into two months and twenty-four days. How many dates would you say a busy woman like yourself could squeeze into that timeframe, Mrs. Pratt?”
My client pursed her Botox-filled lips, or rather, she tried to. They remained plump and full and glistening. “I suppose one per week. Maybe two if I really liked the man.”
“Right,” I said, pleased by her answer. That part of the presentation had been a gamble. I was making a lot of assumptions by basing the presentation strictly on her response. If she’d said she could go on four dates a week, I’d be scrambling with my pitch. “Let’s go with the premise that you do in fact really like this man. You might even be thinking he could be the one. But even so, in eighty-eight days, or twelve and a half weeks, that only gives you twenty-four dates. Maximum. Do you think you could feel confident in telling a man you loved him in that timeframe?”
Mrs. Pratt nodded slowly. “Two dates a week is generous. And twenty-four dates? Well, that hardly seems like enough.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And consider what those dates might be. Sure, many would be of substance. A nice meal enjoyed with a bottle of wine and perhaps a nice stroll through Gastown afterward. But it’s naïve to believe every date would be like that. Some might be short. A quick meeting for drinks. Some might be canceled due to circumstances. Some might end in disappointment. Some might be shared with other couples on double dates. And some might be spent meeting family. How does that make you feel?”
Mrs. Pratt tapped one long ruby-red nail on the edge of the table. “Overwhelmed.”
“Indeed.” I turned and strutted to the vision board I’d propped up behind me on an easel. It was currently covered by a white tablecloth that looked more professional than it was. With a flourish, I pulled the covering off, revealing the branded vision board beneath. I’d incorporated early-stage designs the client had shared with me during our first sit-down visit, including the logo they were toying with using. Even if they changed their mind, that would be something we could adjust down the line, but I wanted to show Mrs. Pratt something real. Creating a mental image had always come easily to me but I knew others didn’t have that same skill. In my experience, providing a concrete visual could be the determining factor between signing a contract or having them walk.
Mrs. Pratt sat up a little straighter in her chair as she studied the board.
“Women,” I said with a knowing grin, “take a bit longer than men to fall in love. On average, they require one hundred and thirty-four days. And this makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Jon rubbed his jaw with one finger and shot a look at Mrs. Pratt.
My client nodded agreeably. “I suppose it does. We’re fickle creatures.”
I didn’t agree or disagree, but she was on track with where I wanted her to be, so I smiled. “Precisely. Women weigh a lot more of the pros and cons before diving into a serious relationship. Does he meet my needs? Will he be a good father? Does his mother still fold his clothes when she visits? Does he cook? Does he—”
“I cook,” Jon said.
I chuckled. “We all know you’re a catch, Jon. But you’re off the market now.”
“A pity,” Mrs. Pratt said, clicking her tongue.
Jon fidgeted with his burgundy pocket square.
“The point I’m trying to make here is that men fall in love easier than women,” I said. “So, with that in mind, it only makes sense that we use it to our advantage.”
Mrs. Pratt tucked her chair in closer to the table so she could rest her elbows upon it. “And how might we do that?”
I was glad she asked. I’d noted in my cue cards, which I hadn’t needed to use because my entire presentation was committed to memory, that this was the place to pause and wait for her to engage. Moments like this were crucial for me to measure whether or not I was on the right track. If she hadn’t asked the question, it meant I wasn’t close to having her buy in.
I opened my mouth to respond but caught movement out of the corner of my eye. My attention flicked briefly to the glass walls of the conference room. On the other side was the office. From here, I could see the open door of my own private office, as well as Jon’s, and