Tom more suitable as a suitor, and hurried in Gran’s wake.

“It’s just like a soap, Max,” said Dooley. “You just can’t wait to see what’s going to happen next!”

CHAPTER 31

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If Tom looked terrible, Natalie looked even worse. Clearly she hadn’t digested the death of her former lover well.

“How are you holding up?” asked Gran solicitously.

“It’s Luke,” said Natalie as she nursed a cup of coffee. “He invited his friends over for a party again last night, so I didn’t sleep a wink.”

“Again! But you have to kick him out!” said Gran, aghast.

“I can’t. He’s got nowhere else to stay,” she said miserably.

“Oh, you poor thing,” said Gran. Natalie leaned against the sink, and Gran joined her, the two women standing companionably side by side. “It’s not been your week, has it, sweetie?”

“You can say that again. Not only do I have to cook, but he won’t even wash the dishes, or clean up his mess. And you don’t want to know what my apartment looks like. Like a hurricane passed through it. I told him to get it sorted by the time I get home from work, but I can tell you now already that won’t happen.”

“You have to be stricter with your brother. You can’t just let him walk all over you like this.”