Page 32 of The Tryst

Then the description says…An American in London.

My breath catches. Forget tingly. I’m hot all over as I reply:I hope I’ll find out someday.

My comments are quiet while I get ready for bed, but when I slide under the covers, there’s a new one.

From him.

Dirty hope spins in me.

It’s three in the morning in London. I don’t even know if Nick’s there right now, but if so, he doesn’t sleep much.

And I’m not sure how I’ll get to sleep, either, given his reply.

You will.

12

MY PROPOSAL

Nick

Some women are just irresistible.

On my way to a meeting in Kensington a few days after I make the profile on The Makeover, I indulge in another hit of Lola as I step onto the Tube. Once the doors close, I click on her latest social media post—a how-to video on fixing a makeup mistake like smeared eyeliner. I watch it, then I leave a heart.

But I swear that red emoticon mocks me.

As well it should.

I roll my eyes at myself. I’m not a teenager. I’m not a fucking twentysomething. Yet here I am, posting goddamn emoticons for a woman.

I don’t even like social media. I only got an account to flirt with her. Since, well, I fucking love flirting with her.

Still, this heart shit has to stop.

Except, algorithms love engagement. I ought to know. I made the money to start my VC firm with an app I created—an app fueled by a sorting algorithm. I went on to sell it for many, many figures.

Engagement matters in this digital world, and Lola’s vying not just for relevance, but dominance. With some reluctance that it’s come to this, I add a smiley face to the heart.

But that’s enough.

A pack of men in suits march onto the train at the next stop, while I click over to DM her. It’s become our thing these last few days.

DistractibleGuy: Hey, you…I’m on the tube surrounded by bankers. I know they’re bankers because they’re wearing navy.

She’s a busy woman, so I don’t expect her to reply right away. I toggle to my email and check some contracts Kyle just forwarded to me. But as the train rattles underground, a notification from her pops up.

Lola: What are YOU wearing, though?

DistractibleGuy: Is that your shameless attempt to get me to send a selfie?

Lola: Is that an option?

DistractibleGuy: Probably not, but points to you for effort.

Lola: I want more than points.

DistractibleGuy: I’ll give you a visual instead.

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