The Rom Con(18)

“Well, he definitely wasn’t reserved last night,” I tell her, remembering how smugly he called me out on my faux fall. “In fact, he was the cockiest guy I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. It’s like he thinks he’s the king of New York or something. I kept waiting for him to say, ‘I’m Chuck Bass.’?”

Nat snorts.

“So tell me what you’re thinking here,” Cynthia says, tapping the end of her pen on the desk. “How exactly would this work?”

I stand and begin to circuit the room, a prosecutor delivering her opening statement. “According to Brawler, the perfect woman is beautiful but compliant. She challenges a man just enough to keep him interested, but not so much that he has to try very hard. She’s spirited and playful, but always defers to his judgment. She can be smart, but only in a nonthreatening way. They want the ‘cool girl’ who can hang with the guys but would never dream of talking back to her man.”

I pause to survey my audience. Both Nat and Cynthia are leaned forward in rapt attention, on the literal edge of their seats. Perfect.

“For Brawler bros, women fall into one of two categories,” I continue, drawing out the suspense. “Hysterical, uptight feminazis like yours truly”—I vogue with my hands framing my face—“or vapid, brainless arm candy who’ll shut up and look pretty. Coincidentally, the 1950s housewife portrayed in that column matches up almost seamlessly with Brawler’s ideal female archetype: polite, devoted, and submissive, leaving the male to assume the traditional dominant, decision-maker role. Really, these tips couldn’t have fallen into my lap at a better time.”

I stop at the glass window and peer out at the newsroom, observing my Siren coworkers: Some are on the phone or hammering away at keyboards, while others weave through the maze of cubicles or collaborate in small groups. These are my colleagues, my friends. They’re clever and driven and impressive, the most inspiring group of women I know. No matter what Jack says about their site being “satire,” Brawler has done real damage to these women in both obvious and insidious ways. I can’t let him get away with it.

I spin around and lock eyes with Cynthia. “Jack thinks women should be seen and not heard? Well, he is in for a real treat, because I’m about to give him exactly what he wants: the perfect trophy girlfriend. And once he’s fallen for it hook, line, and sinker?” I pause for dramatic effect. “I’m going to expose him for the misogynist he is.”

Natalia holds out her arm. “I just got chills.”

I see the exact moment it all slots into place on Cynthia’s face. “A takedown of the founder of the most sexist site in journalism.”

“You can see it, right? The story was already funny when I was going to test these tips on unsuspecting men, but testing them on an unsuspecting villain? It’s chef’s-kiss perfect.”

Cynthia’s got a taste for Brawler blood now, her eyes glowing Cullen-red. “And he’ll fall for it, because what guy wouldn’t? He’ll think he’s died and gone to heaven! He’ll think he’s found that elusive unicorn: a smart but subservient woman, sexy and flirtatious but pure as the driven snow.”

“A lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets!” Nat crows.

“Exactly!” I realize it a second too late. “Wait, no—I’m not pimping myself out. Just the street lady part.” I hear how that sounds. “I mean, he won’t be seeing my lady parts.” Not better. Argh. “Never mind. The point is, not only will Jack be embarrassed that he’s fallen for such an obvious trap, but the fact that he’s been duped by the enemy, the precise type of woman they claim to hate? The headlines write themselves. And if I get to torture him in the process, well.” I grin wickedly. “That’s just an added bonus.”

“You’re gonna give him exactly what he wants,” Cynthia says. “Or at least what he thinks he wants—then expose them for the backward-thinking chauvinists they are. And the beauty of it is, this doesn’t just embarrass Jack. It’s a forced reckoning for the entire Brawler fan base.” She looks at me approvingly. “Cassidy, it’s brilliant. Well done.”

Nat widens her eyes at me, neither of us accustomed to that degree of praise from our notoriously hard-assed boss. It’s the Cynthia equivalent of throwing a parade in my honor.

“Thank you. I just hope I can pull it off.” A giant if. “And on that note, let’s talk about some of my concerns.”

Nat groans and sags back against the couch. “Here we go.”

I start pacing the length of Cynthia’s office. “So okay, I was able to fool him for a few minutes while under the influence of adrenaline and proximity to celebrity. But could I really pull off a long con like this? Regardless of how Nat thinks I performed last night, I wasn’t kidding when I said I wasn’t an actress.”

Cynthia considers me thoughtfully. “Or maybe you’ve just never had the right role.”

I’m pretty sure she’d say whatever I need to hear right now; visions of page views dance in her head.

“The point is, this could all blow up in our faces. And I’d never want to do anything to hurt Siren.” Or my own career, I add silently.

She hears what I’m not saying. “There’s an element of risk in all undercover work. You’d have to be comfortable . . . misrepresenting certain facts.”