“Then you can teach these schmucks something.” He motioned out toward the newsroom.
“Teach them what?”
“How not to lose a girl.”
That was one thing Jack had no expertise in. He’d never figured out how not to lose a girl once she saw something better on the horizon. He could convince a girl that he was a good bet right off the bat—well, every girl excepting Hannah—but he couldn’t make it over the finish line.
“Listen, Irv. The only thing I have to teach is how not to behave like a total asshole.”
Another wild gesture. “That’s what I need you to do.”
“It’s pretty simple. Look up from the phone. Don’t send dick pics.” Jack almost laughed out loud at the face Irv pulled when he said “dick pics.” “Pay attention to what the lady says.”
“None of these knuckleheads know that.” He put his hand on the side of his nose in a thoughtful gesture. “But you’re right. That’s a boring story.”
“I didn’t say it was boring—”
“So, I need you to do all the stupid shit.”
“That seems like a terrible idea.” And deeply unethical. The Catholic schoolboy inside him objected to it.
“Not on tape, of course. That would tip anyone with a brain in her head off to the whole story.”
“I don’t want to do it at all.”
“If you do this—”
“I don’t even know who I’d do this to.” Definitely not Hannah. She would see right through him and rip his balls off. “It’s really mean, don’t you think?”
“You’ll get to write your political story at the same time.” Dammit. He didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted to be taken seriously as a reporter at this site. Not if he wanted to work in his hometown again. If he refused, he’d get a reputation.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to do it for long. One date he could pretend to screw up. He wouldn’t even have to do it with Hannah. He could go out tonight and meet someone else. Or he could just go with it for one date. He could write the story from one date. Then he’d tell Hannah, and she’d understand.
“I want five thousand words. You have two weeks.” Shit. “And make sure it’s a girl you like so it doesn’t seem fake.”
The only girl he’d liked in ages was going to kill him when she found out that he was trying to get her to not like him for a story.
CHAPTER FIVE
HANNAH SURVEYED HER CLOSET like a general surveying the field of battle. She hadn’t been on a date in almost two years, and her fun, going-out clothes had been gradually culled from the walk-in until only daytime and nighttime work clothes remained. Just a few months ago, she’d donated everything that didn’t “spark joy,” and somehow everything she’d ever worn when she was with Noah had ended up in the box going to Goodwill.
Her closet purge presented a huge problem now that she had a date—one she had to impress—on this fine Friday night. Jack had texted her a few minutes after her fateful meeting with Annalise. As though the universe had heard her silent, screamed pleas not to have to ask him out herself, he asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him tonight.
On the one hand, she could have used more than one day to formulate her plan of attack. Like, instead of actually dating him, what if she just told him that she needed a fake boyfriend for a few weeks? Jack seemed like the kind of guy who would be game. But part of her resisted that idea—the same part that wanted to know what it would be like to actually be in a relationship with a guy like him. One who seemed to be thinking about her—more than about getting in her pants—a guy who seemed to care about what she thought about things.
She flipped through three nearly identical black dresses before sitting on the bright yellow rug on her closet floor.
“This is dumb,” she said to no one in particular. She usually tried not to talk to herself—something her mother did all the time. Her bitter, lonely, stuck mother. The one she’d sworn she would never be like. But ever since Noah, she’d taken down bitter and was rounding the corner on lonely. The only way she would avoid stuck was if she dated Jack long enough to get a promotion. If she was professionally successful, she wouldn’t have time to worry about the fact that she was going to be alone for the rest of her life. By choice. Definitely by choice.
If she didn’t find something to wear, she’d end up going out with Jack in her bra and panties—definitely not nice enough for the restaurant he was taking her to. Her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when he’d suggested it, and she’d just stopped herself from asking how he would afford the Michelin star restaurant on his salary.
That was what really kept her from inviting him into her scheme. He seemed to be serious enough about her to blow a month’s rent on a first date.
Not that he wasn’t good at his job. She’d watched a bunch of his videos, and they were great. She just didn’t know if they were being-able-to-afford-Alinea-for-a-first-date great.
His suggestion had brought up a lot of guilt, too. She was agreeing to date Jack only because she wanted a promotion. This wasn’t a real romantic evening; this was the beginning of a two-week-long con. It wasn’t about getting to know Jack or building intimacy.
This date was about baiting the hook so he couldn’t help but bite. Too bad she wasn’t in possession of any fancy lures, er, clothes that would hijack her date’s hormones for the two weeks and make it so that nothing that came out of her mouth would turn him off.
She was still sitting on the floor when Sasha walked in with a vodka soda and a glass of wine. She’d had to come clean with her best friend about the previous Saturday night—the tacos, the kiss, the texts. They shared a two-bedroom condo in Bucktown, owned by Sasha’s parents, and it would be impossible to keep an actual date from Sasha. Besides, right now she needed the liquid courage and a wardrobe consult.
Hannah motioned for the vodka soda. It wouldn’t do to greet Jack with stained teeth.
“What’s wrong?” Sasha’s forehead wrinkled, so Hannah knew she must really look like a mess. “Why aren’t you ready?”
“I have nothing to wear.” She took a swig of the cold, fizzy drink. “Everything I own is for work.”
“Want to borrow something from me?”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable in any of your clothes.”
“Why not?” Sasha looked puzzled, and it made the crinkle in her forehead deeper.
“Stop doing that with your face, or it will stay that way.”
Sasha smoothed out her forehead with her finger. “My clothes fit you.”