by Lila Monroe
I keep listening, but my eyes go to a figure on the other side of the street. A woman is meandering along as if window-shopping, just a little behind our group. Her hair is hidden under a fedora, and she’s hidden under a bulky trench coat. But I would know those black-framed glasses anywhere.
McKenna.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Did I think she’d just send me off on my date and wait patiently for me to report back?
That’s not her style.
Stalking apparently is. She follows us to the next gallery, and trails us around the room as Darcy gushes over the squiggles and blobs. I only half-listen, keeping one eye on McKenna as she tries her best to go unnoticed.
A super-spy she’s not.
By the time we’re done, I’m just itching to blow her cover. “This has been really interesting,” I tell Darcy. “Thank you for putting up with my uncultured ways.”
She laughs. “No, not at all. I know I’m a little overenthusiastic, if anything.”
“I don’t believe there’s any such thing as too much enthusiasm. But I really should get going now,” I say smoothly. “It was nice to meet you.”
Darcy may have unique tastes in art, but she’s not stupid. “You too,” she says with a smile. “Good luck out there.”
“You too.”
I turn away from the dispersing group and loop back outside to where McKenna is loitering in front of the gift-shop window. “Well, look who it is,” I say, tipping the brim of her hat up to reveal that inquisitive gaze. “See anything you like?”
McKenna flushes. Busted. “I was just … in the neighborhood.” She looks around. “Wait, where’s Darcy? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I protest. “You’re the one spying on me.”
“I needed to make sure you actually gave her a chance. And clearly, you didn’t.”
“Sure I did,” I say. “We talked plenty. She explained the history of modern art, which was … educating. There just wasn’t a spark.”
“You can’t expect to fall for someone in two hours,” McKenna protests. “As long as you at least liked her at this stage—”
I shake my head. “No. I knew in the first few minutes. I always do.”
McKenna’s eyebrows leap up. “A few minutes?” She looks appalled. “You can’t judge a person based on a brief first impression.”
“Sure you can.” I can only imagine what kind of first impressions she’s getting in this get-up. She looks like a cross between a hobo and a dowdy grandmother, but somehow, it’s still sexy. “You like research, don’t you?” I ask, trying to keep my mind off the curves that are hidden beneath her coat. “I’ve read plenty about instincts and intuition. They’re real things, and if you know how to pay attention to them, they don’t lie. I trust mine. They haven’t steered me wrong yet.”
McKenna looks frustrated, but she stops arguing. “I still want you to give the other two matches a proper chance.”
“Of course I will,” I agree. “That’s our deal, isn’t it?”
She bites her lip. Clearly, she’s not happy, but then I remember her whole funding deal hinges on these dates. I remember how stressed I felt going after my first deal, and decide to take pity on her.
“Look,” I say. “I’ve got an event tonight—there’s a digital media awards gala. Why don’t you step away from your app for a few hours and come with me?”
“As your date?” She instinctively crosses her arms. “I think you’re getting this backwards.”
I chuckle. “No. Just as my guest. It’ll be good for you, tons of networking opportunities. I’ll introduce you to everyone you’ll want to know.”
McKenna bites her lip again as she considers the invitation, and I can’t help wondering what sound she’d make if I were the one biting it. Before I can fall too far down that rabbit hole, she raises her chin.
“Fine,” she says, looking determined. “What time do I need to be ready?”
“Pick you up at eight,” I reply. “But there’s one rule.”
“What is it?”
“No matchmaking,” I say firmly. “For one night, you give this soulmate thing a break. And maybe leave the trench coat at home. Deal?”
McKenna sighs, then gives a nod. “Deal.”
10
McKenna
This is definitely not a date. Jack isn’t even picking me up—he’s just sending a car around to bring me to the gala solo. I’m going to network, not to be his arm candy. It’s purely professional. So why am I staring at the contents of my wardrobe in despair?
