Come As You Are(24)

“Cool,” I say, checking my reflection in the elevator panel to make sure all the buttons are lined up on my shirt. You never know if you’ve misbuttoned something. Not that I did that in my senior year of high school before a speech. Not that I’ve ever forgotten that moment of embarrassment either. In my defense, buttons are hard.

“Cool? That’s more than cool. That’s amazing.”

“Right,” I say, nodding as I study the alignment. I bare my teeth next, making sure the choppers look sharp and lunch-free.

“I talked to the reporter too. The piece is going to pivot a bit from what I pitched them, but I think it’ll be even better. Get this—it’s going to be about you as one of the next generations of business visionaries.” She rattles off more details on the piece, telling me the reporter is Sabrina Granger, my assistant has scheduled a meeting, and tomorrow is our first interview.

I run a hand through my hair. Yup. Just the right amount of floppy mess.

“It’s going to be a fantastic piece,” Jennica adds.

“That’s great.”

The elevator goes silent.

Jennica clears her throat, catching my attention with the sound. I snap my gaze to her. Her hands are parked on her hips. “You’re barely paying attention.”

“Visionary, check. Tomorrow, check. Sabrina, check. Piece will be great, check.” I tap my temple. “I listened.”

“Hardly. You were distracted, and I’m willing to bet it’s because you have a hot date.”

I scoff.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Flynn Parker, you’ve been checking your reflection, and you’re making sure you don’t have lettuce in your teeth, even though it was five hours ago that we went to the salad bar for lunch, and you’ve probably also brushed your teeth twenty times since then.”

I blow out a breath of air. “Minty fresh. Guilty as charged.”

“Who is the lucky lady, and does she know you’re a certified dork?”

“Correction. It’s not yet official. But the Adorkable Committee assures me the certificate should arrive any day.”

“Excellent. We’ll frame it,” she says as we reach the lobby, and she shoves her bag higher on her shoulder. “Now, fess up. Who is the lovely you’re lettuce-free for?”

I laugh, shaking my head. Jennica wouldn’t believe me if I said I didn’t know who she is. I hardly believe me. “She’s a bit of a mystery.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she hums her approval. “A mystery girl. How intriguing. What do we know about her?”

Let’s see. I don’t know her name, her occupation, her family background, where she lives, or any of the usual details. But I do know some key traits already. “She’s smart, independent, clever, and likes my jokes.”

Also, she’s great in bed—or against the wall, as the case may be—and feels spectacular in my arms. But I keep those key attributes to myself.

“Sounds like a keeper.”

“Plus, she hasn’t proposed to me yet.”

“There’s still time tonight for her to get down on one knee. And on that note, I need to get to the year-end open house at my daughter’s first-grade classroom. My husband is making me attend. The torture. Dear God, the torture of an open house.”

“Have fun with Steve, and be sure to take Taylor out for frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity when you’re done.”

“Her? How about someone taking me out for enduring an open house?”

We say goodbye, and I head in the direction of The Dollhouse. When I looked up the description online, I immediately thought, Aha, it’s perfect for her.

On the way downtown, I check my reflection in the subway window. When I exit in Tribeca and carve a path through the trendy streets, I peer into shop windows to make sure my glasses aren’t sliding down my nose. Jennica was right to note my distractedness—I am nervous, and that’s unusual, especially considering I don’t break a sweat when I deliver a keynote speech, negotiate with business partners, or go out on dates.

But this date feels different. It’s like we’ve done things entirely backward. Like we’re assembling a jigsaw puzzle from the middle out. But we both seem to like it this way. She likes the intrigue as much as I do, and that makes me want to know her even more, learn what makes her tick, what excites her. But more than that, I want her to keep wanting to see me, the guy she called Duke, not the dude everyone wants a piece of.

Then I’d know if it was real. Then I’d know it was about me, and not about anything else I might bring to the table. I almost wish I could keep up the ruse.

Because it’s not merely that I’m tired of the random women, the catfishers, the gold-diggers, and the money-hunters. I can handle a woman hitting on me at a conference, a bar, or the gym because she’s figured out I could be a meal ticket. I can shake that off and move on. Other things are harder to let go. I know what it’s like to give my heart to someone thinking she wants it, but then learn she only wants all the zeros attached to my name.

That was Annie.

She was a math nerd too, and we went to college together. I had the biggest crush on Annie, with her big blue eyes and equally blue hair, and her badass coder attitude. She didn’t give me the time of day romantically, but friend-wise, absolutely. I was the guy she leaned on, the one she told her man woes to. Yeah, I was that guy, and then I finally found the guts to ask her out.