Contrary, Quite: Did you taste the fried chicken at Momofuku, yet?

Zoey: Not yet.

Contrary, Quite: Don’t contact me again until you do. I mean it. You’re partially dead to me, starting . . . now.

* * *

Tess Riley was my first client, and her Best Foot Forward had ended in success. It wasn’t easy to steer her in the right direction, though; it took several phone sessions to help her realize it was okay to be specific about what she wanted in a partner. New York City isn’t exactly running low on single men, but she felt bad eliminating anyone before she’d met them. I told her #FOMO would paralyze her, and then I worked my tail off helping her pursue her eventual match.

All I know about my second client is her name (Bree Garrett), her age (twenty-five), and that she received a Sweet Nothings gift card from her friends on Galentine’s Day. Something must have happened between then and now that prompted her into using it, though based on Clifford’s memo, it’s also possible the gift cards simply weren’t working before. I’ve decided not to read her profile before meeting her. I don’t want to be influenced by any labored-over answers; I want spontaneous, combustible stuff so I can help project an authentic, flawed-but-lovable self into the world in the hopes of hooking her an authentic, flawed-but-lovable man.

From the Freelancer’s Handbook: Do not present a “perfect” image. No one will trust it. (Nor should they.) Think of that old interview question: “What is your greatest flaw?” And the interviewee says, “I’m just too darn organized.” Don’t be the organized guy. Add a tiny blemish here and there.

My phone buzzes as I’m headed out of the café bathroom.

A text from Sweet Nothings: Incoming. Cupid is as Cupid does!

A split-second later, the call arrives. I let it ring twice, take a deep breath, plaster a smile on my face, and launch my Calm Professional voice.

“Hi, this is Zoey with Sweet Nothings. How may I help you?”

“Basically, my dick picker is broken,” Bree Garrett says.

Despite years of Mary’s non sequiturs, I’m unprepared for Bree’s opening statement.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I manage to reply, while suppressing a coughing fit. “But the good news is, today we start healing what’s broken.”

“How does this whole thing work?” Bree asks. “Are you my Yentl?”

I’m pretty sure she means “yenta,” but even that word is wrong, and I blame Fiddler on the Roof for it.