my name. It’s Bruce,” he’d said. “But I’m talkin’ ‘John’ as in shitter, sweet cheeks. Get it?”
The “King” had tried to pump her for legal advice for the first thirty minutes of their forty-five-minute introduction. When she’d said that she didn’t give legal advice outside the office, he’d shrugged. Then his face lit with enthusiasm. He offered to take her on a tour of his “personal facilities” as he slid his filthy booted foot up the inside of her bare leg while waggling his eyebrows and asking, again, if she “got it.”
She stood, told him she definitely “got it” and said that if he didn’t get out before the next session, she’d have him thrown out. Then she went straight to the bar and ordered a mojito.
The second man she’d been matched with had been so initially forgettable that he seemed harmless—he reminded her of an actor who played a scientist on a popular sitcom. As irony would have it, the guy was actually a scientist. He held a doctorate in astronomy from MIT. But he also lived in his mother’s basement and was a certified conspiracy theorist. He had spent the entire time telling her that the evening’s events were part of a breeding study being carried out by the government.
When the bell announcing the conclusion of the second match sounded, Rachel had nearly tipped over her chair as she stood and headed for the bar. That hadn’t stopped the guy from calling out an invitation to go back to his mom’s place “to copulate in the name of science.”
Her second drink had been a shot of tequila.
So had her third, and she hadn’t even met the third man she’d been paired with.
She also hadn’t been the only woman at the bar. The bartender had been pouring as fast as he could for the mass of women crowding the counter, all of them sporting some level of shock.
If she was honest with herself, it seemed most prudent at this point to simply cut and run. She wasn’t even opposed to leaving her coat. It could be replaced. Her sanity? No such guarantees. Yes, she needed the money for her vacation. But she was more than willing to eat a ramen-only diet to pay off the trip’s outstanding balance. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d borrow from her 401(k). Anything had to be better than this.
Decision made, she left the women’s room and headed for the exit.
Someone lightly touched her arm, and Rachel spun to find the moderator, Jaline, looking at her. “Is something wrong?”
“You could say that. First, I was felt up by the steel-toed work boot of the man I wouldn’t have selected as a partner if humanity’s very existence hung in the balance. I told him to leave without consulting you, but I also likely saved you sexual-harassment charges. You’re welcome, but make sure he’s taken off the roster for future events. I mean it.” She knew she sounded as crazed as she felt, but there was no reining it in. “My second match is a conspiracy theorist who probably believes Star Trek—any generation—was a documentary. He offered to procreate, in his bedroom in his mother’s basement, in the name of science. I don’t know where you found these guys, but they aren’t even remotely the type of partners we were promised. They aren’t like-minded. They aren’t civilized. And they certainly aren’t gentlemen. Given the looks on most of the women’s faces at the bar, you’re going to need to provide post ‘power match’ therapy to help them get over the horrors of agreeing to this farce.”
Chest heaving, she turned to go, but Jaline stopped her, this time grabbing her arm with enough force to startle Rachel. The woman’s eyes were wide, her expression harried.
“Please, Ms....”
“Stephens. Rachel Stephens.”
“Please, Ms. Stephens. Rachel. I’ll personally ensure the first man is removed from our test pool and flag his application as an automatic rejection if he tries to reapply. I’ll also have the second man’s application reviewed to see how he got through to the test phase. Neither of these men represents Power Match’s ultimate bachelor. Please, stay through the last round of introductions? As a test applicant, your participation helps us sort out any glitches in the app before it goes live.” The diminutive woman shuddered. “Can you imagine what would happen if we didn’t figure this stuff out first?”
Rachel hesitated. “I appreciate the position you’re in, but it’s been a colossally bad night, Jaline. I just want to go home.”
The woman held out her hand for Rachel’s crumpled paperwork. “I’ll make you a deal. Let me personally vet the final candidate you’ve been paired with. If I don’t think he’s a good match, I’ll see you out myself and sign your paperwork so you can still collect the compensation.”
Rachel clutched her paperwork. “Let me get this straight. If he’s not legit, if he’s another ‘glitch,’ I get to leave and I still get paid as if I’d sat through all three rounds.”
“You have my word.” Jaline eased the paperwork from Rachel’s fist and flipped through several pages. “By choosing to stay, you’re helping to ensure this doesn’t happen...” Her gaze snapped to Rachel’s. “You’re going to want to stay.”
“Why?” Skepticism weighted the one-word question. “Who is he?”
“Your next power match is...” Her cheeks flushed, and she fanned herself.
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re actually blushing. Who is this guy?”
“I’ll allow him to introduce himself. But I’ll promise you ahead of time that he’s incredibly easy to look at, he’s the very definition of corporate success and he’s a gentleman through and through. You aren’t going to want to miss this introduction.”
Curiosity always got the best of her in the worst situations, and this evening certainly qualified as a personal “worst.”
Jaline seemed to sense her hesitation and leaned in close, speaking low enough that only Rachel could hear her. “I’ll stay within sight. If he says or does anything you don’t like, just...” She looked around and ended up pulling a rubber band out of her little bag. “Put your hair up in a topknot and I’ll come running.” When Rachel still didn’t agree, the woman took her by the arm and steered her across the room, every step taken with undeniable purpose. They neared a table at the far corner of the dance floor. A man sat alone, his back to the room, balancing his chair on the two rear legs. The lazy way he rocked forward and back announced to anyone and everyone that he was thoroughly bored.
His short, black hair was neatly trimmed. His suit was cut so it framed his broad shoulders and, even slouched as he was, he was tall.
“That’s him?” she asked, squashing an unexpected wave of anticipation.
“Yes.” Jaline threw her a little side-eye. “He’ll be worth your time. Trust me.”
Rachel scowled at her. “I never trust people who say ‘trust me,’” she murmured.
“Wise,” the man said.
She shot Jaline a wide-eyed look. “Supersonic hearing?”
Jaline slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
He turned just enough to offer her a glance at his profile. “Nothing so extraordinary. I’m just used to people talking about me behind my back.”
Tall.