I haven’t heard any moaning from next door, so it seems safe to pop over. “Hey babe,” Tessa says when she opens the door. “What’s up?”
“I need something to wear that’s pretty, fancy, and professional,” I despair. “I also need you to convince me that I’m not going to ruin my career chances the second I open my mouth tonight.”
Her eyes widen, but she gives me a little smile as she ushers me in. “I’m pretty sure I can handle both.”
I fill her in on Jack’s invite and the gala as she paws through her closet. “It’s a big deal. Like the tech Oscars or something. And you know I don’t really do fancy.”
Understatement of the year. My wardrobe has tons of sweatpants, but one cocktail dress. And it fit three years—and a hundred pints of ice cream—ago.
“Don’t worry,” Tessa reassures me. “If I can’t find anything, we can always try Jill. She has loads of fancy.”
I flop back on Tessa’s bed. “She also is like three cup sizes bigger than me.”
“When in doubt, stuff your bra,” she laughs. “Wait, what about this? Or this. I think they’ll fit you fine. You’re only a couple inches taller than me.”
I sit up again to check out the dresses she’s picked out. One is a simple ankle-length gown in maroon, with a high halter neck. Sleek with a single layer of gauze over the skirt. The other is tea-length and dark green. It’s got a little lacy detail along the boat neck and hem, but otherwise it’s subdued.
“Try them on!” Tessa urges me.
The maroon gown looks pretty nice, but the green dress is killer. It brings out a richness in my brown hair and adds a little more curve to my figure. But …
“Isn’t it kind of … flirty?” I say, tugging at the skirt in front of Tessa’s mirror.
Tessa laughs. “Maybe a bit. But it can’t hurt to be just a little sexy. You’re going to be at this thing with Jack Callahan, after all.”
I shoot her a look. “Don’t you start. I’m trying to get into business with him, not into bed.”
“But it’s too bad you can’t do both, right?” she teases. “Really, I think that dress is perfect. Totally modest, but totally dressed up. And it looks amazing on you. You can see that, right?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Okay. Let’s do something with this hair.”
When Jack’s car arrives, my hair is smoothed back into a French twist, my eyes and lips are lined and shaded, and my heart is beating double-time. I’ve never been to an industry event on this scale. No one would ever have considered inviting me before Jack. Sure, I’ve tagged along with professional contacts, and gone to smaller networking events, but I’m guessing that’s a little different to turning up at a gala with Jack freaking Callahan.
I focus on breathing as the car heads downtown. It’s just a party, I tell myself, but even I know that’s not true. More deals are done over drinks and events than in an office, and if I play it right, tonight could open all kinds of doors for me. This is the big leagues, and I just hope I can pull it off.
The car stops outside the gala venue, and my heart lurches. There’s a freaking red carpet out front. Journalists are snapping photos. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
You can do this. I pull my posture straight and walk up to the lobby as if I do this every day—in heels.
I say my name to the team on the door, and they wave me inside. “Mr. Callahan has already arrived,” one woman with a headset tells m
e. “He said to go on in.”
OK then. Inside, the ballroom is already buzzing, packed with people in fancy tuxes and cocktail dresses. At least Tessa’s dress blends right in. I pluck a glass of champagne off a passing tray and take a gulp to steady my nerves. There’s no sign of Jack so far, so I make my way farther in, smiling vaguely around.
“I know you.” A silver-haired man in a tuxedo stops, shaking a skinny finger at me. “Delaney, isn’t it?”
I wince. “Mr. Carroll. That’s right. I did a project for you last year. Nice to see you,” I add politely, even though he second-guessed my every word and paid all my invoices three months past due.
“Consulting with anyone at the moment?” he asks, looking past me, distracted.
“No, actually, I’m getting an app of my own ready for launch. I’m here with Jack Callahan,” I add, and his head snaps back around
“Are you?” He looks interested.
“Yes, I have a new tech company I’m building,” I say smoothly.
