Page 18 of I'm Looking for a Man in Finance
“The reason I didn’t ask for your number,” he began, his eyes avoiding mine, “is because you seem to have rather strong opinions about men in the financial sector and while it’s perfectly alright for you to have those opinions … I didn’t think they would suit us well if we had moved forward with the night.”
The moment his words left his mouth, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole. Of course, I’d been too honest with him. I could feel my face heating up with the realization of how easily I’d let my feelings spill out, and now I was standing here, feeling like a fool.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “That doesn’t mean my opinions would have applied to you.”
James offered a small, almost regretful smile. “Well, I’m not a fan of your plan to use my coworkers and peers for your own personal gain and plaster it all over a magazine.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. As much as I hated being called out for this assignment that I also did not want to do, I understood where he was coming from. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going down without a fight, seeing that he had just crashed my entire evening, knowing full well what this article meant for me.
I crossed my arms, trying to hold my ground, but I couldn’t help the flush creeping up my neck. “You can’t deny that every man that works in finance that comes to this bar is intending to meet someone.”
James’s eyes softened, his posture loosening a bit. “Even if that were true,” he said, “they aren’t asking for their conversations to be exploited for the world to read.”
The tips of James’s ears had turned pink over the course of our argument, and if I wasn’t mad, I might have found it cute.
It’s not like I enjoy writing articles about my dating adventures. I’d much rather write about the new restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen that had the best jalapeño poppersin the city or the bakery with scones so moist, they melted on your tongue.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “We all do things we don’t want to do sometimes and it’s not like you can stop me from having a conversation witheveryman in the financial sector ateverybar they frequent.”
James lifted one perfect eyebrow. “Try me.”
6
Hallie
“Honey!” My parents’ faces appeared on my computer screen, far closer than they needed to be as the video call connected. “It’s so good to see you. Does she look a little thin to you, Richard?”
“Mom, I’m fine.”
“Molly, she looks the same as she did last week,” my dad grumbled.
“Have you been eating, sweetie? I know it’s expensive out there in New York.” My mother leaned into the camera, trying to get a better look at me while giving me a better look at the inside of her nostrils. “You know you can always come home if things get too hard.”
“Mom, I promise I’m doing fine.” Our weekly calls always started out much the same. My mother would have some unwarranted concern that would prompt her to suggest me moving home, and my father would grumble in the background, telling my mother that I was fine.
“I liked last week’s ‘Overheard in NYC’, Hallie.” My dad cut my mom off from continuing even further on the rant.
“Thanks, Dad.” Every week, my dad would send me his notes on my tiny column. Giving his thoughts on everything I overheard around the city. Sometimes I toyed withthe idea of pitching an “Advice from Richard Woods” section because of how unintentionally funny he was with his feedback.
Just last week he’d equated online dating to a build-your-own boyfriend machine.
“Oh, add that bagel place you reviewed to the list of places you need to take me the next time I come visit,” he added. “That might have been my favorite one you’ve done on that social media page of yours.”
“How’s Roxie, honey?” My mom cut back in. “Are the two of you staying safe when you go out?”
I loved my parents. They were good people, and they meant well. But the most they’d ever known was the small town in Ohio that I grew up in. I still remember the confusion on their faces when I told them I wanted to go to NYU instead of one of the state schools in Ohio. Then again, when I graduated, and I told them I wasn’t moving home. New York City was a large, unknown danger that they had no concept of despite the tourist excursions they’d taken whenever they visited.
“We’re doing good, Mom. Thanks for asking.”
“Have either of you gone on any dates?” My mom tried to take on an air of nonchalance despite the fact she asked for an update on my dating life at least once a month. It didn’t help that my younger sister was already married with a baby on the way. In my mother’s eyes, I was behind the eight ball.
Dating had never been my strongest suit. I’d spent most of my twenties focused on my career, and the few relationships I had were either too brief or fizzled out before they could really go anywhere. My mom never letme forget it—always asking, gently, but persistently, when it would bemyturn to bring someone home to meet the family.
“Actually, I’ve been dating more than usual,” I admitted. “It’s for a new series my boss asked me to write.”
“Like a bigger column?” My dad asked excitedly.
“What series are you writing about that requires you to go on dates?” My mom asked at the same time, her voice laced with concern. Honestly, me and her both.
