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I reach the bottom step and stop. I pull my jacket closed and think. I really don’t have any idea where I’m going. I need to talk to that arrogant asshole, obviously. And that’s when I realize I have no idea how to contact him. He’s not left his phone number on any of the cards that were sent. I don’t know where he lives, other than somewhere in the Philadelphia area, and the one person who could tell me, Finn, just went to teach a class.
I groan. So that’s what Finn was going on about. He must have seen the Facebook update about Sawyer and I. Shit, my mom is going to see that Facebook status and ask me a hundred questions that I have none of the answers to. She’s probably adding Sawyer to her Christmas list right now.
Couldn’t he have just called me? Like a normal person?
I should Google him. I can’t believe I haven’t done it already. I am so off my game. Wait, I can use Facebook. Might as well, since he went through all the trouble of hacking my account to accept his own friend request. I tap open the app on my phone and pull up his profile. I could message him this way, or… let’s see what we have to work with here.
Works at Clemens Corp.
Of course he does. Clemens Corp is a technology company. They just made headlines for selling a multi-billion-dollar web browsing project to the entertainment industry. They’ve also developed apps you likely use every day. GPS apps for tracking your children or spouse, that kind of thing. It’s the hot place to work in Philadelphia. The perks are supposedly amazing, like using technology before it’s released, free on-site daycare, a free cafeteria, that kind of thing. He probably used company time and resources to break into my account. Real appropriate, Sawyer.
But the good news is their headquarters are in Logan Square, and I know exactly where the building is.
I Uber myself a ride and say a silent prayer of thanks when the app tells me a car will be here in three minutes. I could walk to Logan Square, it’s less than two miles, but I’m in a hurry. Plus, let’s be real. I want to look good when I arrive, so I’m not hiking over there.
My Uber ride arrives and we shoot over to Market Street. The driver agrees with me, by the way, about Sawyer being completely out of line with this Facebook stunt. See, know your audience. It helps that he has none of the backstory, and I’m the customer so he’s probably going to agree with me anyway, but still. It’s much more satisfying than venting to Chloe.
We loop around City Hall Station then past JFK Plaza before hitting traffic on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. I check my Facebook app and fume some more.
The car finally pulls up to Logan Square and I thank my new friend Tom and hop out, then head straight for the revolving doors. Once I’ve whooshed through them I realize I’ve got two problems. One, there’s security, and I can’t just grab an elevator. And two, I have no idea where to find him in this fifty-story building. Well, no matter.
My phone dings. It’s my mom, asking if Sawyer eats red meat because she’s thinking of making a roast for Christmas. I think my nostrils actually flare as I march up to the security desk and slap my hands on the counter.
“I need to see Sawyer Camden. Now.”
The smile drops from the guard’s face and a bored look replaces it. “Ma’am, we don’t have an on-site customer service department. If you go to our website there’s a ‘contact us’ tab at the top of the page. You can’t miss it.” He gives me an uninterested smile. “Or I can give you a card with our 1-800 number,” he says, placing one on the countertop when I don’t move.
“I don’t need customer service, I need to see Sawyer Camden. He works here, and I’d like to see him.” I smile tightly, trying not to take out my frustration with Sawyer on the poor guy at the desk. I wave at the phone behind the counter. “Call him or give me a guest pass or something.”
I groan. So that’s what Finn was going on about. He must have seen the Facebook update about Sawyer and I. Shit, my mom is going to see that Facebook status and ask me a hundred questions that I have none of the answers to. She’s probably adding Sawyer to her Christmas list right now.
Couldn’t he have just called me? Like a normal person?
I should Google him. I can’t believe I haven’t done it already. I am so off my game. Wait, I can use Facebook. Might as well, since he went through all the trouble of hacking my account to accept his own friend request. I tap open the app on my phone and pull up his profile. I could message him this way, or… let’s see what we have to work with here.
Works at Clemens Corp.
Of course he does. Clemens Corp is a technology company. They just made headlines for selling a multi-billion-dollar web browsing project to the entertainment industry. They’ve also developed apps you likely use every day. GPS apps for tracking your children or spouse, that kind of thing. It’s the hot place to work in Philadelphia. The perks are supposedly amazing, like using technology before it’s released, free on-site daycare, a free cafeteria, that kind of thing. He probably used company time and resources to break into my account. Real appropriate, Sawyer.
But the good news is their headquarters are in Logan Square, and I know exactly where the building is.
I Uber myself a ride and say a silent prayer of thanks when the app tells me a car will be here in three minutes. I could walk to Logan Square, it’s less than two miles, but I’m in a hurry. Plus, let’s be real. I want to look good when I arrive, so I’m not hiking over there.
My Uber ride arrives and we shoot over to Market Street. The driver agrees with me, by the way, about Sawyer being completely out of line with this Facebook stunt. See, know your audience. It helps that he has none of the backstory, and I’m the customer so he’s probably going to agree with me anyway, but still. It’s much more satisfying than venting to Chloe.
We loop around City Hall Station then past JFK Plaza before hitting traffic on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. I check my Facebook app and fume some more.
The car finally pulls up to Logan Square and I thank my new friend Tom and hop out, then head straight for the revolving doors. Once I’ve whooshed through them I realize I’ve got two problems. One, there’s security, and I can’t just grab an elevator. And two, I have no idea where to find him in this fifty-story building. Well, no matter.
My phone dings. It’s my mom, asking if Sawyer eats red meat because she’s thinking of making a roast for Christmas. I think my nostrils actually flare as I march up to the security desk and slap my hands on the counter.
“I need to see Sawyer Camden. Now.”
The smile drops from the guard’s face and a bored look replaces it. “Ma’am, we don’t have an on-site customer service department. If you go to our website there’s a ‘contact us’ tab at the top of the page. You can’t miss it.” He gives me an uninterested smile. “Or I can give you a card with our 1-800 number,” he says, placing one on the countertop when I don’t move.
“I don’t need customer service, I need to see Sawyer Camden. He works here, and I’d like to see him.” I smile tightly, trying not to take out my frustration with Sawyer on the poor guy at the desk. I wave at the phone behind the counter. “Call him or give me a guest pass or something.”
