“That’s threes.”
“Fuck.”
She tsks. “Take it down a notch. So he’s here—it’s not like he’s working on your book. He can’t taint something he can’t touch.”
I exhale. “You’re right.”
“I was surprised he introduced himself to me. Like, why make the connection at all, you know? But maybe he’s a fan of the podcast.”
“If he’s ever listened to a single episode of the podcast, I will go camping for a week straight.”
She gasps, knowing that’s the big guns. “Hey, he showed up tonight. Life’s full of surprises. Better order a tent.”
Although most of our interactions have been via email or teleconference, I’ve also met Ryan in person several times. Maral might normally have come to one or two of those with Nadia and me, given that she’s my brand manager and the keeper—and maker—of my schedule, but as luck would have it, she had conflicts. She was visiting her parents in L.A. the week we did the photo shoot for my cover—which Ryan didn’t even need to be at, let alone spend scrutinizing my every pose like Don Draper minus the cigarette for two hours straight. On the day we had the pre-pub meeting with the Woodsworth marketing and publicity teams, she was ironing out the contract for Mindy Kaling’s appearance on the podcast (which paid off—it’s still one of our most streamed episodes, and one of my personal faves). I recorded our discussion about the long-lead campaign and annotated the audio file with copious ideas that came to me during and after, then sent her an email or twenty over the next few days as more ideas bustled in, to which she replied,I’ll never miss a meeting again.
Maral’s eyes travel up and down the length of Ryan. “He’s not what I expected.”
“Less cumulonimbus, more human man?”
“That. And…” She tilts her head. “He’s hot. The way you described him, I imagined a dowdy old-world professor type. Spectacles perched on the end of his nose. But he looks…” She swirls her wine. “Like someone you’d have on rotation.”
“Ha.” She means the short list of men I call upon to serve my physical needs from time to time. Okay, fairly frequently. (What can I say? I have a lot of physical needs.) The prerequisites are that they be unattached, good in bed, and as uninterested in a relationship as I am. No questions asked as to why. Unsurprisingly, there are quite a few takers. “He wishes.”
I sip my drink, trying to assess Ryan with unbiased eyes. Sure, he’s handsome. But publishing as an industry is notoriously short on men, and everyone knows that when men are in short supply,the few options become more attractive by default. He may be a publishing ten, but he’s a New York seven. Whereas Jacob—the latest addition to myrotation,as Mar put it—is a solid ten all around.
My eyes trail from Ryan’s rich brown hair to his five o’clock shadow, the darkness of which makes the jade green of his eyes all the more vibrant, not to mention the soft pink of his lips (why am I looking at his lips). He’s wearing a charcoal-colored button-down shirt that pulls a little across the breadth of his back, and dark jeans that look like they were measured and manufactured to mold to his exact shape.
He looks strong…substantial. Like a tree, rooted to the earth. Immovable. Steady.
Okay, maybe he’s a New York eight.
Or maybe I’ve just gone too long without having my physical needs served.
“Need a napkin for that drool?” Mar says, tone mirthful.
I snap to. “What? Shut up.”
“You look like you haven’t had dinner and he’s a juicy kebab.”
“You’re gross,” I sputter.
“Whatever you were just imagining doing to him is grosser.”
“I wasn’t imagining anything.”
“Then why are you getting so worked up?”
“I’m not,” I lie. Damn, I must be hard up if my mind is wandering as far asRyan Grant. How long has it been since I last had sex? It’s been a busy couple of weeks. I’ll have to consult my Rolodex (aka the contacts in my phone grouped underhookups) posthaste.
“Right,” she says, eyeing me. “ ’Cause far be it from you to have feelings of any kind.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t you have a podcast to edit?”
She finishes her drink, setting the glass on a high-top. “Mingle, have a good time. I’ll see you in the morning. Pancakes on mebefore we head to the airport.” She double-kisses me before heading off to say her goodbyes.
I wander around the room, chatting with people and finishing my drink, then make my way over to where Nadia and Meredith are having an animated conversation.
“So, success?” Nadia asks me as I approach.
