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She smiles brightly. "Good."
Sighing, I outstretch my hand. "Let me see who I'm going with."
But Mei whips her phone to her chest, hiding the screen like it's some precious relic. "No can do. That's the best part. It's a blind date."
"I'm going on a blind date?" I ball my hands into fists beneath the table, stilling their nervous tremble. One thing I hate more than confrontation? Surprises.
"Well, a one-sided blind date," she corrects, as if that does anything at all to calm my anxiety. "I did say I vetted your playing field, didn't I? Just think of me as your personal matchmaking service." She winks, tapping on her screen. "Let's just say, out of all the hot guys you matched with, none of them came close. And I got a suspicious hunch he's rich—you know how fine-tuned my radar is with that kinda thing. You'll thank me later."
I scoff. I couldn't care less about what this mystery man has in his pockets, but curiosity gets the better of me. "And what makes you say that?"
She twirls a strand of hair, clearly loving that she's landed me in such a predicament. It's been her number one goal for years. "Well, for starters, most matches on this particular app choose casual first date spots. Grab coffee at a café, take a walk in Central Park, meet up at a bar, that kind of thing. But your match must really want to impress you—he's taking you out to a restaurant, a nice-ass looking one, too." Her gaze turns dreamy. "Can't say I'm not a twinge bit jealous.
I'm going to throw up.
"Can I at least know his name?"
"Hayden."
My stomach drops. "Uh... Hayden-who?"
"The app doesn't show last names, for obvious reasons." She gives me a puzzled look. "Why? Do you know a Hayden?"
"Oh, no," I lie, concealing the truth that I spent my childhood alongside the son of one of the wealthiest families in the country. "I was just curious."
Well, that's an odd coincidence, I think, as a swarm of images flood my brain, all replaying the last time I was alone with Hayden Kingston. My brother's best friend. Who certainly has more experience than the charming man who slipped me a napkin, maybe more than anyone in this entire city. But luckily, common sense swoops in, banishing the thoughts at their root. Because, in a city of over eight million strong, that's all it is.
A coincidence.
THREE
HAYDEN
Being a playboy is an art form with a strict set of rules.
Rule #1: A playboy must always show up late on the first date.
Why, you ask?
While pissing off my date before I've even sat down at the dinner table seems counterintuitive, a playboy must never appear overeager. Because his time is valuable, and this is just another date for him. Which is exactly why it's seven o'clock on the dot, the time when my date with Juliana should've begun, and I'm here, seated behind a bar, sipping a gin and tonic.
Cherry oak and chesterfield sofas dominate the moody lounge, located in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental hotel. Soft chatter trickles in through the double doors, which allows for a perfect view of the well-dressed guests who pass through. Not only do rooms here fetch well over two-grand a night, their list of amenities is nothing to scoff at. Including a spa and wellness facility, high-end shops and designer boutiques, as well as a Michelin-star rooftop steakhouse with panoramic views.
A view Juliana is certainly enjoying. Alone.
Unbuttoning my suit jacket, I pull out my phone, intending to re-read the bizarre text conversation I had with Juliana last night. Or, should I say, with the person who I thought was Juliana. My jaw ticks at the sight of the first message that was in the preview box the moment we matched.
Juliana: I shouldn't share these pics, but I'm having a hard time choosing between red or black ;) ...
Even though this time I know what to expect when I click into the messages, blood rushes to my groin all the same.
Juliana: Gotcha! Goodness, what kinda girl do you think I am?
Me: The kind who deserves a spanking.
I was just asking for a verbal lashing—she is my best friend's little sister, after all, who has always been the reluctant recipient of my most crude comments. I spare her no mercy, only so I can savor her incredulous reactions. And highly sought-after attention.
But before her next text arrived, I had countless questions and zero answers. First and foremost, why did we match in the first place? That would mean she had already right-swiped on me, after seeing my profile. And given how things left off the last time we interacted, I'd wager that was a very low chance. Which could only leave one possibility...
