Page 13 of The Singles Club
“About that…” Isabella sank a little lower in her chair. “The bet still isn’t over.”
“Whatexactlydoes the bet entail?”
“That she’ll convince you to go on a date with her by this Friday.”
I let out a chuckle and turned on my computer. “I wouldn’t worry about losing that bet if I were you. I’m not interested in dating Vivian or anyone else.”
“Really?” Isabella squinted her eyes at me. “Because from where I was sitting, you seemedveryinterested, even to the point of performing a semi-strip show in front of a whole crowd of people.”
“That was purely business-related.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Daily appointments?” I asked, wanting to avoid getting any deeper into this conversation.
She went over the list, but I could barely concentrate. I was a bit fascinated with this theory and wanted to know more. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What is this theory Vivian came up with?”
Isabella went on to explain something about chemical reactions and the three stages of love… and how she figured out a formula to get anyone you desired.
“She really doesn’t believe love exists?”
Isabella shook her head.
“And you do?” I asked. “I thought you weren’t into the whole kids-and-white-picket-fence lifestyle.”
“You don’t have to want kids and marriage to believe in love.”
“True.”
Isabella tilted her head. “What about you? Do you believe in love?”
I pushed down the ache in my chest at her question. “Yes,” I said quickly before returning to my monitor and began scanning through my emails. “That will be all for now.”
Isabella knew better than to press me further and stood up from the chair. “Oh, and your mother called again and said to stop avoiding her and that youaregoing to be in the wedding, even if she has to fly out and drag you there herself.”
I smiled. “I know. I’ll call.”
* * *
Vivian
I had gone through forty-two online applications for the makeover project, and there were about fifty more unread ones sitting in my inbox. I couldn’t believe this many people wanted to subject themselves to a public before-and-after makeover feature.
There was a soft knock on my open door. Becky stood there with hands clasped together so tight that I could see the whites of her knuckles. “Are you busy?”
Yes.
“No, come on in.”
Words tumbled out of her the moment she sat down. “So, I did what you said and turned down Eli’s invitation to hang out Sunday and told him I had other plans.”
I clicked onto another application. “And what was his reply?”
“Do you want me to read our text exchange?”
