“This is what you get for thinking so little of me. No, I did not fall for some line from some woman at a bar. I just met her at the bar, that’s all. And there was no line at all; I’m the one who started talking to her, not the reverse. And … we talked for a while, and she was funny, and smart, and interesting, and she kept making fun of me, and … it was great. That’s all.”

Max’s phone buzzed again.

Ok, I won’t expect a blond guy to show up at my door Friday then. My Monday is busy—tons of meetings with clients and potential clients. Now on my way to a local bar association thing to network, even though I wish I was on my couch watching bad reality TV

Wes waved his hand at Max’s phone.

“That little meeting at the bar was obviously not all, because if it was, why do you have that schmoopy look on your face? Did she take you back to her room after she got you to hit on her at the bar?”

Max rolled his eyes.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. No one went back to anyone’s room. I didn’t even get her last name—then, anyway. But then—last week when I was back in L.A., I gave a speech at a luncheon. I looked around the room when I was up onstage, and there she was.” He held up a hand to forestall Wes’s conspiracy theory. “She was not stalking me; she’s a lawyer, she just moved to L.A. to start her own firm, and one of the board members of the center has known her for years and invited her to the luncheon.”

Wes took the remote back and changed the channel.

“I see. How did you get this poor woman’s number, then? Did you fall that hard for her after a chat at a bar and seeing her from across a hotel ballroom?”

Max picked up his phone to text her back.

Good luck! You’ll be fantastic.

He looked up from his phone to Wes, and tried to wipe the schmoopy look off of his face. Whatever that meant.

“I remembered the name of her law firm and looked it up.” Wes didn’t need to know about the cake. “And long story short, we went out Saturday night.”

Wes’s eyes widened.

“Oh shit. You really are running for president, aren’t you?”

Max set his beer down.

“What? No, what are you talking about? How did you get from here to there?”

Wes tore off another slice of pizza.

“Gotta wife up to run for president. Everybody knows that.”

Max balled up a napkin and tossed it at him.