“But, really. What if this feeling you and the rest of your cronies are waiting for isn’t real? What if it’s more of an instinct that, over time, grows into something bigger?”
I tucked what was left of my croissant into my purse because my appetite was waning. “You sound just like him.”
“Who?”
“Brooks. Public Enemy Number One.”
Quinn waved her finger at me. “No, he’s Hannah Arden Enemy Number One.”
“Whose best friend are you? His or mine?” I slid away from her, but she gave me a look and scooted back up to me.
“Yours. And as your best friend, I have your best interests in mind and would rather see you happy with a great guy who possesses some flaws then holding out for some perfect dude who isn’t out there.”
My heels clacked against the pavement as I finished speeding the last block toward the World Times. Why did it feel like the whole world was turning on me? Brooks and his philosophies were poisoning the population.
“Thank you for your concern, I know it comes from a good place. But I’m not sure I should take relationship advice from someone whose response to being asked on a date by her dream guy is that she’ll let him know if she hears of anyone who might be interested.”
Quinn tipped her head at me. “And yet you haven’t had a relationship that lasted longer than six months and you feel qualified to write an advice column on romance and relationships.”
“Okay, okay,” I groaned, lifting my hand at her face. “Enough tough love for one morning.”
She made a zipping motion across her lips.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” A woman walking the opposite direction as us stopped, waving her finger at me.
My readers didn’t recognize me as I never published my articles with a photo of myself. This was the first time I’d ever been stopped because of my column. “That’s right. I’m Ms. Romance.”
The woman shook her head. “You’re that woman who’s been set up with that hottie in the online dating social experiment.”
Quinn covered her mouth when she laughed.
I frowned. “In the flesh and blood.”
“Oh, honey. That last date at the club?” She rested her leather-gloved hand on my arm. “I had to go find the box fan to keep from overheating.”
My forehead creased.
“The chemistry between you two.” She made a sound people make when enjoying a good meal. “I had to turn that old fan all the way up.”
When Quinn got out her phone, no doubt to record this display, I swiped it out of her hands. “That wasn’t chemistry. That was me experiencing copious amounts of physical and psychological trauma having to be so close to that man.”
Her hand wasn’t moving. It stayed planted on my arm, making me all kinds of uncomfortable. “Well, where do I sign up for that kind of trauma? That’s just the kind I need in my life.”
I glanced at Quinn, hinting that I was drowning and needed a life ring, but she was no help. Working up a smile, I stepped aside and moved toward the building doors. “So nice of you to say hi. Thanks for your support.”
“Oh no, honey. I’m supporting him.” She folded her fur coat tighter around her when the breeze picked up. “I’ve seen enough of life and relationships to accept that love is a bunch of malarkey doused in perfume. It might smell nice, but it’s still just a load of shit.”
My mouth fell open as Quinn’s arm rung through mine and she steered me through the doors. I found myself digging for the remnants of my croissant, needing something to comfort me.
“Can you believe her?” I said, punching the up button at the elevators. “Oh wait, never mind. Of course you can believe you. You’re on the same side.”
She gave me a look that suggested I was acting like a child. Which might have been warranted to some degree. “I’m not on her side. I’m not on his side. I’m on your side because we are the kind of friends that would bleed for each other. However”—she ignored my little huff—“I don’t think either of you have it totally right. When it comes to all of that love stuff, I think you both have your points and the truth lies somewhere in the middle.”
One side of my face pulled up. “Where is the middle between soul mates and fuck buddies?”
Of course, the elevator doors had chimed open as I was talking, so I received some interesting looks from the people inside as they climbed off.
“Um, I don’t know. Best friends who are attracted to each other, whose relationship is built on trust and respect?”
I’d been so ready to argue with her, her answer stopped me short.
“Let me guess. You think that’s a steaming pile of horse crap?” she added when I didn’t reply.
“No. I don’t think that,” I said as a fresh wave of bodies filed onto the elevator. “I’m not sure I agree with you one hundred percent, but I’m not sure I disagree either.”
Quinn’s arm bumped mine. “Kind of like a happy medium?”
“I’m not sure I want a happy medium where love is concerned. It sounds so . . . mediocre. Boring.”
When the doors opened on our floor, we had to shimmy out of the packed elevator. “Ordinary doesn’t have to be boring. Ordinary can be kind of . . . comforting.”
“Comforting?” I felt my nose wrinkle as we powered toward our cubicles. “I want adventure, a pounding heart and a tingling stomach. I want epic, not ordinary.”
Quinn swept her dark hair behind her ear. “Epic is short-lived. Ordinary stands the test of time.”
“Yeah, only because it feels like forever.” I held my arms out as I backed away from her cube toward my space. “You enjoy that basic, boring future you have planned for yourself.”
Quinn tore off a Post-it note, crumpled it, and sent it flying in my direction. “At least I’ve got a future. One that isn’t lived one delusional daydream to the next.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, yawning with exaggeration. “With the progress you’re making with Justin, you two should finally go on that first date by the time you qualify for the senior discount at Perkins.”
Her comeback was sticking out her tongue. Real mature, I thought, even as I stuck out my own tongue at her.
