The hate date, p.4
The Hate Date, page 4
I had just lain down on my couch and closed my eyes when the buzzer to the front door of my condo went off.
“We’re here to help get you ready for your date!” Liam called out as he, Mike, and Walker breezed into my condo.
“Excuse me?” I swung my feet off the side of the couch.
“Your hate date.”
“No.”
“Dude, Martin Shaw is going to be there,” Walker said.
“Look. He tweeted about it,” Liam said, sticking his phone in my face. “He’s super stoked. This can be your big bonding moment.”
“You think the Holbrooks are going to be able to send anyone out there to the hate date?” Mike asked. “They’re all shacked up. This is your big shot.”
“Are the Holbrooks doing investing?” I asked, frowning. “I thought they did logistics.”
“I heard rumors that one of them has been floating the idea of starting an investment firm,” Walker said. “So if you want this contract with Shaw, you need to get out there with your dating game face on.”
“Wear something nice,” Liam said, holding up a paper bag from a high-end store. “Not your usual boring suit. You have to act like you want to be there finding Mrs. Right!”
He pulled out a silk shirt in a loud pattern.
“I refuse to wear that,” I said flatly.
“You can’t just roll up like you just left the office,” Liam said. “Shaw is wearing something cool. You want to look cool, too, don’t you?”
“At least change your tie,” Mike coaxed.
“And wear a fun pocket square,” Liam said, emptying the bag on the sofa. “If you really want to go all out, don’t match them!”
“I look like a lunatic.”
My brothers had given me a blue-and-silver tie covered in snowflakes and a pocket square covered in bunny rabbits wearing top hats. I inspected myself in the reflection of the bar window.
It’s funny because Belle had bunnies on her panties.
“Absolutely not,” I growled to myself, adjusting my tie. “Focus. We’re here to seal the deal. Get in, get out.”
Martin was across the room, talking to a pack of girls. I ordered one of the overpriced drinks from the bar then tried to figure out how I was going to insert myself into the conversation. My father had natural charisma, so much so that he could convince women to come live in the desert with him and his double-digit wives and feral children.
I didn’t have that. I had his intelligence and steel will. But I was not made for the dating scene. If this contract wasn’t so important, I would have made one of my brothers do this dirty work.
But Martin’s face lit up when he saw me. He grinned.
“Dude! Where’s your party outfit?” He motioned to his own colorful shirt.
Damn it. I should have worn what Liam brought. I was annoyed to know that my little brothers had been correct.
“Long day at the office,” I told him ruefully. “I did wear a fun tie.”
Martin pushed through the crowd of fawning women and inspected it. “Hmm. I’ll allow it.”
“I didn’t mean to steal your date,” I said, gesturing to the crowd of young women who tittered.
“This is the hate date,” Martin explained. “You are supposed to note the woman you get along with the least who just grates on you. That signifies that you two will have passion in a potential relationship.”
“Fascinating stuff,” I lied.
“Unfortunately,” Martin winked at the women, “all these ladies are fabulous.”
They swooned.
I puked a little in my mouth. I have investment pro formas I could be reviewing.
“So,” Martin said, throwing an arm around my shoulder, “you looking for love? I’ve seen you around on the dating circuit.”
“It seems like it’s time to settle down.”
Martin nodded. “I have a relationship guru,” he said. “Fantastic lady. She’s helping me discover what kind of woman I need in my life. Not want, need.”
“Is she?” I murmured.
“She can totally help you get in touch with your inner child,” Martin said.
I had killed and buried my inner child.
“It’s referral only,” Martin whispered. “But I can put in a good word. You have to be totally on board with trying to find your soul mate, though.”
“Absolutely,” I said.
Martin looked at me expectantly.
I forced myself to dredge up whatever relationship drivel my half brother Gunnar would blather on about when he was telling me about the new show his crackpot production company was filming.
“I’ve been spending the last decade focused on growing my wealth,” I said, “but I woke up one morning and realized, what’s the point if I don’t have anyone to share it with?”
Well, no one except my dozens of feral younger brothers who went through money like Coca-Cola.
Martin pressed a hand to my chest. “It’s time. I feel it. You and I are the same person. Go forth and date, my friend. We will compare notes later this week.”
I meandered around the room, making polite chitchat with the women there. My original plan had been to go home as soon as I talked to Martin, but he kept looking over to check on me. I couldn’t just leave. I needed that hate-date meeting later in the week during which I would slip in the idea of Svensson Investment managing his fund.
“So did you find anyone you hated?” one bubbly short woman asked me.
“Everyone here has only been mildly annoying,” I told her.
She let out a peal of laughter. “You’re so funny!” Then she pouted. “I guess I don’t hate you either.”
“That’s because you haven’t spent any time around him,” a woman drawled.
Speaking of people I hated—there, sauntering over from the bar, was Belle.
9
Belle
“Funny comment from someone who claims she’s not stalking me,” Greg sneered.
“Big, fighting words from a man with bunnies on his tie,” I retorted.
“You had them on your underwear.”
The words hung in the air between us like a cloud of steam. Greg seemed almost shocked they had come out of his mouth.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re just as bad as the foot-fetish guy.”
“I didn’t go seek out your underwear,” he hissed. “You jumped into the cold water with no clothes on. You’re some sort of exhibitionist.”
“I told you, frog prince. I thought you needed rescuing.”
“People like me don’t need rescuing,” he scoffed. “Little girls like you need rescuing.”
He called me little!
My heart swooned. But my inner unshaved feminist raged at being called a girl.
