Free Younger by Suzanne Munshower

there, knowing you need suffer through no more meals with me.”
    He got to his feet, his abruptness unnerving her. He was making it sound ambiguous with that or . “I want to know two things,” she said firmly, as she stood. “First, how many other people are being screened for this account?”
    “So far, just you. This is too big a deal to hold auditions. As with any important hire, I prefer to consider one candidate at a time, starting at the top.”
    She nodded. “And how would I coordinate your London team from California?”
    “Actually,” he said slowly, “you wouldn’t be in Los Angeles. You’d work in London for a year. BarPharm would take care of your mortgage as well as providing you with a flat in central London. It’s very important that you use the product, you see. Use it and keep a diary of how it makes you feel to be twenty-five again.”
    She was dumbfounded. Why had he waited until now to tell her this? She was going to be some rich chemist’s guinea pig?
    As earlier, he was attuned to her thoughts. “It’s not dangerous, and it’s reversible. But you must be able to empathize completely with the customer and be able to use your own experience to tell her how great life is going to be. Don’t you think you’d enjoy looking that young again?”
    “That’s something I need to think about,” she said as he took her elbow and steered her gently toward the exit. “Um, mustn’t we wait for the lunch check?”
    His laughter sounded a little relieved. “It’s a private restaurant. Everything is paid for on account. No cash changes hands.”
    Ah, yes, she mused, for those not scrambling to stay afloat, how simple life can be .

    She spent the afternoon letting her feet take her where they wished, until they eventually led her over to the Marais. She stood for a long time gazing up at the small hotel she and David used to stay in. Its continued existence, decades after he’d probably forgotten who she was, brought tears to her eyes. But she forced herself to turn away. What was past was past.
    Eventually, she took the Metro back to her hotel to rest before changing into more casual clothes and making her way to the Boulevard St. Germain and Café de Flore. Her mind had pretty much made itself up as she walked. A million pounds, her mortgage paid, and a free apartment to boot? She’d never see an offer like this again. But she still had some questions.
    Barton was already there, inputting something on his laptop, which he quickly put away when she entered. “Are you always working?” she asked.
    “Not at all,” he assured her, pouring her a glass of red wine from the bottle on the table. “I was emailing my wife.”
    “She didn’t come with you?”
    “No, she’s in Moscow—we try to get over there at least three times a year. This time, she’s taken Lucas and Leo so they could be with their grandmother for their twelfth birthday.”
    She should have known a man like Barton would have a trophy wife—a Russian he’d met in Paris, as she recalled from his bio. Again, he knew what she was thinking. “Marina’s not as young as your face says you think she is. She was over forty when the boys were born.”
    “That’s not at all what I was thinking,” she lied, blushing.
    He smiled. “Okay. Have you given more thought to my offer?”
    “I have. And I’ve come up with some questions.”
    He shook his head at an approaching waiter. “Fire away.”
    “How do I explain my absence to friends? And what happens at the end of my contract? Am I supposed to just show up in Los Angeles looking like someone else?”
    “First, can’t you just be traveling, or working on some imaginary project?”
    She thought about it. “I suppose. Everyone keeps saying I should take advantage of losing Coscom as an opportunity to hit the road.”
    “There you go, then. You can do online research on anywhere you say you are. Regarding your reentry, looking like someone in her twenties or forties is up