Page 31 of Forty, Flirty & Framed

She zooms in on the image."Brewed by Highland Hop House.Limited edition.'A robust Scottish-style IPA with notes of heather, thistle, and just a hint of...swagger?'"

"I'm suing everyone," I mutter.Interestingly enough, there’s less rage behind my voice than there would have been a week ago.

"Actually," Karina says thoughtfully, "this might be perfect for our strategy pivot."

"Explain."

"We need to redirect the narrative from the suggestive content to something more aligned with the company's values, right?What if we embrace some of these third-party interpretations—selectively, of course—and channel them toward the Guardian angle?"

I consider this."Partner with the brewery?"

"Not directly," she clarifies."But we acknowledge the phenomenon, maybe make a subtle joke about it in your next public appearance, while simultaneously steering toward the protective, trustworthy aspects of the Abernathy brand."

"Dignify it with acknowledgment, you mean."

"Control it through acknowledgment, rather.Right now, it's wild and unpredictable.But if you acknowledge it with the right tone—self-aware but professional—you take back the narrative."

There's something compelling about her logic.

And about the animated way she explains it, hands gesturing expressively, cognac eyes bright despite the late hour.

My phone chimes again.

LUKE:Have you considered legal action against this flagrant brand exploitation?Also, can you send me a six-pack?For evidence purposes only.

I show Karina the message, and she laughs—a warm, raspy sound that seems to wash across my skin.

"Your friends are enjoying this way too much," she snorts.

"Schadenfreude is the foundation of male friendship," I agree, just as the intercom buzzes to announce our food delivery.

I retrieve the bags from security downstairs, returning to find Karina has cleared space on the conference table and set out plates and napkins from the kitchenette.

"It smells amazing," she says as I unpack the containers.

The aroma of spices and grilled meat fills the room, oddly homey in the sterile corporate environment.

I watch as Karina opens each container with the reverence of someone reconnecting with a cherished memory.

"My mom makes a version of this.”She spoons manti onto her plate.“Hers has more garlic.Actually, everything she makes has more garlic."

"A sound culinary philosophy," I say, sampling a dumpling.The flavors are rich and complex, unlike anything in my usual rotation."This is excellent."

"Wait till you try the schnitzels.They're not traditional—more of an Armenian-European fusion—but they're incredible."

She's right.

The tender meat with its crisp herbed coating is possibly the best thing I've eaten since returning to Seattle.

"So," I say between bites, "tell me how an Armenian family's daughter ends up in digital marketing."

An odd expression crosses her face—caution, perhaps—but it's gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"The usual ‘good girl’ path," she says lightly."Chaotic career trajectory followed by accidentally finding something I'm good at."

"I doubt anything about your career was accidental…”

She pauses, fork halfway to her mouth."What makes you say that?"