Cynthia’s chuckling as she winds her way back around the desk. “We’ll keep this one off the books. You can update me directly, and we won’t mention it at the weekly meeting. We can’t risk any leaks on this.”
“I was going to suggest the same thing.”
“Great.” Her phone buzzes and she frowns down at it, then turns her attention back to me. “Dare I ask what you have planned first?”
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” I hint, dangling the carrot. “I plan to let the 125 tips be my guide.”
“Make sure you agree with everything he says,” she advises. “Laugh at all his jokes, even the unfunny ones.”
“Especially the unfunny ones,” Natalia pipes up.
“Flatter him constantly. Never complain.”
“Offer to cook for him! And make sure to wear an apron.”
“Act helpless. Always defer to him. Oh, and no cursing,” Cynthia orders. Shit, that’ll be a hard one.
“Should I buy him Knicks tickets and a love fern, too?” I joke.
Nat sucks in a breath. “I just thought of the perfect headline: ‘How to Dupe a Guy in 10 Days’！” She throws her head back and cackles, slapping the arm of the couch. Even Cynthia cracks a smile.
“Alright, laugh it up, you two, but I’m the one who actually has to pull off this little charade, okay? This is real life, not some cheesy rom-com.”
Nat lets out a gasp. “You did not just call Kate Hudson’s tour-de-force performance cheesy.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Well, honestly, I’ll need to be Andie Anderson–level adorable if I even have a prayer of keeping Jack wriggling on the end of my hook. Don’t forget, this whole thing hinges on him finding me irresistible, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I never heard from the guy again. I mean, you were there—I was aggressively hostile to him. Frankly, I’m shocked he even stuck around long enough to get my number.”
It’s a head-scratcher that prolonged my insomnia last night, as a matter of fact. Why did Jack hang around to be berated by a random stranger? I can’t say I would have done the same in his position. In fact, the more I think about it, the more impressed I am that he stood there and took my verbal beatdown. Actually, scratch that, he didn’t take it. He fought back, proving he must be just as headstrong as I am.
“Pfft, I’m not surprised,” Nat says. “You’re the ultimate challenge. You basically spit in his face. You treated him like crap and now he wants—no, he needs—to conquer you to set the universe at rights. It’s how men like him work. He won’t rest until he’s won you over. Besides, he was clearly into you. I nearly choked from that fog of sexual tension when I walked up.”
I cringe internally as Cynthia’s eyes sharpen like a hawk’s. “So you liked him, then?”
Thanks a lot, Nat.
“No!” I think of how I admired his bone structure and feel a stab of shame. “I mean, I didn’t like him, like him.” Now I sound like I’m in junior high. “I thought he was, you know, fine. Nothing special, really.” I’m definitely making it worse. It’s like a spray of word vomit I can’t suppress. The two of them exchange a look and I fight the urge to fan my armpits. “I was just grateful that he made the introduction to Eric Jessup,” I say desperately.
Cynthia holds up her hands. “Relax, I’m not judging you. He’s a good-looking guy. But he’s also a smooth talker and didn’t get where he is by being dumb, so don’t underestimate him. And don’t let him derail you.”
“I won’t,” I assure her firmly. “He’s a story to me, nothing more.” See? I’m absolutely not attracted to him. I haven’t thought at all about whether I’d classify his eye color as sapphire or indigo.
She holds eye contact for a long beat. “You know, if he’s as into you as Nat says, he’ll be trying to impress you. He’ll share things he otherwise wouldn’t, so listen carefully. You may uncover things about Brawler. Damaging things we can use to twist the knife even deeper.”
A cold fear arrows through me at her villainous tone, and I have to wonder if I’m in over my head with this. She’s like a bloodhound that’s caught the scent of a fugitive. I half expect her to cage her fingertips and cackle like Dr. Evil.
She dismisses us, but the second we’re out of her office Natalia grabs me by the elbow and hauls me into an empty conference room.
“Ow, what’s your deal?” I ask once she shuts the door behind us.
“Didn’t you hear what she said in there?” Nat hisses. “About how this could make your career?”
“Uh, yeah. No pressure, right?”
She flicks me on the forehead. “Gah, you are asleep at the wheel. Cass, this is your book idea!”
I blink at her, trying to catch up . . . and a little pissed at the flicking. “How is this my book idea?”
“Don’t you see it? People love this shit! ‘I’m tired of my life, so I did this wacky thing to shake it up.’ I made every recipe in Julia Child’s cookbook. I went backpacking in ill-fitting boots. I meditated in India, ate pasta in Rome, and fell in love in Bali. I got tired of modern dating and decided to live like a 1950s housewife.” She squeezes my arm excitedly. “This is your Pacific Crest Trail!”
“In all those books they learn something deep and meaningful about themselves,” I protest, massaging my arm pointedly. “I’m just trying to take down some sexist jerk. Hardly the warm and fuzzy aha moment people are looking for.”
“You’re underestimating this idea,” she insists. “Think of how many women are completely disillusioned with modern dating. You should know; you’re one of them! Men put in no effort because they know another woman’s just a swipe away. I’m telling you, there are plenty of women out there who wonder if life would’ve been easier if they’d just been born in a different era. Who wonder if women had it better back then. Speak to those women.”
I squint at her as I consider it. As crazy as it sounded at first, she does have a point. For all the ease and convenience modern technology’s offered my generation, online dating seems to have brought out the worst in men—or the ones I’ve matched with, at least. Like my Hinge date who showed up smelling like mothballs, admitted he’d lied and hadn’t actually earned an architectural degree, then relayed his aspirations of becoming a “shoe-preneur.” My expectations of men are so low that even a mediocre, ho-hum date counts as a smashing success. And while we may not need them to protect us or pay our bills, aren’t we all looking for a man who dresses well, opens doors and pulls out chairs, and reaches for the check as a matter of habit? Who’s actually interested in us, and not just a casual hookup? Don’t we all wish chivalry would make a comeback? I’m not asking for a Disney prince or a carriage ride through Central Park, but would it kill a guy to give up his seat for me on the subway?
“I see the potential,” I acknowledge, and she grins smugly. “I’ll start thinking on it, but right now I need to focus on this story. And on that note . . .”