“Oh my God, no!” A laugh bursts from my lungs. “There’s no marriage proposal involved. I swear. You’ll just announce which contestant you want to take on a second date. That’s it.”
“Okay, good. I don’t need some seventeenth-century bequeathal of the dowry or some shit raising my tax liability next year,” he says before going back to reading. I blink three times, trying to make sense of everything he’s just said.
“The bequeathal…” I repeat softly, making the corner of his pink mouth curl into a smirk. “Oh.” I laugh as it becomes clear that he’s joking. He lets his smirk grow into a smile but largely keeps his concentration aimed at the paper as he reads more.
He rolls his eyes at some of the bullet-pointed rules farther down the page, but eventually, puts his pen to the dotted line and scribbles.
“Okay, what else?”
I look down into the folder and wince. Man, I was really hoping I’d figure out how to make myself a holograph before having to bring up this part.
“You’re really not going to like this.”
He quirks a curious brow. “Not going to like what?”
“The next detail, as it were. But it’s a part of the official rules, and the legal team says it has to be done, and…” I pause, trying to find the right way to deliver this doozy.
“Holley. What is it?”
I wince. “Well, you’re required to go get an STI test. And a drug test. And a physical.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Well, yes. But it doesn’t require peeing or needles or anything. I just need you to fill out a questionnaire to help us plan the dates. What you’re comfortable with doing, some of your hobbies, and if you’re allergic to anything specifically.”
“Shouldn’t that be in my physical?”
“Yes,” I agree, one hundred percent. “But the Tribune has a strict policy on anaphylaxis. Mainly, that we are not to cause it under any circumstances. So, we double down just in case it’s not in your medical records.”
“And the women…?”
“They have to do all the physicals too. We can’t assure everything—there’s some risk, obviously, as there always is with dating—but we’re trying to lower the percentage as much as possible.”
He considers me for a minute. My hands shake a little, but I hold eye contact. I will not back down.
I mean, given enough time and pressure, I probably, almost definitely, will. But the goal right now is for him not to know that.
I am a steel fortress. These are the terms. Take them or leave them.
Ha. Ha-ha-ha. I’m sweating.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” I ask, my voice far too hopeful for someone who should be a balls-of-steel negotiator.
He nods. “All of it is fine.”
Instantly, relief washes over me, and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. My God, the stress, the anxiety…finally, I can start to let it go. This is going to be good. I’m not going to get fired, and maybe, eventually, if it goes well, I can put in for a request to move my office location. Get out from in between—
“Except…there’s one thing.”
His words are a pin to my balloon of joy.
“One thing?”
“One thing I want done differently.”
I’m shaking my head before he even gets started. There’s no way they will budge on the doctor’s appointments and the testing and the—
“I don’t want to fill out some questionnaire about dates with women I know nothing about.”
The questionnaire? That’s what he has a problem with?
“It’s just to make—”
He holds up a hand, and I stop talking immediately.
“I want to plan each date before it happens, with you,” he further explains. “We’ll go over some information about the woman so I can take each of them into consideration. It’s the only way I’ll do it. And as far as I’m concerned, there’s no way in hell you’re going to learn all you need to know from a stupid piece of paper. You’ll spend a whole day with me, and then you can draw your own conclusions for your articles from that.”
“This is a deal-breaker?”
He nods. “I’m not doing this to waste my time, Holley. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it. I’m not the type of man who likes to half-ass things or, worse, fail at them. I’d like to have some chance at success, and if you ask me, no piece of paper with a questionnaire is going to give me a shot in hell of doing that.”
“Okay,” I agree. I mean, what else can I do? “You and I…we’ll plan