“And Maverick are on board?”
“We’re in talks,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie.
“Huh. You’ll have to tell me about it,” he says, and for once, he’s not looking around for someone more interesting to talk to. Clearly, Callahan’s name carries weight—even when he’s not around.
“Sure,” I say, not about to waste an opportunity. “It’s a next-generation dating app …”
The next half hour flies by. Our circle swells with Mr. Carroll’s associates, and I manage to deliver my totally-not-rehearsed pitch about Perfect Match and all my data. For a little while, I answer questions and can forget about the larger crowd around us. But then the group disperses, and I feel adrift all over again.
A drink. I don’t want too much alcohol in me, but just having a glass to hold might stop me from feeling so awkward. I weave through the crowd to the bar and order a screwdriver. It’s a little colorful, sure, but the juice usually gives me an energy boost. And I can tell I’m going to need a lot of energy to get through tonight.
A guy with slicked-back hair and a suit that looks a bit too large is sitting on a stool near me. He leans over while I wait for my drink. “Well, aren’t you looking fine tonight?”
Ugh. That opener never leads anywhere good. “Thank you,” I say, not quite making eye contact.
He looks me up and down and grins. “We don’t get enough girls of your caliber at things like this. Where’ve you been before now?”
“Probably in my office, working.” Calm but firm. The bartender sets my glass on the counter. Escape is in sight.
But the guy slides off his stool and follows me as I turn away. “All work and no play is no fun,” he says, giving me a leer.
I paste on a smile, because you never know when some bro is the VP of the biggest company in tech. “Actually, I find work pretty fun. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up with—”
“Ah, a hard-to-get type. No need to be skittish.” He sets his hand on my lower back and leans in. It takes all my control not to smack him. Hard. “I’m just here to get to know people, and I think I’d really like to get to know you.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. Excuse me while I hurl.
Tessa was wrong. This dress is really too flirty. I should have come in a sack. I should have come in a nun’s habit.
I look around, trying to figure out how to detach him without making a scene—or leaving him bleeding on the floor. I draw in a breath, and a figure breaks from the crowd to join us. Jack. I never expected to be this happy to see him.
“McKenna,” he says in that warm baritone. He places himself between me and the lech, and the guy has no choice but to back off. “I’m afraid I have to interrupt. We have business to discuss with some very important people. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course, Mr. Callahan,” the guy says quickly. “Totally understand.”
Sure, he’s respectful to him.
Jack steers me away. “Making new friends?”
“Don’t even joke.” I shudder. “You’re lucky you showed up when you did … otherwise you would have been bailing me out of jail on felony assault charges.”
He chuckled. “Now that I would pay to see.”
“Let that asshole near me again and you will.”
“Does this mean you’ll beat me if I tell you how lovely you look tonight?” Jack asked, with an eyebrow raised.
I blush. “No, you’re allowed that one. You’re not looking so bad yourself.”
Understatement of the year. This guy was born to wear a tuxedo. His skin is tanned against the crisp white dress shirt, and as for the fit of his pants …
I shove those thoughts aside. “So who are these important people I need to meet?”
“I didn’t actually have anyone in particular in mind. Let’s have you meet everyone.”
Jack takes me on a tour around the room. It’s like being back in high school, except this time, I’m with the cool kid. Every group we walk up to, someone cries “Jack!” or “Callahan!” There’s a weird sort of preening that happens, even with the men. They’re suddenly self-conscious in his presence, all smiles and compliments, seeking his favor. I guess it makes sense. He’s got to be one of the most successful men in here.
Jack sails through it all like lord of the gala. “Hello, Chuck!” “Good to see you too.” “How’s that new project coming along?” I don’t know if he really does remember something about everyone or he’s just good at faking it.
