“Oh please. Don’t act so astonished. Mr. Williams and I were friends first. And let me tell you, that made all the difference.” She drops her voice. “Why do you think my kids were born one year after I said I do?”

“I didn’t actually realize they were.”

“And now you do. Because we were good friends first. So, what’s she like? Your prospective lady?”

“She’s just a friend. I swear. We are only friends.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come back in a few weeks and tell me how that’s working out for you. Fifty dollars says you’re more than friends.”

“One hundred says we’re only friends.”

We shake on it.

“Now,” she asks, “who are we betting on this weekend? Chelsea or Manchester United?”

We debate the merits of each, then decide where to place our bets.

“Now keep me posted on your friend.”

“Just a friend.”

“Right. I believe you. I totally believe you.”

I blow her a kiss. “Of course,” I say, then tell her I’ll see her next week.

When I look at the check, I see it’ll cover many nice meals. I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t love money so much as its ability to pay for things I need.

As I make my way out of the building, I tune in to a podcast on restaurant reviews, since it’s always good to have food recommendations at the ready.

“The soufflés at Cloud Nine are the very definition of pillowy. Soft, fluffy, and bursting with flavor, they wooed me the entire evening. In fact, I seriously considered spending the rest of the night with my cheese soufflé.”

I chuckle at the reviewer’s passion. Coco even speaks in a kind of seductive voice that fits her reviews, since food seems to be the ultimate passion for her.

“In fact, I’m tempted to leave my boyfriend for this . . .”

I bump into Marcus as I turn into the lobby. He’s out of context here, so it takes a moment for the brain cells to link up.

Marcus Daniel Craig-Hemsworth?

“Hey!” He waves to me as he walks over.

I take out my earbuds. “Hello.”

“I know you! I mean, I didn’t know you were you when I saw you at my pub.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, unsure why the bartender is here.

“The Modern Gentleman in New York! I read all your columns. I listen to your podcast. It didn’t click till you left, but then I remembered where I’d heard your voice. On your podcast, and now here. I’m like a Modern Gentleman acolyte.”

Inside, I’m thinking Walker was dead wrong. I’m not running into wedding guests at my Modern Gentleman gigs. I’m running into fans. Bona fide fans. Could this day be any better? “Thrilled to hear that.”

“You’re Jason Reynolds, and you have been an inspiration. You’re the reason I’m here today. Well, and your girl too. Let me back up and explain. I can do it in a word, actually. A brilliant term you coined.” He takes a deep, fueling breath. “Adam Levine-ing.”

“Oh, you heard me on Ryder’s show just now?” I ask, figuring perhaps it’s piped into the lobby or he’d tuned in on his phone.

“No. I listen to you all the time. I read you every day. Your idea of reinvention is my gospel. I was basically working two jobs, waiting tables, piecing together a living to pay some bills, and I came across your column. It was everything I needed to prioritize, communicate, and dress for the part.” He tugs at his blue button-down. “I learned everything I could about beer. Became a top bartender, and now I make substantially more money. And I took my blog and turned it into a podcast, like your girl suggested. Always hustling.”

I don’t correct the possessive pronoun before girl. “That was fast.”

“You’re telling me.”

I clap him on the shoulder. “Good on you, mate. Good on you.”

Maybe I need to revise my stance on how I feel about Marcus with his I know everything about beer and I could kiss you attitude. After all, the man recognized me. The real me. Not the best man, pretend-friend me.

He points his thumb back down the hallway. “And now I’m here to talk to Ryder about this new job I’ve been hired for.”

I blink in surprise. “He hired you?”

“Sure did. My friend Betty told him about me and my new podcast. He called me straightaway and told me he had something for me. And I have you to thank.”

And Truly.

He has Truly to thank.

For that terrible, awful, horrid suggestion.

I grit my teeth to within a millimeter of cracking their enamel, then slap on my best practiced smile as I shake his hand and wish him well. After all, that’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

But inside, the reality lashes me harshly.

I was wrong. I heard the women wrong. Marcus is the guy they were talking about. Marcus is the one they find charming. And Marcus has come here to take the job.

Because he fucking Adam Levine’d himself, thanks to my advice.

To mine and to my good friend Truly’s.

34

Charlotte: I tossed a whole silver dollar in the fountain at Lincoln Center today, making a wish for your meeting.

Truly: Whoa. Big spender.

Charlotte: Dreams are more likely to come true if you pony up for wishes, right?

Truly: Absolutely. Imma go toss my gold bars into the fountain right now. Be right back.

Charlotte: Anyway, just texting to wish you luck. You don’t need it, but I’m required to wish it anyway. It’s going to be fabulous. Will you let me know how it goes?