Even though I’d questioned my outfit earlier, the fact that Sebastian thought he had me made me want to do the opposite of shy away. So I went with it and addressed the room. “Someone spilled coffee on me this morning.”
“No way,” Garth said. “Are you all right?”
“Fortunately, it was iced.” I caught the end of Justin’s glance across the table. “The nearest store with clothing only had souvenirs,” I continued, “so I was forced to improvise. But that’s okay, because instead of telling you this next very important detail about myself, I can just show you.”
A few men shifted in their seats as I slowly unbuttoned my blazer. Sebastian wore an unreadable expression but watched me, twisting his pen cap between his fingertips. I opened my jacket and stuck my hands on my waist to show off the logo printed across the front of the top. “I don’t want there to be any doubt—I’m a Yanks girl through and through. I work fine with Mets fans, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got to like them.”
“Yankees man right here,” Boris said, jumping up from his seat for a high five.
“You talking crap about my team?” Garth grinned and dangled a Mets keychain.
“I just want you all to know where I stand. Transparency is important to me,” I said, returning his smile. “We’ll save the real shit-talking for happy hour.”
“There’s an idea,” Vance said, lighting up and turning to me. “The guys always go for a drink at the end of the week. Why don’t you join them?”
I hesitated. While work-social events such as mixers, dinner meetings, and conferences were George’s arena, happy hour could potentially veer into personal territory. I didn’t think I could successfully make the transition from work to play, so I never tried if I could help it. “Maybe some other time,” I said.
I shifted feet, and Sebastian gave me a once-over. “Got better plans?” he asked.
My plans involved a hunky Great Dane, an appropriate amount of junk food to ease first-week-at-a-new-school stress—a ritual that had carried over into adulthood—and switching the channels between reruns of Flipping Out and House Hunters International.
I wasn’t sure if those plans were better, but they definitely sounded more appealing. My ex had gotten our friends in the breakup—more like he’d stolen them using the tactics that made him such a great salesman. He’d convinced them I was a drama-hungry liar, and he’d had to end things to stop enabling me. So, reality TV it was.
I dipped my head in an elegant, restrained nod I hoped would convey that yes, indeed, I’d already committed to a posh Upper East Side dinner party, a hip Williamsburg gallery opening, or candlelit yoga overlooking the Hudson.
And then Vance once again opened his big mouth, proving that while Sebastian was Modern Man’s greatest liability, Vance might be mine.
“What’s the matter, Sebastian?” Vance asked. “Afraid your new co-manager will see firsthand how little game you have?”
“I have more game than anyone in this room, and you know it,” Sebastian said.
“Actually, we don’t know that.” Justin nodded at me. “Now that we have a new member on the team.”
I almost laughed. George could handle herself fine in a roomful of men. Georgina, on the other hand, not so much. What kind of after-work event required game anyway? But in order to earn their trust, I needed my team to believe that I understood men as well as women. “I do all right,” I said with a half-smile. “But I try not to pick up dates at a work event if I can help it.”
Sebastian laughed and raised his chin. “This isn’t a work event. This is drinks at the local watering hole for those who can handle it. No office talk allowed.”
The group looked on as Sebastian and I held each other’s gaze. He’d posed a thinly veiled challenge meant to put me on the spot, and one I wasn’t sure I could afford to turn down.
Vance plugged his ears. “I think this is the kind of stuff HR has warned me about,” he said before leaning over to add quietly, “but off the record, this could be a great chance to demonstrate your earlier point.”
“Which one?”
“About how using a common interest is a more effective way to meet someone than pretending to be someone else.”
“Oh.” The irony practically hurt. Who was I to teach anyone about dating? I glanced at my feet. “I don’t really work that way. I mean, out in the field.”
“If you don’t test your theories, how do you know they work?” Sebastian asked.
I glanced up. Judging by the silence and all the eyes on us, Vance’s comments hadn’t been private at all. If I didn’t say something, I’d start blushing.
“I’ll bet Georgina can teach you a thing or two,” Vance said.
“She’ll probably be fighting off guys as soon as we walk in the door,” Justin said, winking and nodding as if encouraging me—as if he thought he was being helpful.
Sebastian studied me, seemingly curious about my response. A flush began working its way up my neck. “Just another Thursday night,” I said, but my voice had lost some of its confidence.
He tilted his head as if he’d caught me in a lie. “Yeah? I’d like to see that. Figure out what I’ve been doing wrong all these years.” His eyes sparkled as my confidence drained.
“I’m not here to teach you how to get a date,” I said, which was laughable considering women obviously flocked to him.
“But that’s what the magazine is about, and if you’re going to come in and start changing things, you should know what you’re dealing with,” Sebastian said. “We help men level up. Teach them how to refine their palates, decorate an apartment, build the perfect fire, and assemble IKEA furniture without breaking a sweat. If you think we learn these things to impress our friends . . . well, I’m not sure this magazine is the right fit for you.”
“It’s true.” Justin gave me a short nod. “We do all that to get laid.”
Vance pointed at Justin. “Comments like that are the reason we’re in this mess.”
“You make them all the time, sir,” Justin said.
“Which is why we need Miss Keller,” Vance said. “And not just from nine-to-five. We could all stand to be better men in and out of the office.” He clapped his hands together once. “So, happy hour it is.”
Crap. How had I gotten myself into this? I wasn’t even equipped for a rough-and-tumble night out with these guys, much less proving to them that I could score. Excluding Sebastian, it’d been months since a man had even tried to strike up a conversation with me. If these guys found that out, they might not trust me to helm this ship. Yet happy hour was also prime bonding time.
Before I could answer, Sebastian shot to his feet. “Is this presentation over? It was fun and all, but some of us have real work to do.”
“It can be fun and enlightening,” I said, looking up at him. “I’m looking forward to taking this publication in a better direction with you, Mr. Quinn.”
“If you’re proposing we walk on eggshells to please people outside of our demographic,” he said, gesturing behind me at the slides, “then I assure you, that direction will be down.”
He left the room without another word, and everyone looked at me. I put on a solid smile, even though his dismissal stung after all the effort I’d made to include him. “He must be a Mets fan. They’re famous for getting butt hurt.”
The men laughed. “Actually, it’s worse,” Garth said. “He’s from Boston.”
Boston? Shit. No wonder we’d been butting heads. I should’ve known, but I’d let his dazzling good looks and spotty reputation blunt my normally keen enemy radar. If Sebastian rooted for the Red Sox over the Yankees—and if he was from Boston, then he did—that made us natural rivals. For some reason, going up against Sebastian made my nerves flare more than the usual stumbling blocks I encountered at a new job. Was it just because my confidence had taken a hit after my breakup with Neal—or was it that Sebastian had witnessed me in a vulnerable moment before he’d even learned my name?