The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,28
These days, they only spell trouble. Surely that’s what he’ll think when he sees my name on the screen.
He answers immediately, the sound of typing in the background. “Hey there.” His voice is warm but curious, with an undercurrent of Why are you calling me?
“Hi. I know this is crazy, making a phone call and all,” I say, trying to keep it easy-breezy.
“So crazy, Bryn.” The sound of typing ceases.
“Trust me, I know.” My stomach plummets. “But I wanted to chat instead of text.”
“Sure. What’s up?” His tone turns markedly serious.
“You know how I said I run a lifestyle site?”
“You mentioned that.” Outright cautious now, like I’m about to shout, You’ve been punk’d!
I breathe out as if I’m in a yoga class. “So, as part of that, we test different apps.”
“Ohhh.” It comes out as ten tons of disappointment.
“No, it’s good, Logan. I swear. I tried out Made Connections to find you, but also because we were testing dating apps for the site. I didn’t mention it last night because it honestly had little to do with our date. Well, I wanted to see you, and my staff volunteered me as tribute, since I had told them about the Mr. Lunch Box moment, and how much I wanted to go out with you.”
“Okay, this is a little better,” he says, still tentative.
“Anyway, everything collided—meeting you at the store, wanting to see you again, testing the app. And I do want to go out with you for sushi. I’m also writing a piece about how well the app worked. No names, occupation, or identifying traits,” I assure him, then push out a laugh. “I just wrote generally about how much I enjoyed the app and that it was a success.”
I take a beat, hoping I sound honest to him. I feel honest. “I truly wasn’t thinking about the article last night at all. I was just having a great time. And I want to have a great time on Friday too. I hope you don’t mind, but if you do, I’m happy to kill the piece.”
He breathes a big sigh. “I thought you were going to tell me I was being catfished or something.”
I shake my head, though he can’t see me. “No, I think you’ll like the piece. I hope you will, at least. I called you Mr. Smolder, and said great things about you.”
I can practically see him smile. “I have to say I was definitely a little concerned. Honesty is important to me. Especially given what I said about my marriage.”
“Me too, Logan. Honesty matters. That’s why I called you the second it occurred to me that I should,” I say, nerves still winging through me. “But the article isn’t the reason I want to see you again.”
“You sure?”
I smile. “I’m so sure. I want to see you again for me. It just so happens that the app also worked particularly well.”
“So it’s a twofer,” he says, his tone lighter.
“A good twofer.”
“As long as I get to see you again, that works for me. When does it post?”
“Probably a day or two.”
“And what’s the name of your site?”
As I tell him, his other line beeps. “I didn’t catch that. But my assistant just buzzed, and I have a huge meeting downtown this morning, so let’s catch up later.”
“Yes, let’s.”
“Also, thank you.”
He ends the call, and a few minutes later, I head into my building.
This is going to be a great week. The eye-contact article goes live any minute and will achieve fast traction. The new owner will be wildly impressed, I know it.
And I’ve met a man I like.
Whoever said Mondays suck was wrong.
Dead wrong.
After I unlock my office and drop my purse on the couch, Teagan pops in. Her eyes are etched with question marks. “Tell me all. I want every dirty detail.”
With a grin, I shut the door and give her the download.
She practically dances a jig. “Gah, that sounds amazing. Also, word on the street is the new owners are coming by today and are meeting us all at eleven o’clock. Be on your best behavior.”
“You mean, don’t flirt with the new boss?” I joke.
She points at me. “Exactly.”
“I promise I’ll be a model employee. Besides, I’m sure he or she will be so amazed by our fabulous new article on the home page that it’ll be all they can talk about.”
“No doubt. I tweeted it out, and we have, like, a gazillion retweets already.”
“I love when you’re precise with numbers.”
She winks. “A gazillion is