by S. E. Lund
He's pissed.
I feel his gaze move over my body, from my head to my feet and back again. He must have noticed that I've fiddled with my hair and unbuttoned my blouse.
I take a deep breath and walk up, trying to prepare myself for the onslaught.
"Thomas?" I say and extend my hand. "Marina's told me all about you."
For his part, Thomas stands up straight and takes my hand, kissing my knuckles gallantly. Beside him, Jon snorts and glances away, a muscle in his jaw pulsing. God, he's going to be a real problem.
What the hell was Marina thinking, bringing Thomas to this party? Of all times to have me meet a potential date. Jon thinks I'm some kind of machine, working sixteen-hour days and doing nothing but spending time with the team. He really doesn't think I'm a human – or a woman.
I'm just his damn CTO. That's all I am to him. A workhorse.
Well, I need some romance in my life. It isn’t going to find me, so I have to find it. I realized that after Marina pointed out how much I work. How little time I get away from the team and Jon.
I intend to stop that at least a little tonight.
Thomas pulls out my chair and I sit down, smiling at him, pleased to be pampered just a bit. I don't mind a bit of chivalry now and then, although I don't want to be treated like I'm some kind of fragile flower. In fact, I want a strong man to take control. A man who knows what he wants and is confident enough to take it. A girl does get tired sometimes, and a nice strong man holding the door for you or pulling out your chair or kissing your knuckles is a welcome change from business as usual.
We talk for a while, and I feel everyone's eyes on us – especially Jon's eyes. I'm nervous and slightly self-conscious. Hell, completely self-conscious. People are smiling at us, their grins knowing. Pete, our software engineer, punches Jon in the arm playfully, eliciting a sneer from him. Jon’s on his third beer and I can see a little bit of his wildness come out.
While I'm listening to Thomas talk about his course load with half an ear, I'm watching Jon, imagining him living in Norway back in Viking times. He's built, and he works out. He's gorgeous, if you like blond Viking gods. When we first met in freshman year, people joked about his background and called him Ragnar – "Where's your boat, Ragnar?"
Back then, he was totally ripped, his hair buzzed short. Former Army Ranger. Now, he looks like he belongs on the set of Vikings, all rippling muscles and longish hair bleached by the sun. Scruffy chin and jaw. Dark blue tribal tats on his body.
If looks could kill, Thomas would be dead.
I try to ignore Jon and focus on Thomas. He's nice, if a bit taken with himself, regaling us about his lecture at Harvard, how he was delayed because of the enthusiastic crowd of students mobbing him afterward. He tells us about his latest non-fiction book, Philosophy and Star Wars, that's being published this year and how he's going to do a book tour to promote it.
Yeah, he's handsome in a man-next-door sort of way, with dark eyes and hair, a touch of grey at his sideburns. A brilliant smile. Neatly trimmed goatee. He just doesn't do it for me.
There's no throbbing in my lady parts at the thought of being in bed with him.
Not the way they throb when I think of Jon – but he's such a manslut that there's no way I'd want anything to happen between us. I'd just be one more notch on Jon's belt and I deserve more.
I know it would not be good for me to go there.
So, I never go there.
There have been times I thought something might happen, but then he picks up some girl he's met in a bar or at a conference or out surfing.
Jon's a wild man, with enough looks and ambition to have whatever woman he wants for whatever he wants. Which is mostly just a hookup and nothing more.
That's not good enough for me, so I don't even think of Jon in that way, despite how gorgeous and hunky he is. He's just a rogue when it comes to women and relationships, and I am all about something deep and meaningful.
Jon doesn't do deep, unless it's Pacifica. His idea of meaningful is seeing that bottom line improve.
If he wasn't so damn sexy…
It's hell working for him, seeing him all day, every day walking around the office in his casually sexy way, muscle shirt and Bermuda shorts, flip-flops on his feet, his body tanned, his hair all messed from surfing in the early morning. It’s hell, after a long day in the office, watching him pick up woman after woman at the bar for a quick meaningless fuck later that night.
