The Three Kiss CLause

by Harlan, Christopher

  “Hey,” she says all soft and sweet. “Cormac? It’s me, Tori Klein.” Yeah, I remember you. “Do you have a minute for me?”

  I have no idea what she’s doing here. We don’t have an appointment, and her just showing up like this is totally unprofessional. “Hi Tori. What’s going on? Did you come to see Elissa?”

  “I came to see you, actually.”

  Me? “Listen, I’ve got my face buried in a pile of paperwork. We didn’t have an appointment, did we?”

  “Nope. No appointment. I just stopped by hoping that you were here.”

  I’m seriously confused. I’m not sure what the hell she could possibly want. I hated her book, and I wasn’t exactly bashful about letting her know. Now she’s standing here outside of my office without an appointment. Jesus, I hope she’s not some crazy person who’s about to go postal.

  “Well, like I said, I. . .” Before I finish she invites herself in and sits down in the chair across from me.

  “You asked me a very personal question the other day.”

  “I did. It seemed appropriate, giving what we were talking about.” Knowing her type she’s going to try to blackmail me for some kid of sexual harassment lawsuit if I don’t give her a deal. I’d better tread lightly. “I didn’t mean it a personal way, I was just. . .”

  “I know why you asked me,” she interrupts. “But I was wondering if you’d answer me a similar question. It’s the least you can do.”

  I was a little harsh with her. I’ll let her have her question. “Alright. Hit me with your best shot.”

  “Are you single?” she asks.

  Am I single? Where the hell is this going? “Do you really think you should be asking me that?”

  “I’m asking for a reason. I promise.”

  I just want this to end, so I give her what she wants. “I am. And you needed to know this for what reason?”

  She practically jumps out of her seat. She’s a little too happy. I’ve seen a lot of ways to insult someone, but celebrating their lack of companionship right in front of them is a new one, even for me.

  “Why are you doing a little happy dance right now? Does my being single entertain you?”

  “Forget that for a second. Elissa told me that if two of the three partners want to publish a book and the other one doesn’t, that there’s an official wait time of one month before any final decision is made. Was she telling me the truth?”

  Why, Elissa? Why did you tell her that? “Well, technically yes, but I don’t see how that. . .”

  “Hold on,” she says, putting her hand up and cutting me off just like I did to her at the meeting two days ago. “Let me just say my piece for once without you cutting me off.”

  “Okay. Fine. Say what you need to say. But then I need to get back to work. What is it?”

  Based on the devilish grin making its appearance on her face, something tells me that I’m going to regret asking her that.

  Tori

  Something tells me that I’m going to regret asking him this.

  But, then again, I have nothing to lose at this point, do I?

  I thought of a whacky idea at my coffee date with my mom, and I spent the rest of the day after that deciding whether discussion my idea with Cormac is going to spell career suicide. But I have to be realistic—if I just let things be he’s never going to change his mind. Why would he? I mean, maybe Elissa could put a few good words in and try to butter him up some more, but the chances of that working out is pretty close to zero.

  In other words, I have to try something, and that something might have to be a little extreme. Hence me inviting myself into his office and sitting across from him awkwardly right now.

  He’s looking over at me with those big beautiful blue eyes that look like the sea after a storm, and before I can start my sentence I’m lost in them. I snap out of it just long enough to get the five seconds of courage I need to say what I’m about to say. “So, I was thinking. . .”

  “Okay,” he answers when I don’t follow up with any more words. I can hear the annoyance in his voice. “What were you thinking about? The evil of all men?”

  I fake a smile. It’s taking everything in me to be polite. “No, not that. I have a kind of proposal for you if you’re interested.”

  I’m sweating.

  Literally.

  I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up and my heart racing a little too fast—those are my early anxiety symptoms. I never let them show on the outside, but they always happen when I’m about to have a big moment.

  “Alright,” he relents. “I guess I was a little rude to you at the meeting, so the least I can do is let you run your new proposal by me. Give it your best shot.”

  Oh, Cormac, if only you knew what my best shot looks like.

  “I have to preface by saying that what I’m about to suggest is going to sound a little nuts.”

  “Oh, please, don’t let that stop you now.”

  He keeps taking shots at me, and he knows I’m not going to blow up on him because he has power over me. But I’m not taking the bait, I’m going to stay focused and just make him see my point of view. “In the interview you asked me how I could write a book about men and relationships without actually being in one?”

  “I was just going by what you wrote in your book.”

  “I know. I didn’t like it at the time, but then I realized that you had a little bit of a point.”

  “That must have really been painful for you to say to me.”

  You have no idea, Cormac. “Just a little bit. I was thinking, maybe I do need to have a more practical sense of what I’m writing about, and if I did, maybe you’d take my book a little more seriously when that final vote came around in a month.”

  “Where is this going?” he asks. He looks puzzled the more I talk. I don’t blame him. He has no idea what I’m about to suggest, so most of what I’m saying has to be confusing to him. He’d better get used to making that expression.

