Page 15 of I'm Looking for a Man in Finance
“Yes!” I exclaimed. Anthea raised an eyebrow. “I think this series can be sustainable for about two months. That should give me enough time to find the most eligible WallStreet bachelor and date him long enough for the piece to be both entertaining and meaningful.”
“Yes. That sounds great and all,” Anthea mused, “but how are you going to do it?”
“Well, according to my sources,” I started. My “sources” being Roxie, but Anthea didn’t need to know that. “Tuesdays are the new Fridays in New York. So, I’m going to head down to Whiskey Locker tomorrow night. We both know finance guys love to work late. Their happy hour is more like eight o’clock, rather than five. Then I’ll try to secure my first date.”
Anthea gave me a nod of approval. “You need to do more than justtry, Hallie. You need to succeed.” She leaned in close and dropped her voice to a volume only she and I could hear. “This series can boost the magazine’s numbers, and I’m counting on it.” With that, she breezed toward her office, showing off her custom Nikes. Because she was the person who pulled off a power suit and sneakers.
“God, I want to be her,” Janelle sighed next to me.
“Maybe matcha latte girl led you astray,” Roxie said as she stirred the tiny straw around in her drink.
I sighed. “But there were so many comments on my article seconding what the girl I overheard said. Maybe this is just the wrong night. I could have misremembered what I wrote.”
There were only a few patrons inside of Whiskey Locker and it was nearly eight already. A few men had come in, briefcases in hand, for a drink at the bar. But none of them had seemed interested in the handful ofwomen lingering at the high-top tables, including Roxie and me.
“Let’s give it another hour and then we can leave. Maybe I need to consider a different bar,” I sighed, thinking about how I would report this to Anthea when she asked for an update. I had no idea how I was supposed to tell her I’d already hit a roadblock.
There goes the restaurant critic position and your dreams.
“If this place is still dead in an hour, I am dragging you to that new club near our apartment. We didn’t get all dressed up on a weeknight for nothing.”
“Roxie, you host parties on weeknights at the gallery regularly. This is nothing new for you.” I eyed my best friend. She was the only girl I knew that could make a pair of latex pants look stylish and not like something out of an adult movie.
“Exactly, butyourarely go out. So I’m not wasting this opportunity to have drinks on a weeknight with my best friend.” Roxie reached out to clink her glass against mine.
As if on cue, the doors to Whiskey Locker opened and a squad of well-dressed men walked in together—expensive watches glinting on their wrists and country-club-style vests providing them some break against the chillier evening air, suit jackets already ditched.
“I take it back. Matcha latte girl did not lead you astray,” Roxie leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Fair warning, I’m overdue a long night with an attractive man.”
“Noted,” I replied. That was Roxie’s way of letting me know that if the opportunity presented itself, she would leave with someone. But only if I was comfortable.
The group of men stopped at the bar first, and as if it were a rite of passage to complete their finance bro look, each of them ordered an Old Fashioned. With their drinks in hand, they began scanning the bar for their entertainment for the night.
A man with short, neatly trimmed auburn hair caught my eye. He was engaged in a conversation with his friends, likely discussing the news that had broken this morning about Rooster. According to an anonymous insider, the world’s first search engine had become too large and too driven by profit. The source leaked details about a deal the CEO was finalizing today, which could potentially lead the company into legal trouble. Social media had been going crazy all day about the plummet the company’s stocks took.
But despite the deep conversation he was in, he flashed me a smile and excused himself from his group.
“Incoming,” Roxie whisper-sang as the man approached us.
Blue eyes.
A small scar on his left eyebrow.
A full beard that matched his hair.
Wait? Was that a small silver hoop in his left ear?
“How are you doing?” He leaned one arm on the table next to me, Old Fashioned still in hand. “I’m Mark.”
“Hallie.” I stuck my hand out for him to shake.
His hand wrapped around mine and I waited for the same shiver to run down my spine when James had first shaken my hand last Friday night. It had been a while since I’d dated seriously in New York. I’d always found it wildly impossible before. So, I took my interaction with James as mere excitement to be putting myself back out there again.
But no shiver ever came.
“Hallie. That’s a beautiful name,” he said as he slid into the open seat next to me.
“What do you do, Mark?” I asked, even though it was painfully obvious. Nevertheless, Mark’s eyes lit up as he explained to me he was an investment banker. Within a matter of ten minutes, I learned that he’d attended Brown and was a member of Delta Sigma. By the time he finally took a breath, I’d drained my entire glass of wine.
