Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I order a gin and tonic. Because it’s too hot, even in the air conditioning. Because I need the bitter quinine and the sugar to balance it. Because I don’t have that sort of balance myself.
He’s my perfect match.
He’s handsome, successful, polite.
And I feel nothing.
Through every bite of dinner, every sip of gin and tonic, the last ice cube, I feel nothing.
“Deanna?” Xavier finishes his glass of wine. His second glass. A reasonable amount of alcohol for a first date.
A drink or two helps ease awkwardness. Any more and people start crossing boundaries, inviting closeness that feels wrong, or sleeping together early.
Sometimes, that works. Usually, it doesn’t. Of course, we don’t know if that’s correlation or causation. It might be that people who want casual relationships sleep together quickly. It’s probably that.
What would happen if I slept with Xavier? Maybe it would nail down our funding. But I can’t stomach the thought. Even though he’s handsome and polite, I don’t want him to touch me.
That must be wrong. After all, he’s a 95 percent match, and the algo works for everyone else, and I’m unattached now. I guess.
I should want him.
“Are you all right?” His voice pulls me into the moment. That, too, is just right: the perfect mix of soft and firm. He’s concerned, but he’s casual about it.
“That’s a big question.” I reach for my gin and tonic, but there’s nothing left. “I’d be better if I had another drink.”
He studies me carefully. I see it again—the concern in his dark eyes. For a split second, I feel flattered. Then I remember the concern in River’s dark eyes, and I feel sick.
A double maybe. Lexi drinks her way to fun. I can do it, too.
“Okay.” Xavier nods and hails the server. The guy nearly runs to the table, takes our drink orders, and disappears.
He does own the hotel. But what hotel magnate gets into the start-up business? Start-ups are actively trying to destroy the hotel business.
Maybe that’s his move. Maybe he wants to acquire the next Airbnb before it takes over the world.
Or maybe he’s interested in money, wherever it comes from, or he wants to diversify his portfolio, or he always wanted a hotel for some reason.
If he is my perfect match, he has a reason. A good reason, but I can’t bring myself to ask. I just don’t care.
I force a smile. “I’m sorry I’m not a great date.” Under the table, I press my palms together. Something to steady me. “I didn’t know this was—”
“A setup? Yeah, I had a feeling.” He smiles, that same warm, friendly smile, only with a little more knowledge. “My sister does this all the time.”
“Oh? Is MeetCute not working for you?”
“Will you take offense if I say I don’t use it?”
A few weeks ago, maybe. Right now, I see his point. “No.”
“It’s not personal.” His voice stays soft and clear. “It’s not the app and it’s not you.”
“You don’t believe we’re meant to be as a ninety-five percent match?” It’s a really high number, especially for me.
“No, I do,” he says. “You’re a smart, ambitious woman. You’re beautiful. I could see the two of us enjoying time together, spending days working and nights playing games. But it wouldn’t matter if you were the world’s best match. If you are the world’s best match for me. I’m not ready.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It should be an insult, since he’s supposed to want me. It should be a relief, since I’m not feeling this, either.
Is it really that simple?
He’s not ready.
I’m not ready.
The stars don’t align.
Thankfully, the server saves me from a response. He sets our drinks on the table, turns, and leaves us in awkward silence.
Well, awkward silence and Bach.
Dad’s favorite.
He holds up his glass of wine to toast. “Can I tell you something?”
“Why not?”
“She asked me to vet the app by testing it, even though I told her I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. I did ask a friend to look at the code, though. He said it’s brilliant.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever happens, I’ll tell her this was a fabulous date. I’ll insist we sign.”
“Can you do that?”
“We’re fifty/fifty partners,” he says. “But she’ll agree. She likes you. She sees herself in you.”
“But she still set us up?”
His laugh is hearty and honest. Exactly the way someone should act on a date. “It is strange. I think she blames herself.”
“For what?”
“My divorce.”
He’s divorced. That’s a bad sign, statistically speaking. People who are divorced are more likely to divorce again. But then men who were married are more likely to make another lifelong commitment.
Otherwise, he’s perfect on paper.
He’s perfect on paper—according to my criteria—and I can’t bring myself to feel anything.
Maybe I could if things were different, if I had access to my heart.
“My ex-wife confided in her,” he says. “About her feelings for someone else. She knew things were over before I did.”