I grabbed the remote right as Tim Lassing, the CEO of Tinder, took his seat across from a morning anchor.
He still looked as smug as he did years ago, when he first accused me of stealing his damn idea. As if “swipe right for yes and swipe left for no,” was some type of groundbreaking concept.
It was a pure coincidence that we’d come up with it at the same time, and that was the only similarity between our apps.
His app had twenty-million world-wide subscribers. My app had one-hundred million. Case closed.
“Thank you for coming here to discuss your competitor Hayden Hunter this morning,” the anchor said. “I understand that the two of you have been engaged in a bitter feud for years.”
“Not necessarily.” He smiled. “I’ve been desperately trying to prove that he’s a fraud and a liar, but I’m glad that so many people are finally starting to see how reckless he once was.”
“Once was?” she asked. “Does that mean you think he’s changed over the years?”
“Ha! No.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s even more of a conniving asshole than he was before.”
I crossed my arms. He looked saner today than he usually did, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he veered into psycho-territory.
He’d been in a skiing accident not too long after founding Tinder, and some parts of his brain were still on the slopes.
“If you could offer any advice, CEO to CEO—” the anchor said, “What would you say to him?”
“I would say that he should lawyer up for one hell of a fight.” His eyes went wide, nearly bulging out of his skull. “He should also admit that he kidnapped my dog in the past.”
“He what, sir?”
“He stole my dog.” He looked like he was about to cry. “I don’t know why you people don’t believe me. I can’t remember everything exactly, but he’s a dog thief, too. Never trust a dog thief.”
And there it is …
I picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
Before I could send a message to my lawyer, Lawrence’s email crossed my screen.
* * *
Subject: No Penelope Today. Whatsoever.
The universe has gifted us with another meltdown from the Head Loon at Tinder.
Your lawyer, Andrew Hamilton, wants you to focus on writing one hell of a compelling letter to the judge about why his latest claims against you are bullshit.
After that, I need you to get to work on those damn apology letters so we can take advantage of this timing.
If Penelope calls or texts you, please don’t answer her until you’re finished.
Thank you in advance.
Lawrence.
* * *
I smiled, immediately disregarding his request.
* * *
Subject: Fwd: No Penelope Today. Whatsoever.
If you need me, email me at my alternate account.
As you can see, Lawrence doesn’t want me to talk to you today.
Start a new thread and send it to my second phone.
Tell me what you’re up to …
—HH
* * *
Subject: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)
I’m currently waiting for a bird signal from you know who.
He still hasn’t called or texted because he doesn’t have my number. O_o
I’m also watching two new clients bust their ass on the ice. One of them just turned to me and said, “What the hell would you know about completing a double lutz?” UGH.
—Pen
P.S.—I opened your letter list this morning … You honestly want me to help you with all 1000? How the hell have you pissed off this many people???
* * *
Subject: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate Me?)
It’s been five days, Pen.
FIVE. DAYS.
Be patient and do something else with your time. Have you picked out what you’re wearing to his party yet? (He’ll find you sooner or later)
—HH
P.S.—2000* letters. I was a very bad boy when we weren’t talking apparently *smile emoji*
P.S.S—Lawrence does hate you, but he hates everyone else, too.
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)
I looked Simon up and found out that he made the Forbes 500 List last year. He’s listed at #301.
Impressive as hell, right?
Tatiana offered to let me borrow one of her designer dresses. (I told you that her mom was a former supermodel, right?)
(It’s midnight, so that means it’s been five and a half days now. The party is in three days!)
—Pen
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)
I guess that’s “impressive as hell,” if your best friend wasn’t already listed at #1 …
(He will, Pen. Trust me. Have I ever been wrong?)
—HH
Six (B)
Present Day
Penelope
There was a first time for everything.
Day six.
No call. No email. No trail of magical breadcrumbs that Simon followed to find his way to me.
Utterly impatient, I continued my sleuthing online and found his firm and tons of articles about his hedge fund.
On his website, there was no direct way to contact him if I wanted to. The email addresses listed all went to various assistants, and the phone numbers were 1-800 numbers that made it perfectly clear that they were for “Client Access Only.”