Smirking, Oliver taps his chest. “You’re asking the guy who engineered a fake fiancée-ship with his best friend so as not to lose a client. I’m hardly the best one to give advice on this. But I can tell you this for sure—talk to her first.”
I noodle on his advice all day and into the next, weighing it, considering it from all angles.
And forty-eight hours later, I still feel the same way.
I text Bryn and ask if she can meet me after work that afternoon to discuss a business matter.
This is business after all.
I’m not nervous. I’m not nervous. I’m not nervous.
Hell, I don’t get nervous.
My plan is to be straightforward with Bryn the second she walks into Dr. Insomnia’s Tea and Coffee Emporium. It’s on the Upper West Side, and I know Bryn lives in the Village, but I didn’t want to meet her near work.
At six on the dot, she enters.
And I’m a little nervous now.
But I’m also certain. Forget “Mr. Smolder.” Forget the numbers. The numbers just illuminated what I’ve learned this week. I want to give this a shot. I hope she wants to as well.
Bryn walks over to me. She’s still in her work clothes—a green skirt and a black blouse.
It’s no surprise that she looks stunning. But there’s more at play than mere looks. All our conversations over the last week have stoked my desire to see what we might find between us.
When she reaches me in the back of the shop, I stand and brush a kiss on her cheek before I realize what I’ve done. “Shit, sorry.”
With a curious smile, she asks, “Why?”
“I’m trying to be professional,” I say, gesturing to a chair.
“How’s that working out for you?”
I run a hand over my hair, laughing lightly. “Terribly. Can I get you something?”
“Sure. A latte would be great,” she says.
I head to the counter and order two, glancing back at her. She’s fiddling with some bracelets and glancing around. I wince. I’m so damn new to this—this modern dating thing. I should have told her why I wanted to see her.
When I return, I slide her the mug. “Your non-mojito.”
“Thanks,” she says, then takes a sip. “It’s a delicious non-cocktail.”
I take a drink of mine, then rip off the Band-Aid. “Listen, I should have said why I wanted to meet with you.”
“It’s because ‘Mr. Smolder’ did so well, right? You want to keep it up?”
I blink. “What? Well, yes, it did. Advertisers love it. I love it, and it raises some questions.”
“No one knows it’s about you and me. I told you that,” she says, her tone a little defensive, her eyes a little scared. “But if advertisers are pressuring you to run another piece, we should definitely talk about it.”
“That’s not why I wanted to meet you, Bryn. This isn’t about the piece. Well, in some ways it is,” I say.
Her brow knits.
I try again, pushing up my sleeves and looking down at my ink, drawing strength from it. “When my marriage ended, I was in a pretty bad place. I saw the world negatively. I was pissed and angry, and just generally believed everything in life had gone to hell.”
“It’s understandable to have been mad.”
I run my thumb across the lotus flowers on my skin. “But I didn’t want to be mad forever. And I’d always wanted to get a tattoo, so it seemed like the right time, when I was trying to figure out how to go from being this married guy with a kid to this divorced guy with a kid. I got this lotus—for change. So I could try to live my life on the other side. And part of that is honesty.” I draw a deep breath, meeting her gaze. In her eyes I see patience, and it’s wonderful. It’s refreshing.
“And the thing is, even though we haven’t done anything . . .” I stop to sketch air quotes, and she laughs, then we both turn more serious. “I feel like I’m not setting a good example. I’m a week and a half into being the new CEO of The Dating Pool, and nearly every day I flirt with you, text with you, talk to you, or think about doing those things.”
She nibbles on the corner of her lips, nodding, a guilty look in her eyes too. “Same here. I feel like I’m a bad leader. The writers and editors wanted to know when I was going to write about my second date with you. They asked me that the other day.”
The idea of another date with Bryn makes my heart thunder and my skin sizzle. And it makes my brain happy.
But there are hoops to jump through. Things to consider and choices to make.
“I talked to Oliver this week,” I continue. “He’s my best friend from way back, and he’s also my attorney.”
She pulls a face. A confused face. “Are you asking me to sign something?”
“No, no, God no,” I say, laughing then stopping.
She exhales, relieved. “Good. Because it sounded like you were going to ask me to sign an NDA.”
