Page 17 of Minted

“That anyone will like me unless they know?” That’s what I was afraid of. I’m a little pushy and a lot opinionated, and I only have a few friends. I’m pretty sure they’re friends with me because they’ve known me for so long.

“No.” She’s smiling as she shakes her head. “You idiot.”

“What?”

“Bentley, I’m saying that as soon as they meet you, they’re going to know. So even if you pick people who think you’re only making two hundred a year, as soon as you meet them, it’s game over.”

“Why?”

Barbara opens her mouth and closes it. “Well.” She picks up my keys, which are resting on the table, and clicks the button. My Bugatti chirps. “You have at least three cars that cost over a hundred grand. And.” She points at my cufflinks, which are diamond studded. “Or.” She points at my jacket, slung over the empty stool next to us. You can just barely make out the Gucci label.

“Who looks at the tag on the inside of a man’s suit coat?”

She shrugs. “People who make less than a few million a year don’t buy Tom Ford suits. Or Armani suits. Or Hermes or Luis Vuitton dress shoes.”

“I don’t even go shopping for myself. I pay someone to pick things.”

“That’s another thing you really shouldn’t say. Everyone else in the world does their own shopping.” She looks serious.

“I knew it,” I say. “I’m a remedial case, and you’re rethinking our deal.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not, but you might want to consider switching cars with Dave for your dates, and maybe buying a few things that are reasonably priced to wear.”

I reach for my keys, to put them in my pocket, and she grabs my hand and twists so that she can better see my wrist.

“Bentley. For the love of—your watch costs more than most people’s cars.”

“It was a gift,” I say. “And would regular people even know?”

“They’ll know Cartier is expensive, or at least, the gold-diggers will.”

I sigh. “Fine.”

“You don’t even know where to go shopping for cheaper things, do you?”

I hate that I have to agree with her, but. . .

“Look.” She glances at her watch. “I was going to spend the morning—never mind. I can be a bit late to work, since I’ll be at that holiday party tomorrow. So let’s just go grab a few essentials, but then you have to give me a ride to work.”

“Deal.”

“I’ll scroll through these fifty matches on the way to the store, and we’ll look for a handful of winners.”

“I’m not done yet,” I say. “I want someone I click with. Someone who’s easy to talk to. Someone who gets me.”

“You’ll have to meet them to find out that stuff,” she says. “But what about activities? What do you want them to like doing?”

“Someone who’s active and likes to travel,” I say. “Someone who has a career of some kind, but doesn’t mind prioritizing family.”

She freezes. “You want kids?”

“Don’t you?”

Barbara sighs. “I do, but it may be too late for me. It’s never too late for guys, I guess.”

“Too late for you? You’re not even forty yet.”

“Next year,” she says. “But I don’t mean that. By the time I find someone, and we date, and we get married. . . Once we have a solid foundation, I’d be beyond forty by a wide margin, and it just gets harder and harder to have kids for women.” She shrugs. “I’m trying to wrap my brain around the possibility that it may not happen.”

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