“Why not? You don’t believe it only because you’ve been indoctrinated to think differently. But if you stopped for a second to question the scientific dogmas that have been force-fed to you since childhood, maybe you’d see there are other possible explanations.”

“Like the Earth being flat.” I laugh. “Sorry, I don’t see that as an actual possibility.”

Carla’s face contracts into an indignant grimace, and she gets up, throwing her napkin on the table. “Oh my gosh, you’re another fanatical of the”—she makes air quotes—“common sense club.” She throws two twenty-dollar bills on top of her discarded napkin and adds, “I’m sorry, this isn’t working out for me.”

As she storms out of the restaurant, I can only think, well at least this one paid for her half of the meal.

***

This time, I don’t tell Garrett about my date debacle. The last thing I need is for Medusa to find out. Speaking of which…Vivian is unusually AWOL for the first two days of the following week. I have to wait until Tuesday night to bump into her as we’re both leaving the office—and she positively knocks the breath out of me.

I’ve seen her dressed casually before. First, at Garrett and Leslie’s engagement party, then for the date with the windbag. But tonight’s outfit is a TKO! She’s wrapped in a tight black dress that clings to her body like sin and lets me see every curve and plane. Her hair is loose over one shoulder, all glossy and wavy. And the shoes… How many stilettos does she own?

I enter the elevator after her, the familiar scent of vanilla and patchouli hitting my nostrils stronger than usual, as if she’d just sprayed herself.

In the most casual tone I can muster, I ask, “Out on a date?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Isn’t the agency’s policy to set dates on the weekends?”

If I have to skip all the Knicks games to meet strange women, why does she get to go out on a random Tuesday night?

“For first dates, sure.” Vivian flashes me a smug little smirk. “But since this is a second date, we can meet up whenever we like.”

Second date? The announcement stings, and for a reason tragically unrelated to my professional housing situation.

“So, you’ve met The One?” I ask, nervous, needing more information. “Should I start packing boxes?”

“It’s early days still. But Roger is a wonderful man.”

Roger. What kind of name is that? Fit for a rabbit at best.

“Our first date was last Saturday,” Vivian continues. “And we didn’t want to wait two weeks to meet again. This weekend I would’ve been too worried about Tegan and her visit to her father, so we said, what the heck, why not go sooner?”

“Is he a good kisser?”