Once we nail this new set of defense contracts, I'm out. I'll resign from Pacifica and I'm heading to Manhattan. It's been a dream of mine since I was a girl. After all these years of hard work, I'm ready to live my dreams. Start fresh.
Blaine said he'd be there if and when I decided to follow him to Manhattan, but he couldn’t commit to being exclusive. And I couldn’t give up what I had in San Francisco unless I knew that we'd be a couple.
So, for the past year, I've been licking my wounds and trying to recover. I'll be sad to say goodbye to Jon and the team at Pacifica, but I need to think about my future for a change, and not just the company.
There's more to life than your bank account balance.
Life has to have some kind of meaning beyond survival or success – else why be alive in the first place? That's something my parents have hammered into my head since I was a child. Make your life meaningful.
I watch Jon's face while I sip my drink. He's listening to Thomas talk about his current course, teaching philosophy to first-year students. Jon's chewing on some nuts out of the bowl in the middle of the table. He keeps dropping them like he's not really paying attention, and I can tell he's bored by what Thomas is saying and pissed that Thomas is taking up all the oxygen in the room.
He meets my eyes across the table and his widen meaningfully, like he's sending me a telepathic message. Is this guy for real? Is this really your date? WTF, India? He'll bore you to death.
I realize that's me thinking it, of course.
Marina is so wrong about this guy. He's so not my type, it's almost laughable.
Sadly, Jon is my type, except I need a man who's loyal and dedicated to me. Who wants to be with me and me alone. Who's also smart and ambitious and exciting and fun and makes me brave.
Jon's smart and ambitious and exciting and fun and makes me brave, but he's a lovable male slut who can't be tied down to any one woman.
He's totally wrong for me, in other words. Marina seems to think Thomas is the man for me. If so, I don't see it. And, what's far more important, I don't feel it.
I promised her I'd give it a shot. She wants to test out their app and I agreed to be a guinea pig. Thomas is her first real test.
I think MATCHED is a flop, personally, but I'm willing to give him, and it, the benefit of the doubt.
Thomas finally looks my way after spending the last fifteen minutes telling everyone else all about his flight and his lecture and the person who was seated beside him and his terrible in-flight meal.
He smiles. "I have reservations for Callandre at eight. Shall we?"
Callandre is a top restaurant in San Francisco. It's all the buzz, so I'm pleased that at least I'll get some good food out of this whole venture.
He stands and holds out his hand, so I stand up and take it. Across the table, Jon frowns at us.
"Have a nice time," he says acidly. "Don't be too late. We have a defense contract to finish tomorrow morning."
"I'm aware of my responsibilities," I reply, miffed that he feels the need to remind me about something that I set up.
Thomas and I leave the bar. He escorts me to his car, which is nice – a sleek Mercedes – and we drive to Callandre, him talking the entire time about himself and his life and his car and his career. I barely get a word in edgewise during the drive, and try not to feel upset by how he monopolizes the conversation. Instead, I go all out, asking him about everything, and he seems just as happy to talk on about himself.
We arrive at Callandre, and I'm impressed as we walk thro
ugh the doors. I've read about it in the dining section of the paper, but I'd never gone. It's all waterfalls and classy grey Zen décor, and we get a great booth in one corner of the dining room, next to the large bay window. Thomas seems to know the wait staff and they fawn over him like he's some big shot, but he's really just a professor.
He lets me sit first and then sits close beside me, smiling like he's the king of the world. He drapes his napkin on his lap and turns to me.
"You like it? Pretty impressive, isn't it?"
I glance around the restaurant and smile. "It is nice. I hear the food is really good. Do you come here often?"
"Weekly," Thomas says and then tells me all about how he knows the chef and how he's good buddies with some of the backers of the restaurant. I smile and listen, resting my chin on my hand while he tells me everything and anything about the whole business.
