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“The Ashton Kutcher thing is more likely,” he says.

Now I’m really laughing. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And you must really like that Easter guy.”

“I hate when you do that.”

“What?”

“Using a name you know is wrong.”

“You love it, Hornet. You can admit it.”

He issoannoying. “I feel really sorry for whatever girl you really do fall in love with. She is in for a truckload of misery.”

“You know it,” he says, smiling. “I’m not sure if she’s really out there.”

“I think she must be,” I say. “I mean, God made you, so he’d have to make a woman who’s such a doozy that she can handle you, right?”

Jake whistles. “Howhotmust she be?”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’ll stop calling him Easter,” Jake says.

“Wait,” I say. “Why would you do that?”

He nods. “I mean, you do really like him, so if he’s endgame, I should make it easier on you to keep me around.”

Endgame.

It’s a weird word to use, but I’m worried at how much I like the sound of it.

16

EASTON

The board wants to change our meeting plans, and I understand why, but I’m not about to give on that. Then it’ll be one thing after another.

I decide to call my parents’ bluff.

And the board’s.

They all show up at the Red Horse. That’s a step on the right path. I’m a little shocked and a little relieved that Bea’s there as well. It would be harder to convince the board that she’s the woman I know she is if she chickened out on facing them.

But Bea is here, eyes bright, head high.

After everyone has found a seat, I stand. “You all made it. I’m delighted.” I force a smile, but I hope it doesn’t show. “Today, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering the exact same meal for every one of you. It’s the Japanese A5 Wagyu filet mignon. It’s been wet aged, and it’s the single most expensive steak you can order. It’s not even on the menu, generally speaking, but I wanted to make sure my board gotthe very best.”

It starts right away, of course. “But I don’t eat redmeat,” someone says. Someone else sounds pretty grumpy when he says, “I only like my steak paired with red wine, and we’re not doing wine because it’s a working lunch.” The complaints grow from there.

I hold up my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve also ordered two sides for the table, the Hipster fries which are covered in bacon, parmesan cheese, and these amazing shishito peppers, and the Brussels sprouts, which the chef assured me is a healthy option. And each of you will have the same appetizer as well—the tuna and salmon tartare.” As the complaints grow, my smile becomes less forced. “It’s fine,” I say, raising my voice so that they can hear me. “Those are the most expensive things on the menu. You’re sure to like them.”

“But Idon’tlike Brussels sprouts,” Mr. Dressel says. “Not when I was a kid, not with bacon, not ever.”

I slam my hands down on the table. “You know, this is exactly what you wanted to do for my women’s line.”

Everyone falls silent.

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