He laughs out loud, then stops. “Oh, you’re serious, aren’t you?” He falters and stares down at his shoes to hide his grin. In any other circumstances, my cheeks would’ve flushed. But today has been intense—I feel beyond embarrassment at this point. He composes himself and extends his hand.

“I’m Blake,” he says. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Eliza.” I give him my sturdiest handshake, the one I give to my wholesale suppliers who try to jack up their prices.

“So, Eliza, tell me about yourself. I might want to be in the running.”

I straighten up and flip my hair over my shoulder. “I run a jewelry business with my sister. We have a store in Williamsburg.”

“Jewelry? Me, too,” he says.

“No way, what do you do?” I ask. The industry is on the smaller side; I’d expect to run into people I know in the Diamond District on 47th Street, but not necessarily uptown at this preppy dive bar.

“I founded Bond and Time,” he says simply, like that’s not a big deal or anything. “It’s like—”

“Rent the Runway for high-end watches,” I finish, cheeks flushing.

“So you’ve heard of me,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

I make a sound that’s probably not so ladylike out of the corner of my mouth. “I mean, I’ve heard of your company. Probably at an industry thing. Or maybe I follow your company on Instagram, I can’t remember.”

I definitely follow them on Instagram.

He shrugs. “I don’t have anything to do with that. Social media isn’t my thing. I don’t even have my own account. I outsourced that to a PR agency. Do you think they’re doing a good job?”

“You could increase your followers and engagement,” I say.

Once, a few years back, when Mercury must have gone retrograde and life got topsy-turvy, I briefly dated a string of guys like Blake—the kind who wear dry-clean-only suits regularly and have a signature cologne. I learned that they secretly enjoy being called out on their shit. So I hold my gaze and wait for his response.

He nods deeply. “Noted. So, why exactly are you holding a casting call to find a boyfriend?”

I consider telling him the truth. Blake doesn’t seem like one of the dopey men in khakis across the bar. Plus, as a fellow entrepreneur, I’m sure he’d go to any length possible to ensure his business will succeed. I’m on the verge of explaining the scheme Carmen and I cooked up, but then I lose my nerve. He’s too cute to mess things up with.

“I need a date to bring as a plus-one to a friend’s wedding this weekend,” I offer.