Jenna’s face is pinched. “Charming.”
“Like you said, this isn’t about finding my soulmate. Your love life is exhausting enough for me, Cupcake.”
25
JENNA
Yes, the showers in the Prism office are for bikers, but, like, it’s an emergency, okay?
“I didn’t know you rode bikes. Do you wear one of those cute little stretchy outfits?”
I bite back a yelp as Stu, Bethany’s husband, surprises me outside the bathrooms.
What the hell?
He doesn’t move. To scoot past him, I’d have to brush up against his belly. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I wish McCarthy were here.
“Does Bethany need something?” I finally ask.
“Oh no.” He chortles, like it’s perfectly normal to surprise your wife’s employee coming out of the locker room. “Just wanted to make sure you’re hanging in there. I know Bethany’s been a little difficult lately with the pregnancy and all.”
“Yeah, big change,” I say weakly.
“A few more months, then I’m a dad to a little girl.”
God help us.
He nudges me playfully.
“I’m trying to convince Bethany to name her Jennifer.”
“Right.” I let out a nervous laugh. “Jennifer’s a great name! Well, I have to go to a meeting…”
He finally lets me past.
Hannah’s commandeered an out-of-the-way conference room for us and bought pizza and pasta from the Italian place down the street.
“Hopefully it’s not too early for pizza.” She slides a box to me.
I open up the two-liter of Diet Coke, pour most of it into my Stanley cup, and take a long sip.
“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” I take a big bite of a gooey pepperoni slice.
“Bring up the first victim—I mean, who’s the lucky winner to be McCarthy’s one true love?” Hannah clicks the remote with a flourish.
“One true love?” I swallow hard, the soda acidic. “It’s just a fake date; he’s not marrying one of these girls. He promised.”
Hannah gives me a weird look.
The lineup of pretty young women appears on the big TV screen, along with names, ages, and interests.
“Stanford master’s degree in astrophysics. Miss Washington. This girl worked at Buckingham Palace for eight months.” Hannah marvels at their details. “How are these girls all under twenty-three? When we were that age, we were arguing on Tumblr about the various merits of Dramione fan fiction and impulse buying inflatable unicorncostumes on Amazon. How do they have their lives so together? Also, their skin is, like, amazing.”
“It’s not even Photoshop. I’ve met them in person,” I croak. “Their skin is literally that flawless.” The pizza is no longer giving me warm fuzzy feelings. I set down my slice.
“I bet none of these girls eats pizza for breakfast,” Hannah adds.
I’m good at my job. I know I keep saying it, and I know it doesn’t look like it, but I am. And these girls? The ones I’ve chosen? They are all perfect for McCarthy. I interviewed them myself. They are the right blend of pliable yet interesting. They’re all pretty and athletic, and their coloring will match McCarthy’s cool undertones. They’ll look amazing together in photos. Any one of them could be his perfect woman.
