Page 16 of Minted

The woman swallows awkwardly. “Sorry. I misunderstood.” She makes big eyes at Barbara and walks off, finally.

Barbara yanks her hand away.

“Sorry. It seemed like a good way to get rid of her.”

“Listen, if I know your goals—what kind of girl you’re looking for—then I can help you narrow these matches down. We can also fine tune your profile so that you’re attracting the right kind of girl.”

“No wonder you’re so busy at work,” I say. “You know a lot about this kind of stuff.”

“Social media’s my whole job.”

“Whereas I’m a complete dope at it.”

“It’s become a little too much a part of our lives, I think.” She pulls out a notepad. “Now, tell me what you want to find.” She looks up at me, and I can’t help noticing how cute her expression is when she’s working. Her lips are pursed. Her eyes are alert and intent. She’s so serious that I want to just. . .boop—touch the end of her nose.

Which is ridiculous. She’s a competent businesswoman, a friend, and she’s doing me a huge favor. The last thing I need to do is patronize her. “I want a girl who’s smart. Competent at whatever she does.”

She’s scribbling, but she shakes her head slowly. “That’ll narrow down two thirds of our applicants.”

“Not seriously, surely.”

“You’re right. I’m being unfair and catty.” She looks up. “And?”

“A sense of humor,” I say. “Common sense. I don’t want to date someone I’ll also need to babysit.”

“What’s your age parameter?”

I blink.

“How young a woman will you date?”

“Oh.” I hadn’t really thought about it. “Thirty?”

She nods. “That’s reasonable. It will also eliminate a lot…” She picks up my phone, uses my face to unlock it, and then starts tapping. “Okay, when I select for some college, and when I remove anyone under thirty. . .” She swivels it back around. “Fifty-eight matches.”

“That was like magic.”

She shrugs. “It’s almost like I’ve been online dating for twenty years.”

I can’t help my sarcasm. “So clearly it works well. . .”

When she sets my phone down, it looks like she’s miffed.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, though. I just mean that—”

She drops her pen. “There are no guarantees in life, and certainly there aren’t any in dating either, Bentley. If that’s what you want, you’ll need to talk to someone about an arranged marriage.”

“Whoa,” I say. “Calm down.”

“Sorry.” She picks her pen up. “Sometimes some of my divorce bitterness just. . .” She waves her hand through the air. “Escapes.”

“Good to know.” I throw my hands around too as if to dissipate it. “And for me, sometimes rich entitlement just sort of. . .bubbles over. When that happens, maybe just swat at it and we’ll be even.”

“Swat it?” she asks. “Or you?”

“Either,” I say. “And you didn’t ask about this, but I’d really like to find someone who doesn’t like me because I’m rich.”

She freezes and looks up at me. “Bentley.” She grimaces. “I’m not sure that—”

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