“And they’re . . . hot? Eligible? Gullible?” I ask.

She makes a face. “Well, we’ll see. ‘Hot’ can be a flexible term.”

I take off my engagement ring and tuck it into the zippered compartment of my wallet.

I have to hand it to Carmen, Dorrian’s is a smart choice, albeit not one I would’ve ever made myself. The bar is an old Upper East Side watering hole that briefly shot to national fame in 1986 when it was splashed across tabloids in conjunction with the “Preppy Killer”—a prep school kid got drinks with his date here, then dragged her into Central Park to rape and murder her. While the bar is stuck in the past, there’s nothing openly morbid about it today: tables are topped with cheery red-and-white gingham cloth, framed black-and-white photos depict Kennedy lookalikes sailing or playing polo, and felt Ivy League pennants hang from the walls. It’s essentially the townie bar for people who grew up in this money-soaked neighborhood and never left.

My first instinct is to sidle up to the bar for a drink, but Carmen stops me.

“Someone will buy you one,” she says confidently.

I don’t really get nervous on first dates anymore; the first fifty or so sort of beat that out of me. But there’s something spine-tingling about knowing I could potentially cross paths with my future fake fiancé tonight. Carmen was right—I feel like the Bachelorette. There could be a simple way out of this mess.

Carmen’s first match appears in the well-worn wooden doorway. He looks like a walking human khaki and introduces himself as Keith. He runs a hand through his dark blond hair.

“I hear you need a plus-one for your cousin’s wedding this weekend?” he asks.

“She does,” Carmen purrs. “Why don’t you tell her a little about yourself?”

He pivots toward me as Carmen whispers in my ear, “I’m going to go round up more troops,” and slips past me.

“Well, uh, I’m getting my MBA right now,” he offers up.

“Cool,” I say, nodding. I do not think this is cool. I studied marketing and entrepreneurship at NYU’s undergrad business school, and the students fell into two clear categories: the first, like Keith, wanted to get MBAs, launch management careers, and speak in corporate buzzwords for the rest of their lives; the second, like me, wanted to gain just enough business sense to launch a company, then get the eff out.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“You ever think about getting your MBA?”