After making it to my cubicle—I hated getting in this late—I noticed something out of place on my tidy desk. A newspaper had been spread out in front of my chair, and I didn’t miss the byline of the article that sat front and center.
“True Love? Of Course it’s Not. Settle Already.”
That was the title of his article, and I only made it to the second sentence before I folded it up and flung the paper into my trashcan. No need to guess who had left it for me; the smirk on the face across from me solved that mystery.
“What do you think?” Brooks’s blue eyes shone above the partition between us. “I think it might be my best work yet.”
“I think very little of your articles and your opinions actually,” I replied, even as I scratched down the title for an article that had just sprung to mind. “We Can Have it All. Stop Settling.”
“For such an angelic face, you have one devil of a smile.” Brooks leaned over the partition to see what I was up to.
My hand slammed down on my sticky note. He’d built his career by playing devil’s advocate to just about every article I’d ever published—I could hedge some of mine on doing the same to him. “For someone who touts playing the field, your pick-up lines need some work.”
“That wasn’t a pick-up line.”
“Then what was it?”
“An observation.” He reclined back into his seat, disappearing from view. “I wasn’t trying to pick you up. If I was, you’d know it and wouldn’t stand a chance in hell.”
My eyes lifted as I scribbled some bullet points I wanted to hit in my article. “How does that morning bowl of ego poured over arrogance taste going down?”
His chair whined from the way he was rocking in it. “Not nearly as good as it feels coming out.”
“You’re repulsive.”
<
br /> “Yeah, the way you were gaping at me yesterday when I stepped in to save the day really gave off the repulsive vibe.”
My pencil lead broke as heat burst into my veins. “For calling yourself Mr. Reality, you sure have a difficult time staying grounded in it.”
“Arden! North! My office!” Mr. Conrad’s voice burst through my phone intercom, about tossing me out of my seat.
My back slumped as I went to stand. Mr. Conrad’s office felt like the principal’s office lately.
“What do you suppose we did this time?” Brooks whispered as he fell in beside me.
Across the office, I caught someone seemingly taking a picture of us. Kinda creepy. Especially since I had no idea who the person was.
“He’s probably pissed you were dancing with another woman when I showed up for our date,” I said.
“Don’t think so. That’s the kind of drama that drives ratings through the roof. If anything, he’s going to congratulate me for it.”
I gave an overdone shiver. “It’s like we’ve become some evening soap opera. I feel dirty.”
“Making progress,” he said under his breath right before ducking inside Conrad’s office.
“Close the door,” Conrad called from behind his desk when I filed in.
Brooks gave me a look that hinted at doom.
“Well?” Mr. Conrad folded his hands over his desk, looking between Brooks and me as we dropped into chairs across from him.
He waited for one of us to say something, but Brooks was a rare quiet, as was I.
“Did you see the number of views you two brought in?” A smile stretched across Conrad’s face as he thumped his desk. “I knew this idea was genius. Publicity gold. And you two really sold it on that last date of yours.” He leaned across the desk, tipping his hand by his mouth like he was about to tell a secret. “You almost had me fooled.”
“That she’s falling for me?” Brooks leaned forward. “Mission accomplished?”
A sharp sound came from me.
Conrad waved his stout finger at him. “That you maybe were doing some falling of your own.” Conrad chuckled, his eyes almost twinkling he was so giddy. “Now that was a turn I wasn’t expecting.”
“I thought you wanted it to look like I was falling for her.” Brooks glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, something I couldn’t quite decipher in them.
“I did. I do.” Conrad gave a silent clap. “I just didn’t expect it to be so convincing.”
“He sells snake oil for a living. He’s made convincing an art form.”
Conrad’s head turned toward me. “Still haven’t warmed up to Mr. North?”
I feigned a smile. “As warm as the Arctic Circle.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” Brooks said under his breath.
For all of the apparent progress we’d made yesterday, we were going backward at warp speed today.
“Was there anything else you wanted to talk with us about, Mr. Conrad?” I asked, glancing at the door.
“I just wanted to congratulate you both on such an early success. Even in my wilder dreams, I never envisioned hitting so many views this early on.” Conrad glanced at his phone. “And I also wanted to schedule out the next month’s worth of dates. With the way things are going, we won’t be able to keep flying by the seat of our pants. I’m thinking of staging dates, hiring more camera crew, hell, maybe even bringing in a lighting team to really give viewers a show.”
For the second time that morning, my head throbbed. “I thought the point was to make this a real-life social experiment. You start adding all the frills and extras and it’s nothing more than a staged reality show.”
Brooks nodded. “I’m with Hannah on this one, Charles. We should keep this as simple as possible. We want it to have a raw feel—that’s what’s drawing viewers in.”
My stomach twisted. How had I become a pawn in this game? My goal was to protect romance, not peddle a designer imposter to the masses.
“While you two work out the details, I’m going to head back to my desk and write an article like we journalists do.” I shoved out of my chair and marched for the door.
“How about tomorrow?” Brooks called after me.
“For what?” I asked, thought I already knew.
“Date Three.” Again, the way he said it led a person to believe it was an event that would go down in the history books.
