Page 42 of Minted

“Like some kind of super-stalker?” She scoffs. “Bentley, you have got to be kidding me. If I’m sitting there during your date, she’ll recognize me when we meet.”

“You’re assuming things will go well enough that I’d bring her to family functions later,” I say.

“You should be assuming that too!”

I guess she’s right, with the information she has available. “Okay, fine. You can sit two tables over, and I’ll only ask you to do it for our first date. I’ll make sure that you’re only in my line of sight.”

She sighs. “I’m at work, Bentley.”

“No problem,” I say.

“I set up your date for today already.” I can hear the giddiness in her voice, dropping that on me now, like a sneak attack.

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” she says. “It’s just a lunch date, so it’s low pressure. It’s the not-bomb-girl you weren’t keen on, but you never know. Give it a chance. She said she’s fine with eating anywhere, so I picked that cafe by your office. They have a pretty good turkey melt.”

“And you’ll be there to eat one too, right?”

She huffs. “Bentley.”

“Did I mention that I called your boss and told her that I would be moving my marketing to your firm, but only if you handled it?”

“You don’t even need marketing.”

“Three of my clients do,” I say. “And I called them and told them you’re the best.”

“Of all the—Bentley!”

“Be there at lunch. Please?”

She grumbles like crazy, and clearly she’s climbing up the stairs to her building entrance, but right as she hangs up, she says, “Fine.”

After I’m virtually certain she’s going to be in a meeting or otherwise occupied, I open the app, dig around and find the message with this Oppenheimer person, and I tell her I can’t make it today. I’m subjected to an obscene number of emojis, but she finally agrees that we can postpone.

My assistant at work has to help me, but I manage to delete everything after the message I sent saying where to meet. That should keep Barbara from realizing the date was called off by me.

I can’t help my evil smile.

“Is this the lady you helped last night?” Oliver asks.

“Yep,” I say.

“The one who’s now fostering two little girls?” He looks like he’s asking whether she has a horrible case of athlete’s foot.

“Yes, that’s Barbara.”

“And you’re wanting to meet her there, while this woman—the cute, smiley one—is going to supposedly stand you up. Right?”

I nod.

Oliver scratches his face scruff. “I do not understand what you’re doing at all.”

I ought to be angry. I mean, he’s basically saying I’m stupid for wanting to date Barbara. I whip out my phone and pull up a photo of Barbara—my favorite one. She’s half-smiling at the woman from that makeup company, and she’s clearly in her element.

“Now you’ll get it.” I swivel it around.

“You know I’m gay, right?” Oliver pulls a face.

---