Not once has he asked me about myself.
Our food is great, and comes on delightfully presented plates. I eat with relish and listen while Thomas talks about the politics of his department at Stanford and how he's always the one who has to problem-solve when it comes to matters before the committee.
An hour goes by, and I keep him busy asking questions about his past, his education, his classes, his house on the cliffs overlooking the bay, his car, his family.
Finally, precisely eighty-six minutes after we arrive, our meal is over and we're drinking coffee and he turns to me after a pause in the conversation.
"So, enough about me. Tell me something about India. How did you get that name?"
I laugh, amazed that he's talked about himself for so long.
"There's not much to tell. My mother took a trip to India after she finished her first degree and fell in love with Kashmir. When she got pregnant after my brother was born, she liked the name India. They're hippies, to tell you the truth."
Thomas smiles and then launches into a fifteen-minute discussion of Eastern philosophy and how he's taught a class in London about how England's colonial history in India affected British culture.
So, in total, I get in three sentences about myself before he goes back to talking about himself.
Three frickin’ sentences.
So much for Marina's questionnaire.
"Well, I guess it's time to go," I say and smile at Thomas after checking my watch. "I have to go back to the office and pick up some files, then it's working late at home for me."
"Oh, ending the date so early?" Thomas says, frowning. He checks his watch, which I notice is a Rolex. "I thought we could have a drink at my place."
"Not tonight, I'm afraid. I have a big presentation to prepare. Duty calls."
I give him a smile, fully intending to never see him again. I don't think there's anything else he can possibly tell me about himself. He's emptied it all out there.
"Well, if that's the case, I can drive you to your office. Maybe I could come back to your place after and we can have a drink there."
I shake my head. "No more alcohol for me. I'll be up late working."
I stand and he follows me out of the booth. It's clear he figured he'd be coming back to my place, or me going to his, after this fancy meal, but that's his mistake. I can barely wait to leave his company, frankly; he's so self-centered, he has no clue that I'm so bored, I'd rather talk to my Uber driver than spend another moment with him.
But I don't. If he wants to drive me back to the office, I'll be happy to get rid of him there.
We leave the restaurant – after he pays the waiter and points out how big his tip is – and then we walk down the street to his car. I get in and he's strangely silent now, like he's busy thinking of what he can do next because of his disappointment that I'm not going back to his place for something extra.
I give him the address to Pacifica's office and sigh with relief when we drive up and he drops me off.
"Thanks so much for dinner," I say before I get out of the car. "It was delicious."
I get out and wave at him, glad that I'm finally free. He rolls down the passenger window and leans over.
"I'll call you," he says, his voice hopeful. "Maybe we can get together again some night when you're not working late."
"That may be a while, I'm afraid," I reply and turn back to the car. "We have this big defense contract coming up and I'm swamped." I shrug and smile, then give him an I'll call you hand signal.
Yeah, it was a don't call me, I'll call you kind of date.
Then I turn and practically run up the stairs and into the building where Pacifica has its executive offices.
Thank God I'm free.
I take the stairs to the third floor instead of the elevator, and go to the office door, surprised that it's still open and the lights are on. Someone must be working late. When I go inside, I find none other than Jon working in his office behind his huge mahogany desk. He glances up and sees me, and sits up straighter, closing his laptop.
"You're back from your date?" he says, his voice sounding surprised.
I go inside and throw my bag on his desk and plop down on the chair across from him.
"Oh my God, that man can talk about himself," I say with a huge sigh. "I thought I'd never escape."
Jon looks smug. "I could have told you he's not for you. I could tell that the moment I saw him. He's an old man, for God's sake. He must be forty if he's a day."
I shrug. "I have no idea how old he is. That's one thing he neglected to tell me, although he told me practically everything else about himself – his job, his family, his house on the cliff overlooking the bay, his credentials. I feel like his therapist or something."
"He sounds like a real blowhard."
I shrug. "He's just full of himself. I know a lot of men like that," I quip, shooting him a look.
