Before I can answer with an even firmer no, a boxy security guard stalks over, drops a hand to Nova’s shoulder, and barks at her, “I told you, you’re not welcome here. I don’t know how you slipped in, but I’m going to escort you out once more. You must actually pay to attend the conference.”

She wails, changing her approach yet again. “Flynn, don’t let them take me away. I want to marry you. I’ll let you spank me. I’ll let you bite me. Pull my hair. Call me names. You can dress me up like a doll. See? That’s five things. Just marry me. I’ll give you all the free pizza you want.”

Oops. Guess that mic was still hot.

I give her a goodbye wave as I deadpan, “That’s okay. I can afford pizza.”

“I’ll be in the lobby at your office to propose to you again. I love you madly. I have ever since you were on the cover of Business Insight’s ‘Hottest Tech Nerds Under Thirty’ edition.”

“That was a good photo,” I say drily, thinking of the shot from two years ago when I was twenty-seven. “So that’s understandable.”

The security guard yanks the woman’s hands behind her back. “Time to go, miss. No pizza where you’re going.” He turns to me. “I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Parker.”

“Hey, no worries. It’s all in a day.”

As he drags her away, she twists around to face me and shouts, “Pepperoni. You can eat pepperoni off my stomach.”

“Tempting, but I’ve never cared for pepperoni.” I give the latest gold digger a “good riddance” wave. Props to her—she used a different angle before throwing herself at me.

Once I exit the hotel on Sixth Avenue, I pop in some earbuds. Time to use the shield of the modern New Yorker, since it’s clearly another day, another marriage proposal.

Maybe I sound calloused. Maybe I am.

I have nothing against marriage, nothing against women, and nothing against love. In fact, I wouldn’t mind settling down one day. But I don’t know how I’ll ever find the right one. As soon as someone knows who I am, all I am is a bank account.

Yeah, yeah, woe is me. Grab the violin and sing a lament. I deserve zero sympathy for my mega first-world problem. Poor little rich boy can’t find love.

I don’t expect anyone to feel sorry for me. I’m one of the luckiest bastards around, but being ridiculously successful sure does make dating hard. I honestly can’t remember the last time a woman was interested in me—just me, and not my wallet.

Today’s impromptu proposal might be the epitome of my biggest dating challenge because I wasn’t just hit on. I wasn’t merely pitched. I was dug.

Gold dug.

And I’m tired of it.

2

Sabrina

Today I will get rid of the albatross.

I will extradite it from my life and make some moolah to boot.

I gaze up at the sign on the glass door for the consignment shop in the West Village. This shop has the highest ratings on Yelp for its offers on never-been-used items. The sign Once More is etched in calligraphy on the glass.