Corporate Espionage

The gray hair at my temples had become another lie to hide. At thirty-four, I'd started coloring it before meetings, another secret in a life already crowded with them. Corporate spy—a title that sounded glamorous but felt like wading through other people's discarded emotional trash.

The target sat three tables away, nursing a drink with an orange slice that had seen better days. His iPhone lay face-up on the table, notifications scrolling like ticker tape—messages from someone named 'Sarah' that made my chesttighten in ways I hated to acknowledge.

I'd followed him for three weeks. I knew his coffee order, his gym schedule, the way he ran his left thumb over his ring finger when he thought no one was watching. I knew he worked for the company that had quietly acquired my employer last month. I knew he was here to assess which of us would survive the merger.

The bull market had made him wealthy, successful, exactly the kind of man I should have been targeting. Instead, I'd started watching him for reasons I couldn't articulate.

'You're going to order something eventually,' the bartender said.

I jumped. 'Just thinking.'

He slid a coaster toward me. 'You've been coming here every Tuesday for a month. Always alone. Always watching him.' His voice dropped. 'Whatever you're looking for, you won't find it in someone else's marriage.'

The orange slice in the target's glass had dissolved to nothing.

'I'm not—' I started, then stopped. The hair dye in my bathroom seemed suddenly ridiculous. The elaborate backstory I'd constructed about being a consultant felt paper-thin.

The target stood up, dropping a hundred-dollar bill on the table. As he passed, his eyes caught mine—just for a second, just long enough for me to see the exhaustion that matched my own.

'Your drink,' the bartender said, setting down something amber and expensive. 'On the house. For the spy who forgot what she was supposed to be stealing.'

I took it. The first sip burned all the way down.