I wish some of that smooth would rub off on me. “This is McKenna Delaney,” he says, to this CEO and that Chairman of the Board. “You really should hear about this app she’s developing.” I smile and babble something about online dating and matching algorithms. Everyone nods and smiles back, but I can’t tell if it’s sinking in at all or if they’re just being polite. I don’t have a whole lot of charm to turn on. I can pitch with data and research. Facts. Schmoozing is a totally different game. I’m giving it my best, but I can’t help feeling I stick out like a sore thumb.
After a while, I need a break from all the outgoing charm. “I’m just going to duck into the ladies’ room,” I murmur to Jack. “I’ll catch up with you.”
He’s already off to the next conversation before I’ve made it two steps. I hurry to the restrooms. Shutting myself in one of the stalls, I stand there for a moment. Inhale. Exhale. Pull myself together.
I’m doing my best. That’s all anyone can ask from me. And probably I’m not coming across half as awkward as I think. Research shows people hugely overestimate how critical other people are of them.
In other words, everyone’s too busy thinking about themselves to judge me and my dorky social ineptitude.
I hope.
When I reemerge, I find the last person I’d want to see standing by the sinks. The one person who I know takes note of every flaw I’ve got.
“Oh my god, McKenna!” Shelby Summers says, fake bright. She puts down her makeup compact and beams at me. “It’s been too long!”
“It has,” I say. Actually, never again wouldn’t be long enough. What is Shelby even doing here? Tech stuff isn’t her domain.
She dabs a little more powder on her forehead as I wash my hands. “I saw you with Jack Callahan earlier. Nice job, landing that one. Although from what I hear, getting him to stick with you is the tricky part.”
Stick with me? Oh. She thinks—of course she does. “We’re not seeing each other,” I say. “He’s considering funding my company. It’s only business.”
Shelby winks at me in the mirror. “Sure it is, hon. All about finding the right angle. There’s nothing wrong with using attraction to get where we need to go. It’s totally natural. I get it.”
No, she doesn’t, not at all. If she thinks for one second I’m anything like her …
“I pitched to him,” I insist. “He liked the idea. That’s all there was to it.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me. We learned all the same tricks from the research, didn�
��t we?” She tucks her compact back in her purse. “You want to land that funding—just give him a taste of what else he can get for it. Good luck!”
She saunters out. I shove my hands under the dryer. My teeth have clenched so tight my jaw aches. How dare she assume that I’m sleeping my way to the top?
I’m still fuming when I return to the ballroom. “There you are,” Jack appears. He takes one look at my face, and his expression turns serious. “Everything all right?”
“Just fine,” I say, but it comes out abruptly.
“Hmmm.” He glances around. “What do you say we get out of here? You look like you could blow off some steam.”
Hell yes, I do. “As long as there’s food and booze, I’m in.”
Jack grins. “Excellent. I know just the spot.”
11
McKenna
The car takes us across the bridge to Brooklyn, and drops us outside an anonymous warehouse building. “This place isn’t officially open to the public yet,” Jack tells me as we go inside. The outer wall was painted a glossy black, but the inside is all stark white. “They’re still working out the final logistics. But I happen to know the equipment works perfectly.”
Equipment? I look around in trepidation. “Where exactly are we?” I ask as we head past the empty front desk into a hallway lined with doors.
“They’re calling it a ‘virtual reality’ bar,’” Jack says. “It’s the next generation of entertainment.”
“You put on a headset and pretend to get drunk?” I ask dubiously.
He chuckles. “Not quite. The food and drink are real, but the environment is all your own choosing. You can play games, do sports, explore anywhere in the world … all from one room.”
Okay, I’m intrigued. He leads me into a white-walled room, empty except for a table set with a bar menu and the VR equipment. I take out one of the headsets and examine it. I’ve tried out VR before at a conference, but never done a fully immersive experience.
“What do you think?” Jack asks, and I’m surprised to see him looking expectant, like he cares about my answer.
“I’ll give it a shot,” I agree. “As long as there’s a martini in my hand. I can handle pretty much anything if there’s a martini.”