“It’s a work day.”
“This is your work, Arden,” Conrad threw out.
“Fine,” I said at the same time I threw open the door. “But I get to pick the location.”
The weather foiled my plans for a rainy picnic. I’d never been so annoyed to see clear blue skies and sixty-degree temps. After unpacking my rain jacket and umbrella, I loaded up my bags and picnic basket and left my apartment.
I’d told Brooks to meet me at the Sheep Meadow around noon for Date Three. He’d sounded unsure about the whole park-and-picnic idea, but didn’t put up any kind of formal objection.
As I was about to push open the outside door, someone coming in, saved me the effort.
“Hannah. Fancy meeting you here.” Martin stepped aside and held the door for me, waving me through and reaching for my bags. “Can I help you?”
“I’m good, but thanks.” I moved down the first stair to put some space between us.
After that renaissance festival, he’d been calling or texting me daily, wanting to know when we could get together again. For all of Martin’s old-fashioned chivalry and all-around decency, I could not conjure up an ounce of attraction for him. That feeling . . . wasn’t there. In fact, I wasn’t sure I could feel any less for a man than I did for Martin.
“Good day for a picnic,” he said, noting the basket tucked into my elbow. “I’m off work for the rest of the day. I decided to live dangerously and take a half day with it being so beautiful out.”
My throat cleared when I realized what he was hinting. “That’s what I thought too. That’s why I’m heading to the park to meet someone.”
Martin’s eyes drooped the teensiest bit. “That Brooks guy? The one you’re pretending to date?”
I moved down another step. “The very one.”
“I can’t believe the paper put that together. Forcing you into something like that. It’s sad to think with as far as our society’s evolved, women are still being subjected to that kind of treatment.”
My invisible hackles rose. “I made the choice to be a part of this. No one forced me into it.” I left out that the job I wanted might have been jeopardized if I didn’t agree to it.
“Yeah, but still. It seems like something straight from the ninety-fifties.”
My fingers tightened around the picnic basket. “I’ve got to get going. You enjoy your day.”
“You don’t have feelings for him? It’s all just an act, right?” Martin moved his briefcase from one hand to the other, swallowing.
“I couldn’t have any less feelings for that man if I was a sociopath.” Hurrying down the last few steps, I flagged down the first taxi I saw.
I felt like I’d barely had a chance to catch my breath before the driver was pulling up to Central Park. After paying my fare and climbing out, I prepared myself for Brooks and the camera and an experience that vacillated from feeling real to fake.
Just inside the park, as promised, Jimmy was waiting for me to ask me whatever new questions Conrad had devised. Brooks wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
“Another dress that scores a ten.” Jimmy gave a small whistle as he waved at my white linen dress. “Great cinematic value, by the way.”
“I don’t know why I wore this. White might be the worst color for my pale skin, not to mention a picnic in a park is a rainbow of stains waiting to happen.” I brushed at the skirt, wondering what link to reality had come undone when I’d reached into my closet this morning.
“You look great, trust me.” Jimmy slipped the camera over his head. “Maybe just pass on ketchup . . . or any condiment
for that matter.” He scooted me around so the park was in the background, then started his countdown.
“Can’t I have, like, one minute with the questions before I answer them on film?”
“Too rehearsed,” he said before his last finger lowered.
“And we’re back to Romance Versus Reality, here with the lovely Hannah Arden, on date number three, and we have a couple of questions for you.” Jimmy wasn’t reading from a note card anymore. “How have your feelings for Brooks changed from the first date to now?”
Feelings. Why was everyone so concerned about my feelings where Brooks was involved?
“I’d say they haven’t changed at all.” I smiled at the camera, and my expression felt about as fake as my senior photo smile. “I feel the same way about him now as I did then.”
Jimmy fanned his hand over his mouth in a silent yawn. I ignored him and waited for the next question.
“How do you think Brooks’s feelings for you have changed from the beginning to now?”
That question made me pause. Adjusting the picnic basket to my other arm, I went with the first thing that came to my mind. “I’m sure Brooks’s feelings are the same as mine. Unchanged.”
Jimmy pressed something on the camera, the filming coming to an end. For now. Soon we’d be live for the hundreds of thousands of viewers that had tuned in last time, although with this being in the middle of a workday, I was hoping the numbers would reflect that difference. Not that the actual filming time mattered when anyone could watch the videos at their leisure since Conrad had created a Romance Versus Reality website, where fans could watch past episodes, read Brooks’s and my bios, and even weigh in with their thoughts on the love topic.
Jimmy followed me toward the open field, my heart floating higher into my throat with every step. What was this? Nervousness? Anxiousness?
Heartburn?
It was a strange sensation I wasn’t used to feeling and thus couldn’t accurately identify. My limbs felt all jelly-like, while my stomach felt like a boulder had been dropped into it.
“There he is.” Jimmy’s arm lifted toward the trees lining one side of the clearing.
A shadow leaned against one of them, staring at the open field like it was laced with land mines. As I approached, his head shifted my direction. He lowered his sunglasses over his eyes.
Dating the Enemy Page 10
