There was a pause.
“You and Mr. F haven’t messaged since?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t even know what to say. I feel like I’d die of embarrassment if I sent anything.”
Another pause.
Then Jane said, “You should go on two more dates with him.”
Elizabeth stared. “I’m sorry—what?”
“You said it yourself. TrueNorth makes users go on three dates before they can rematch. You don’t just have a shot at testing the app—you have a chance, actually, to meet him. Like, therealhim. Not through a tweet. Not at a podium. A human being. In daylight. Possibly with food.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “I can’t just show up as if nothing happened.”
“You can. Or you can message him. Be honest. Say you were surprised. Ask to finish the trial.”
“And what if he says no?” Elizabeth folded her arms. “I literally stood up and walked out of the first date without a word.”
Jane shrugged. “Then he says no. But if I were him? I’d want to see it through. Especially after what you pulled at the gala—and your tweet. You met him onhisapp. Whatever you write next can either tank TrueNorth or turn it into a dating empire. He knows that. I doubt he wants to give you more ammo.”
“These tech billionaires can survive anything.”
“Maybe,” Jane said, reaching across to squeeze her hand, “but even billionaires bleed PR.”
Elizabeth gave her a look.
“Come on, Lizzy. What harm can it possibly do?” Jane stroked her hand dramatically, putting on a mock-serious face. “Besides, remember my baby has investments in this app. I am not just going to sit here and watch you write a piece that brings everything crashing down because you hate Mr. Darcy.”
“I’m sorry, but my job is my job. Even if it involves your Bingley.”
“Two more dates,” Jane repeated. “That’s all I’m asking. You might actually find out the app isn’t completely terrible.”
Elizabeth looked down into her mug. “Two dates.”
“Two dates.”
Elizabeth sighed and took a sip.
“What if you accidentally like him?”
Elizabeth nearly choked on the tea. “That’s not happening.”
“But you liked Mr. F,” Jane teased.
“I admired a façade,” Elizabeth snapped. “And what happened at the café proves exactly what I’ve always feared about these algorithm-based love apps. People can fake anything.”
Jane made a face. “Okay, now you’re making him sound like a serial killer. Or worse.”
Elizabeth snorted. “God, I hate how reasonable you sound right now.”
“Come on. It’s just three dates. Worst-case scenario? You get material. Best case? You get answers.”
Elizabeth leaned back and groaned. “Fine. But if he shows up with another algorithm speech, I’m faking a bathroom emergency.”
“Noted.”
***
