Though, as far as I knew, there was no evidence that such a club would have long-term success, since a big part of the popularity of bars and clubs had to do with the dynamics of dating life.

It might not be politically correct to say, but men—historically—liked looking at pretty women. And women, by and large, liked getting all pretty in the hopes of finding a partner.

It was biologic.

Even if current statistics said young women had a significantly lower interest in dating than any generation before—especially when compared to men of the same age group—I was hedging my bets on more singles being open to meeting people in person after too many failed years using dating apps.

“Why are you looking so down in the dumps, huh? You should be celebrating. You’re this close,” she said, pinching together two fingers with her bright purple acrylic nails, “to having this deal in the bag. But you’re sitting here looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

“I’m happy about the deal.”

“Yeah, you look over the fuckin’ moon,” Teresa said, rolling her eyes. “You know what I think? You need to get out of here. When’s the last time you did anything other than work and sleep?”

“I also eat and go to the gym.”

“Real exciting life you got there. Come on. You’re a man in your prime. You’ve got boatloads of money. You walk around… looking like that,” she said, waving at me. “You should be having fun.”

“Are you saying you think I’m… attractive, Teresa?” I asked, teasing.

“Oh, please. You’re a walking billboard ad,” she said, waving her hand like I was being ridiculous. “Or, like one of those guys on the covers of those books my girlfriend is always reading. You know the ones. Lots of steam, and the kind of possessive men our mothers would warn us against dating in real life.”

“Are you saying your mother would warn you against me?”

“Eh, you’re alright. I mean, would it kill you to spend more than a night with a woman? Or, heaven forbid, find one you love and respect enough to marry and make babies with? But how are you even gonna find one, when all you do is sit in this office?”

She had a point.

I mean, not about finding just any woman.

But the answer to my current distraction problem lay in one particular woman.

“You’re right,” I said, closing my files and arranging them into a stack on my desk.

“Wait. What?”

“You’re right.”

“I mean, I know I’m right. I’m always right. But what am I right about right now?”

“I’m going out tonight.”