Page 20 of The Hot Mess

“How will you know? When it happens?” I ventured to ask, sipping my mimosa. “I’m just trying to get as many different perspectives as possible to present to our customers. That way everyone can find something they relate to.”

“When what happens?”

“Whatever you’re on the site for…I don’t know. Love?”

He leaned back with a laugh. “I don’t know that love is exactly what I’m out to find. But if it happens…”

“It happens. Got it. Okay.” I slammed my book shut and took a longer drink.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” I answered, thinking it over. “Not really. I just…I guess I don’t understand men. And I feel obligated to say that…because if I’m feeling that way, other women out there in the dating world must be feeling the same.”

“You’re in the dating world?” He raised a brow. “How about we call this a date then?”

I blushed a little, still not used to being hit on so openly, especially by men like him.

“I’m afraid this meeting needs to be entirely professional,” I told him.

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret.” He leaned over the table with an arrogant grin. “Men? We don’t know what we want. We only know what we don’t want. And anything beyond that…we’re waiting for a woman to show us what it is we’re wanting.”

I winced, trying to make sense of it. “Wait. So you’re saying it’s a woman’s job to tell you what you want?”

“She can’t just tell us,” he scoffed. “The right womanshowsyou what you want. She makes it so abundantly clear in the way it feels and tastes that you know you can’t live without it.”

“That seems like an awfully vague generalization. How many women have done that for you?”

“None,” he stated plainly. “That’s why I’m still out there searching, I guess.”

I stopped myself from telling him not to hold his breath. It bothered me that women were supposed to be so sure of everything. But men were allowed to be aloof and flaky as a croissant, without apology.

Mike didn’t say much of anything during the interview that sat right with me, but I decided it was still a valuable perspective to present…with the right spin. I would work on that later. As I left the restaurant, I decided I had done enough work for the day. Or at least I deserved to mix some work with a little pleasure. After all, it was my first day as a non-virgin. I felt the need to celebrate somehow.

I pulled out my phone and flipped to Isabella in my contacts.

“Speak,” she said curtly when she answered.

“Oh, hey…Isabella. This is Jada Meadows.”

“Oh, right. The Heartstring girl.”

“That’s me!” I chirped. “I was wondering…what are you doing right now? I’m downtown and if you’re around…I thought maybe we could meet up and grab lunch or something. To, you know, hang out…but also, I can get more of your thoughts on how things are going with the app.”

She was quiet for a while. Too long. Enough to make me regret calling her up so casually.

“Where are you?” she finally asked with a despondent sigh.

I glanced up to the nearest street signs and rattled off my location.

“Alright, meet me at the corner of Broadway and Spring,” she shot back. “I’ll be there in ten.”

She hung up before I could say anything else, and it took a full twenty minutes for her to arrive…afterI showed up at the designated meeting spot. I shrugged it off, reminding myself that chicks as cool as her could afford to make people wait on her. Just as men like Mike Rosner could afford to be picky and aloof. And Jack could afford to be blase about the night we spent together. I was determined to get used to it.

It was hard to chastise Isabella anyway when she showed up looking like a vintage supermodel. If that was the kind of effortless beauty and grace Jack grew up around, I shuddered to think what he saw when he looked at me. Whatever it was had to have been what sent him running that morning. Or at least part of it.

“Follow me,” was the only greeting Isabella gave.

And I did. I followed her in and out of a slew of shops I had never dared go into before. Even with my new persona, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable going in without her by my side. She barked orders at shopkeepers, even more forcefully than Victoria had, and commanded everyone to her will, including me. All the stores were ridiculously overpriced and filled with the most outrageous fashions. But somehow, everything I thought looked silly on the hanger looked amazing on me. If Isabella picked it out, that was. The few chances I tried to take on my own didn’t work out. She had a special knack for knowing what would work, and what wouldn’t.

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