Page 84 of Playing Mr. Perfect

I spear a piece of chicken with my fork. “I don’t know. My ad is very specific, but everyone who applies is either over- or underqualified.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Someone smart, with experience in an environment similar to ours. Someone who’s capable of doing more than phones, but happy to answer them along with their other duties. A team player who can…You know what? Let me just show you the ad.” I pull out my phone and scroll to the ad on the employment site. “This is what we need.”

As he reads it, his expression turns serious. “I think I know what the problem is.”

“You do? What is it?”

“You need a master’s degree just to decipher this ad. It’s too technical. Try to see this from an applicant’s standpoint.” He reads the ad aloud. “Seamless orchestration of front-office functionalities within a dynamic environment focused on innovative technological solutions and data-driven methodologies.”

“Okay, I guess that is a little technical,” I admit.

He glances at the ad again. “You talk about industry-specific vernacular and project initiatives. Come on, Pep. Does anyone even use the word vernacular?”

“Obviously I do.”

“It sounds like you don’t want a receptionist. You want a scientist that’ll answer your phone,” he teases. “I’m going to do you a favor and rewrite this ad. We’ll find you someone smart and qualified.”

“You’ve done enough already.” I take my phone from him. “Don’t you have anything better to do than hang around my work?”

“Stop worrying about me, and tell me about the meeting with Doc Bowry. How’d it go?”

Persuasive indeed. “It went great. He recommended our company to a group of investors. Which reminds me, I’m sorry, but I need to go over a few reports tonight, so I can work on proposals over the weekend for the migraine device and a hands-free alternative to a mouse that’s controlled by head movements and facial gestures for people with physical disabilities.”

“Don’t apologize. I think it’s great, and I think you are nothing short of amazing. Do you usually work weekends?”

I push my food around on my plate. “If I say yes, does that make me a loser?”

“No. It makes you dedicated to a very important job. I usually work weekends, too.”

“That’s right, Sunday football. But not during your off season.” I take a bite.

“I still work out in the off season, and I’ve got other commitments, and some of them fall on weekends. I’ve got a charity football game in March on a weekend, and I hope you’ll go to it with me.”

That surprises me. He’s thinking about us being together in March? “Where is the game?”

“In Vegas.”

“As in Elvis impersonators, slot machines, loud bars, and flashy lights? That’s not really my thing.”

“No, it’s not. But it might be Reckless’s thing.” He covers my hand with his. “Don’t make your decision now. Let’s wait until you realize you can’t live without me.”

I laugh, but I don’t think he’s kidding, and I kind of love that confidence aimed at us.

“So, tell me, Pep, what do you do when you’re not working?” he asks. “Do you have hobbies?”

“Not really. I like to read, but it usually leads to me thinking up a new project and doing research. I do like to watch Jeopardy!”

“No way. Me too. I told you we had things in common.” He takes a bite. “What else? You seem crafty.”

“I’m technically crafty, but not artistically. Are you crafty?”

“I’m not bad. We grew up making presents for each other instead of buying them, and that took a fair amount of craftiness. Although, my siblings would say they got too many turkey drawings.”

“Turkey drawings?” I take another bite.

“Yeah, you know the ones where you trace your hand and make the fingers into feathers. Every holiday, that’s what they got.”