“Let this be a lesson to all the gentlemen out there,” said Pete knowingly. “Or anyone who wears a suit! Could be ladies too. If you want to meet a nice match, just give them your jacket. I know I’m taking notes. A smooth move, Hayes.” He leaned over and playfully elbowed him, like they were sharing an inside joke.

“That’s not what I was trying to—” Hayes started, only to be interrupted by Jenna, who wisely seemed to sense it was time to change course.

“Well, that’s just wonderful,” she said. “All right then, SubwayQTs, we’ll let you get to it! Hayes, Franny, thank you both so much for coming on. We’ll be back after the break with Weather on the Ones, and some summer fashion trends at a price that won’t break the bank.”

“We’re at commercial!” the director yelled, and suddenly a rush of people were on the floor of the studio.

Jenna’s grin shrank the second the cameras were off. “God, that was awkward,” she muttered to Pete, but it was still loud enough for me to hear. And she was right. All I could remember from the last five minutes was Hot Suit essentially dissing me on live TV, my mom’s giant face, and me lying about having my own business. Dear god, why had I said that?

But before I could collapse in a panicked heap, Eliza was there with an arm on my shoulder, guiding me toward the “café.” Priya walked alongside us and fussed with a curl that kept falling in my face.

“Hey, you didn’t say anything about this ‘get-to-know-each-other’ thing,” I said to Eliza. “Not that I ever say no to free coffee, but I thought this was supposed to be quick.”

“Last-minute change,” she said with zero feeling, digging into the mic pack attached to the collar of my dress to switch off my microphone. “Your mics will be off, so we’ll just be cutting back to you from time to time in the next segment.”

“And we’re live in three, two…” Cameras locked in on Hayes and me as we sat facing each other, steaming cups of coffee in front of us. I waited for him to say something—anything—but he just stared at me and the table. “So,” I deadpanned, “come here often?”

He offered what sounded like a genuine laugh. “Oh yeah, every morning. I’m a regular. They know my order and everything. Nonfat caramel macchiato with two shots of espresso and whipped cream. See?” He picked up the cup and showed it to me. It was black, but I played along.

“Impressive,” I said, brows raised.

Then he brought it to his mouth, taking a small sip. “Mmm,” he groaned, all pleasure. “Exactly how I like it.”