  “Since, you know, we’re both single and everything, and since Elissa said I have four weeks to convince you that you’re wrong about my book, how about you and I try a. . . situation together?” Jesus, why am I being so vague? Maybe because I know what I’m about to say is going to sound like.

  “A situation? What are you talking about? Tori, I really need to get back to. . .”

  Here goes everything.

  “How about you and I live together as a couple for the next four weeks?”

  There it is! I just pulled the crazy bandaid right off. Now I have to sit here awkwardly while his mind tries to process what I just said. He doesn’t speak. He just looks at me and I can’t take the building anxiety. I start saying words, any words, just so I don’t have to sit in silence. “I’m still working out the details in my head—maybe you move into my place or I’ll move into yours, it really depends on the commute. I mean, you know how traffic in New York can be, especially. . .”

  “Woah, woah, wait a second! What did you just say? We live together? What are you talking about?”

  “I warned you it was going to sound nuts.”

  “I didn’t think you were going that nuts.”

  “Yeah, there were a few research case studies in the 1970’s where scientists set up these experiments in a real world setting to observe gender roles and other aspects of couples. My mom told me all about them—I can probably get you the abstracts if you need.”

  “The abstracts?” he asks, his eyes all wide and crazy.

  “Yeah. Like to the peer reviewed articles. And if my memory serves, the name of the researcher was. . .”

  “I don’t care what crazy experiments they did in the 1970’s. What you’re saying is beyond inappropriate.” Shit! I was worried he might react like this. He’s giving me a look like I’m the main character in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. “Why would you even suggest that?”

  “I mean, so we can see.”

  “See?” he asks. “See what, exactly?”

>   “Well, I was thinking that maybe you could help me get some first-hand boyfriend experience—be my fake boyfriend.”

  The look on his face would be hilarious if he wasn’t making it towards me. If only I had my camera to remember his expression forever.

  “Tori, what you’re saying to me—at least what I think you mean—it isn’t only wildly inappropriate, it’s also not a good way to convince me of anything.”

  Screw it. I decide to go all in at this point. What do I have to lose? “I think it will be good.”

  “Good?” He asks. “Good for who, exactly?”

  “For both of us,” I answer. He seems thoroughly unconvinced.

  “Let me get this straight—you want me to live with you and be a fake boyfriend. I’m not totally sure what that even means, but why would I ever do such a thing?”

  That’s when I catch it—the look he’s giving me. I may not have had a lot of boyfriends, but I’m very intuitive. I see how he’s looking at me, and his eyes are contradicting every word that’s coming out of his mouth.

  When I was little, my mom used to tell me what a great poker player I would have made, so I actually took the game up in high school. By the time I hit college, I was supplementing my non-existent income with a weekly pot I took off all the other kids—the guys, in particular—who underestimated my ability to bluff and read their faces. If this were a hand of poke, Cormac would be representing a straight flush even though he had no cards to speak of.

  But like any good card shark, I’m not letting him know that I know what he’s holding. Instead I’m going to play along.

  “You should do it to prove me wrong.” I tell him.

  You see, the hand I’m really going to play isn’t his obvious attraction to me, it’s his even more obvious ego. Don’t get me wrong, he’s no stuck-up suit, but I can tell that he’s used to thinking he’s right. I’m gonna challenge him a little—I know he’s probably not used to it.

  “Excuse me?” he asks.

  “It’s easy to just tell me I’m wrong, but you only know guys from a friendship standpoint, you don’t have any more experience with guys like most women do—unless I’m wrong and there’s something you want to tell me.”

  “Ha ha,” he jokes.

  “Well, being that you like women, you have to consider the fact that I might be right about guys.”

  I can see that I’m making him tense—its exactly what I’m going for. “Is that right?”

  I stand up like I’m ready to leave. Playing aloof is easy for me, but having him take the bait is something else. I might have pushed him too far—to the point where he’d rather have me than try to prove me wrong, but I hope not, otherwise my whole plan is out the window.

  “Look,” I say, trying to give off my greatest no-fucks-given vibes. “I get it. Right now you have all the power, so you get to think you’re right, even if you’re not. I totally understand. Easier to think that than actually test it out and see.”

  “Hey...”

  “No, no, you’re right.” I hold up my hand and take a step away from his desk. “My idea is totally inappropriate. Sorry to have wasted your time and taken time away from your. . . paperwork stuff. Looks really interesting, btw. And hey, if it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t want to be proven wrong either.”

  That’s the line that gets him. He literally jumps to his feet like I just challenged his masculinity in front of a room full of other guys. “Look, you have a lot of balls coming here and telling me that I’m wrong.”

  “Is that right? Well, then, since you don’t wanna play along and test that theory of yours, why don’t we just skip the month and say our goodbyes now? You know what? Even better, I’ll take my big balls and shitty feminist nonsense—along with my million followers, by the way—and head a few blocks over to Mifflin, I’m sure they’d love to take my business.”

