Big Rock(4)

I crack up.

She reaches behind my other ear, and brandishes a small pill. “Oh look, here’s some Advil for when you get cramps.”

“Good one.” I smile. “Do you perform that one at all the children’s parties?”

“No.” Harper winks. “But it’s tricks like that that keep the moms booking me six months out.”

She joins me as we walk toward the restaurant on Third Avenue, wandering along one of those perfect New York blocks—the kind with wide stoops, and red brick brownstones, and trees with lush branches every ten feet. It looks like the set of a rom-com.

“How’s the city’s noted playboy? I heard Cassidy Winters said you were the best time she’s had in ages.”

I furrow my brow. “Who’s that?”

She rolls her eyes. “The hot trainer you were in the papers with. I sent you the picture last night. Didn’t you read the caption?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Besides, she was ages ago.” That’s what a few weeks feels like in the dating world.

“Guess she’s still singing your praises.”

“Looks like I’ll be erasing her number.” Flapping your gums will get you blackballed.

“Well, you better watch it with Mr. Offerman. Dad’s buyer,” she says, as a blue-haired lady walking a Pomeranian heads in our direction.

“You mean I shouldn’t hit on him?” I ask, deadpan. I stop in the middle of the block. Gyrate my hips. Give my best stripper stare. “Do a little dance.” I smack my own ass. “Back it up.”

Harper’s face goes beet red. She shifts her eyes in the direction of the lady. “Oh my god. Stop it.”

“So, don’t do my usual Chippendales’ routine, then?”

She grabs my arm, and pulls me along as we pass the dog owner. The woman waggles her eyebrows at me, and mouths, “Nice moves.”

See? Chicks dig me.

“Anyway, what I mean is, he’s very conservative. Family values and all. Which is why we’re here.”

“Of course. Act as if we’re a happy family and like each other. Right? Is that what I should do?” I say and give her a huge noogie. Because she deserves it.

“Ouch. Don’t mess up my hair.”

“Fine, fine. I get it. You want me to pretend I’m a choirboy and you’re an angel.”

She places her palms together in prayer. “I am an angel.”

We enter the restaurant, and my dad greets us in the lobby. Harper excuses herself for the ladies’ room, and my dad claps me on the back. “Thank you for joining me. You got the memo, right?”

“Of course. Don’t I look the part of the successful, blue-blooded son?” I slide my hand along my tie, courtesy of Barneys, thank you very much.

He gives me a mock punch on the jaw. “You always do.” Then he drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Ah, I’m so glad you’re here. And listen,” he says, lowering his voice, “you know I don’t care what you do after hours. But Mr. Offerman has four daughters, ages seventeen down to eleven. So he prefers a bit more of a—”

“Goody Two-shoes image?” I say, flashing my best good-boy grin.

My dad snaps his fingers and nods.

“Are they here at breakfast? His daughters?”

He shakes his head. “Just you and your sister, him and me. He wanted to meet the two of you. And all I mean is the less your status as the ‘noted New York City playboy’ comes up, the happier he will be, and the happier he is, the happier I am. Can you do that?”

I heave a sigh and widen my eyes. “I don’t know, Dad. That, like, seriously limits my conversational abilities. Since I usually only talk about women and sex. Fuck,” I say in a frustrated tone. I pretend to prop myself up, counting off on my fingers. “Okay, politics, religion, gun control. That’s what I’ll focus on, ’kay?”

“Don’t make me get my muzzle,” he jokes.

“Dad, I got this. I will not derail your dream. I promise you that. For the next hour, I am the dutiful son and rising New York businessman. I won’t say a word about women, or the Boyfriend Material app,” I tell him, because I’m a chameleon. I can play party boy or serious businessman. I can play Yale graduate or trash talker. Today, I’ll be calling on my Ivy League self, not the dude who created and sold one of the hottest dating apps.

“Thank you for keeping low-key about that side of things. I’ve been searching for years for the right buyer, and I think we’ve finally found one. If all goes well on the last few details, we should be signing the papers the end of next week.”

My dad is a rock star in the jewelry business. Hardly anyone knows his name, but pretty much everyone knows his store. He started Katharine’s on Fifth Avenue thirty years ago, and it is the definition of class in the jewelry business. The sky blue boxes the store uses have become nothing short of iconic—a sign that a gorgeous gift is on its way. Pearls, diamonds, rubies, silver, gold—you name it. Named for my mom, Katharine’s is a palace of sophistication, and my dad has turned the Fifth Avenue store into the flagship of a chain with locations in twelve cities around the globe. Katharine’s put my sister and me through private school, then college, and has generally made our lives all-around awesome.