I did, actually. I knew a concerning amount about her life. I knew her brothers were named Mikal and Devon and that Devon once tried to sail to China on a raft. I knew her mom made shell necklaces and her dad sang sea shanties when he thought nobody was listening. I knew she sent home two thousand dollars a month and lived on fifteen hundred and had eaten expensive steak exactly zero times because that was Belle, wait, no, that was also relevant, everyone in my life had a tragic relationship with premium meat.
The point was that Naomi Love was sitting across from me, executing the worst diversionary operation in recorded history, and I loved her enough to pretend it was working.
"Okay," I said. "Show me the mats."
Her eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Sure. I'm recovering. Mats are important. Your fake physical therapist would want this."
"He's not fake."
"He's extremely fake, Naomi. He's the fakest man alive. But let's go look at some mats."