  That last part changes his whole expression. It really does pay to do your research sometimes, and I did mine last night. Mifflin Publishing is their biggest rival. Not only are they competitors, but word on the street is that Mifflin’s been grabbing up all of Cormac’s most popular authors, offering them better royalty deals and more money up front. On top of that they’re known for taking chances on new authors who have big social media platforms.

  I let my threat marinate in his egotistical little brain as I turn to walk out. Five steps. That’s my guess as to how far I’ll get before he calls me back. “Bye, Cormac. Sorry to keep you.” One. Two. Three. Four.

  “Tori, wait.”

  Four. Better than I thought. Men are so predictable. I had him the whole time. He thinks I’m hot, he has an ego that’s easy to play, and he’s insecure about losing another potential client to his competitors because of his own decision. Checkmate, Cormac.

  I turn around slowly. He doesn’t look as cocky any more, he looks like he’s not sure quite how we got here—like he knows what he’s about to say but doesn’t understand why he’s going to say it. I smile inside, and just wait and listen.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t go just yet.”

  I take a few steps back to make him think that he’s in control. He’s anything but. No need for him to know what’s really happening, though. It’s all working just like I hoped it would.

  “Why not?”

  He hesitates a second, his face scrunched and annoyed. I wait for him to lay down his king. It doesn’t take long.

  “I want to hear more about this idea of yours.”

  You sure do, Cormac.

  Tori

  “How did you even know I liked coffee?” he asks me. He doesn’t know what to say and I don’t blame him—he’s still bewildered by my Jedi-mind-tricking him in the first place. He really looked sad to leave all that boring paperwork behind. You’re an interesting one, Cormac, I’ll give you that.

  “A few reasons. First, most people like coffee, so I was playing the odds. And two, you’d have to be a caffeine lover to get through those tomes worth of paper you have piled on your desk and still stay upright.”

  “Fair enough,” he says. “I do love coffee—but I don’t need it to do what you walked in on me doing today. I actually enjoy the clerical side of the business.”

  “Who enjoys paperwork? Especially that much of it?”

  “I know it sounds crazy to most people—Elissa and Cynthia in particular—but I find a strange kind of peace when I’m sitting in my office, alone, working on something that I know will help the company but no one will ever see. I enjoy being behind the scenes.”

  I take a sip of my Americano. It’s black, like Cormac’s heart, but it’s just the jolt I need to get through the rest of this conversation. “You’re weird. I just wanted you to know that.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Someone had to say it.” I smile. He doesn’t give me one back, but at least he knows I’m slightly kidding. “But that’s your issue. And hey, do you want to know what would really help your company?”

  “What’s that?”

  So easy, Cormac. You’re so very easy. “Signing a hot, new, up and coming author like me. I bring a small army with me, you know?”

  “I know,” he says contemptuously. “Elissa mentioned that to me. But I can’t sign someone just because they have a large audience behind them, Tori. Maybe my partners can make decisions like that as a cash grab, but I need to believe in what I’m putting out in the world. I have integrity when it comes to what I lend my company’s name to. And rest assured, I do not feel that way about Fuckboys. And speaking of which, you know we could never publish that title, right?”

  I practically roll my eyes at him, but I don’t want to piss him off too much and lose the upper hand. I decide to go coy instead. “So that means you’re publishing it and you want to work with me to change the title? Let me think.” I look up at the ceiling and do my best fake thinking face. “Alright. I accept your offer! That was easier than I thought.”

  “You should be an actress, you know that?”
>
  “I’ve been told that before. It’s just years of practice in front of a camera. I can do almost any emotion I want to do.”

  “So you like to lie to your audience? Make them think you feel a certain way, but you’re really just acting, is that it?”

  “You have a special Marvel superpower for twisting words, you know that. All I meant was that if you have a successful YouTube channel and highly reviewed podcast, you learn a thing or two about projecting emotions.”

  “You can stop that, you know.”

  “Stop what?” I ask.

  “Throwing your platform out every time you speak. I get it, Tori, you’re popular. That isn’t the problem at all. The problem is the work itself—I just don’t believe in it.”

  I couldn’t have transitioned any better myself. “Speaking of which, let’s go back to the beginning of our conversation.”

  “You mean this crazy idea you have that you think I’m going to go for?”

  I know you want to, Cormac. Why are you fighting so hard? “Yup,” I say. “That one.”

  “You have until the end of this venti quad to tell me more about it. That doesn’t mean I’m even going to consider saying yes, you understand. But I still want to hear.”

  Of course you do, and I know exactly why.

  “I’m so glad you asked. First of all, we wouldn’t be, you know, actually dating. I’m not asking you to really be my boyfriend—more of what it’s like if we pretend. Make it as real as we can.”

  “Okay.” He says. “And remind me why again.”

  “Because I know I have something great here, and if you really believe that it’s just some feminist nonsense, then why don’t you put your money where your mouth is? Why argue in a board room when we can live out our own little social experiment and see who’s right?”

  He gets that look again—that did-you-really-just-challenge-me look, and that’s when I know I have him. I got him to listen, I got him out of his office to coffee, and now I just have to Jedi mind trick him one more time into actually agreeing to the whole thing.