"Not me," Jon says, sitting up straighter. "I'm all about other people. In fact, I've been told I don't reveal enough about myself and am a closed book. I think those were the exact words you used when you reprimanded me."
"My words exactly," I say with a laugh, because that's true. Jon is a total extrovert and can talk to anyone about anything. You truly feel his interest in you when you meet him the first time. Not only does he have this mind like a steel trap, remembering every face he’s seen and hand he's shaken along with their name, he usually researches people he's going to meet and knows some personal tidbit about them so he can show his interest.
I feel like I know everything about Thomas, but I feel like Jon knows everything about me. And everyone else in his orbit.
But none of us know anything really deep about him.
"I knew he was a jerk when I laid eyes on him," Jon says dismissively. "So much for Marina's stupid dating app. I'd say MATCHED was a big failure when it came to matching you with someone."
"Don't tell Marina that. You'll break her heart. I promised to help her develop it and so did you." I pull out my cell to check for messages from Marina.
MARINA: How did it go? Fill me in on the deets. I'm curious how my match worked.
I text her back, not eager to rub her nose in her failure, but convinced that she needs to fix it. She'd been so sure that the questionnaire was honed to perfection. I'll have to set her straight.
INDIA: Not good. He talked about himself the entire time. I didn't get a word in edgewise.
MARINA: What?
INDIA: I swear he asked me about myself once and I said three sentences. That was it.
"Who are you texting? Marina to let her know how much of a failure her app is?"
I glance up at Jon, who's leaning back, a huge grin on his face like he's won some battle.
"Yes," I reply. "I'm telling her she needs to work on the questionnaire."
"That's an understatement. She should give up while she's ahead."
I frown at him. "Hey, she's my BFF. Be nice. So, the questionnaire needs work. Usually, she's a genius at matching people up. There was Grant and Mona. They were like two peas in a pod. And then Elaine and Chris. Even you have to a
dmit those were perfect matches."
Jon shrugs, not ever wanting to admit defeat. Marina's skills at matching people are legendary. That's why we all backed her efforts to start the app. I even gave her some seed money, I had such faith in her and her coder.
INDIA: Maybe you better do some more work on the questionnaire. It sure matched me up with the totally wrong guy. I mean you couldn't have matched me with a worse date than Thomas.
MARINA: That's so strange. I usually have such a great instinct for people who belong together. Oh, well. I'll run your questionnaire again and find someone else. I'm having a party next weekend at the cottage so maybe you can come and meet who I match you with.
INDIA: I don’t know…
MARINA: You know you want to. Trust me about this. I know what I'm doing.
INDIA: Thomas isn't very good proof of that.
MARINA: One mistake. Let me try again.
INDIA: Okay. Talk later. Jon's here and no doubt he'll work me until the wee hours.
MARINA: He's a slave driver.
INDIA: Don't I know it… Later.
MARINA: Later.
I put my cell away and glance up to see Jon staring at me, his eyes curious.
"What did Marina say? Is she crushed that her app failed to find you the man of your dreams?"
"She's hosting a party at the cottage on Saturday and wants me to come and meet another match she has for me," I say and raise my eyebrows, exhaling dramatically. "We'll see how well it does this time."
"Why do you bother? MATCHED obviously failed. I could have told you that before you even saw him."
"She's usually so good at this. I trust her instincts."
He sits forward and opens a file on his desk. That's the signal he's going to start working and I should as well.
I stand and pick up my bag. "I’ve got work to do before tomorrow. How late are you staying?"
He glances up, his mind already elsewhere. I can tell by the way his brow is furrowed. "Until it's done."
"Of course." I leave his office and go to my own, plopping down behind my own much less ostentatious desk. I look out at the dark sky, the lights of the city down below us twinkling. I wish I had met someone good, someone I felt interested in. I would have preferred being truly torn about telling the guy I had to go and work instead of being glad to escape my date.
