[COMPLETED] Her Friends Sent Her on a Blind Date With Boston's Most Feared Mafia Boss—Then He Caught Them Laughing

The entertainment page took down its original video on Thursday morning.

For eleven minutes, I felt relieved.

Then another account uploaded the same edited clip, this time with a caption suggesting I had agreed to the date because Daniel Brooks was wealthy. Someone in the comments supplied the name of Maple Street Books. By lunch, strangers were arguing about my intentions as though they knew what I'd said to Olivia or how much money I earned.

Mrs. Alvarez taped a small notice near the register asking customers not to record employees. She didn't mention my name. That kindness made me more determined to keep doing my job.

At two, Ruth Benton called.

"The page that first posted the clip has answered our preservation request," she said. "They've given us the correspondence they say accompanied the submission. I want you to read it before making any decisions."

We met at her office after closing. Daniel wasn't there. I'd asked him not to come until I understood what the documents meant to me, rather than to his reputation.

Ruth placed several pages on the conference table. One was a pitch from an account using Olivia's full name and contact address. It had been sent before our dinner.

I could hardly recognize the language as something written about a person Olivia claimed to love.

The pitch promised an awkward blind date between an ordinary bookstore employee and a feared Boston businessman. It proposed filming my reaction and the moment Daniel realized he had been matched with someone supposedly beneath his social circle. The submission suggested viewers would enjoy deciding which of us felt more insulted.

Below that was a note from the entertainment editor asking whether the woman being filmed had agreed.

Olivia had replied that everyone involved was in on the joke.

"I wasn't," I said.

"I know."

"She lied to the editor too."

Ruth nodded, then turned the page.

The editor had offered to feature Olivia's social account prominently if the footage attracted an audience. There was no contract guaranteeing her money, no elaborate criminal scheme. She wanted attention, and she had been willing to borrow my humiliation to earn it.

I found that explanation more depressing than the idea of some hidden plot. It meant my friend hadn't needed a great reason to hurt me.

"The editor says Olivia submitted the short file Paige recorded," Ruth continued. "The editor cut it again for pace. That's why there are two different edits circulating. We have preserved both."

"Can I make them take every copy down?"

"We can request corrections and removal where there's a good basis. We can't promise to erase every repost on the internet."

She didn't look away when she told me. I appreciated the honesty, even though it wasn't what I wanted to hear.

I took the documents home. I placed them beside my phone and stared at the small stack while the city grew quiet beyond my windows.

Olivia had chosen my ordinary life as a contrast to Daniel's wealth. She had wanted two strangers to be embarrassed in front of one another, then sent the footage to an editor who had no reason to question her version of events.

At ten, Daniel called. I'd agreed to the call earlier that afternoon.

"Ruth told you about the pitch?" he asked.

"Yes."

"My assistant found the request Olivia sent my office. She told Celeste you'd asked to be introduced and wanted the meeting kept private. Celeste believed she was arranging something you had already approved."

"You have a strange system for meeting people," I said.

"Apparently I have a bad one. I've changed it."

He sounded uncomfortable, which was new.

"Celeste was supposed to confirm with me," he added. "She should have confirmed with you as well. I didn't think about that until now."

"Neither did I," I admitted.

He was silent for a moment.

"I owe you an apology for accepting a private invitation from someone else without making sure it came from you."

"You didn't know she was lying."

"I could still have checked."

It would have been easy to treat his apology as an invitation to excuse everything. Instead, I sat with the discomfort of two things being true: Olivia was responsible for the prank, and Daniel's office had let it happen because nobody had thought to ask me a question.

The next day, Olivia came to Maple Street Books.

I saw her through the window before she entered. She was carrying a paper shopping bag, the sort she used when she wanted to suggest a visit was friendly rather than serious.

"We need to talk," she said.

"I'm working."

"Five minutes."

Mrs. Alvarez looked up from the counter. I told her I'd be in the office and left the door partly open.

Olivia placed the bag on a chair. Inside was a box of expensive pastries.

"I know you're upset," she began.

"You told a stranger I consented to being filmed."

"I thought you'd laugh when it was over."

"You sent a pitch before I even walked into the restaurant."

Her expression changed.

"Who showed you that?"

"It matters that you wrote it, not that I saw it."

She rubbed her forehead.

"I was trying to get my account noticed. Everyone does promotional things. You have no idea how difficult it is to build an audience now."

"You could have used your own life."

"You'd never agree to anything interesting."

There it was. The assumption beneath the entire evening. My preferences were an obstacle to be managed, not a reason to stop.

"You knew what Jason did to me," I said. "You knew why I stopped dating."

"I thought you needed to move on."

"You don't get to use what hurt me as material."

Olivia's eyes filled with tears, but I could not tell whether they came from regret or frustration. Perhaps both. Neither changed the documents on Ruth's desk.

"Are you going to ruin me over one stupid mistake?" she asked.

"I'm going to tell the truth about what happened."

"With him paying for it?"

"Ruth is my attorney. I hired her."

That answer seemed to surprise her more than anything else I'd said.

I picked up the pastry bag and handed it back.

"Please don't come here again unless I invite you."

She left without answering. I returned to the register, my hands unsteady but my voice calm when the next customer asked for a recommendation.

That evening, Ruth forwarded a short response from Olivia's representative. It claimed our meeting had been mutually understood as entertainment and warned us against making public accusations.

I opened my own message history and found the reply I'd sent to Olivia three hours before the date.

Absolutely not.

I had refused.