“I am not some helpless girl,” I snapped at Greg. It was a little strange to be yelling at a man who was taller than me. It wasn’t often that anyone—man or woman—was.
He glared down at me.
“I raised my brothers, and now I’m starting my own business,” I told him stubbornly.
“Adorable,” Greg said snidely. “Are you selling candles? Homemade soap? Cupcakes?”
“It’s an investment firm.”
Greg barked out a laugh. “Investing is a man’s game. You’re going to be chewed up and spit out. Unless you’re investing in, say, coffee shops, bakeries, or day cares or something.”
“Asshole.”
“Correct,” he said. “I’ve worked in investing for years. You need to be cutthroat. Aggressive. That’s not you.”
“You don’t even know me,” I retorted.
“I do,” Greg said, “You’re out here looking for love, hoping to find a man who will complete you and be your soul mate. You have no intention of making your silly, little investment firm successful. Because deep down, you’re looking for a man to take care of things for you. You want to skate by on your sexy body and your pretty eyes. You don’t want to sacrifice.”
He thinks I’m sexy!
Stop it! I scolded myself. He just insulted you.
But it was heady to have Greg Svensson compliment me. Even if it was followed by an insult.
“You’re a jerk,” I told him.
He let out a mocking laugh.
“See?” he said. “I knew you didn’t have what it took. You can dish out insults, but you can’t take it. You’re not going to last anywhere near Wall Street.”
“Are you all ready to mark down your hate date?” the event organizer chirped, handing each of us a mini pencil and a beige-colored card. “Just write down the top three people here you despise the most, and we’ll organize dates with everyone!”
“I know who I hate here the most,” I said, writing Greg’s name down in all three spots.
“Rest assured, the feeling is mutual,” he said.
10
Greg
“That woman is insufferable,” I snarled to myself the next morning.
I had a routine to make sure that I started my day off correctly. I awoke at precisely six a.m. Then I lifted weights and did cardio, then I ate three soft-boiled eggs and a bowl of oatmeal while I read The Financial Times and went over the day’s schedule.
But instead of a relaxing morning during which I congratulated myself for the successful meeting with Martin Shaw last night, I kept spinning my conversation with Belle over and over in my head.
“An investment firm,” I muttered as I reread the same paragraph of the financial-news article.
But Belle kept intruding in my thoughts.
It was aggravating because I did not obsess about women. Ever. That was what my father did, and I was nothing like him. And the fact that Belle was tall and blue-eyed with platinum-white hair? She was just my father’s type.
“Fuck,” I snarled, jumping up to pace around the open-concept kitchen and living area.
My email pinged with an incoming message as I was on my fourth lap around the room.
From: The Hate Date
Subject: Congratulations! You have a match!
As soon as I read that the organizers had matched me with Belle, I sent the email to the delete folder.
I didn’t have time to date. And I certainly wasn’t going to date Belle.
I resumed my pacing, becoming more and more aggravated.
What a stupid idea—a hate date. How can you start a good relationship by hating someone? It didn’t even make any sense; nothing about dating made any sense! And Belle certainly didn’t make any sense.
My phone went off, jarring me. “What?”
“Someone’s grouchy in the morning.”
“Mr. Shaw,” I greeted my hopefully soon-to-be investor while silently cursing Belle for making me answer the phone so gruffly.
But Martin just laughed.
“Guess you’re still hyped up on the hate date,” he said. “I think it was one of the more successful dating events I’ve been to. How about you?”
“It was certainly unique,” I said, grabbing my pen and starting to make notes about how to best mention my investment firm in our conversation.
“So did you match with anyone?”
“I did,” I said with a sigh.
“Was she someone you hated?”
“Definitely.”
“According to their website, hate sex is the best. And they say that’s how you are supposed to turn hate into love. I was talking to some other guys who went the hate-date route and swear by it.” Martin kept talking, but my hand had frozen while my brain short-circuited and latched onto the phrase hate fuck.
Belle.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I scratched out my notes.
“Seems plausible,” I said.
“I’m trying to plan a really awesome date for my hate date,” Martin said. “The website says you’re supposed to plan things that pit you and your hate date against the world, like both of you having to do an obstacle course, learn a skill neither of you know, or go to see a play you both hate. It helps build camaraderie.”
“Interesting philosophy.”
“Did you set up a date with your match yet?” Martin asked.
“Uh, yes,” I lied.
“So cool!” Martin said. “When is it? Mine is tonight. You and I totally need to get together and compare notes after.”
“Mine is tonight too,” I said in a rush. “I have a whole, big thing planned. Do you want to meet tomorrow and debrief?”
“Absolutely! Just send me a calendar invite! Take lots of pictures. I might need to steal your ideas.”
I let out an uncharacteristic whoop after I ended the call. Martin Shaw’s investment was almost mine.
Someone opened my front door, and several of my brothers ran inside.
“Oh thank god,” Liam said when he saw me standing there. “We thought you had finally combusted from stress.”
“What are you doing in my condo, and how did you even get inside?” I asked in annoyance. “This is the second time.”
“Dude, it was an emergency!” Liam stated. “We were trying to save your life. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Beck has key-card access to all the units,” Mike said, pointing to our brother.
Beck gave a slight shrug. “I need to be able to access the units because some people have drinking problems.”
“Not me,” Liam said, pointing to himself. “I don’t know why you’re looking at me.”
“Dude, you were completely wasted on New Year’s.”
“Everyone out!” I thundered. “I need to plan a date.”
My brothers gaped.
“What?”
“With who?”
“Why?”
Mike held a hand to my forehead. “I think you might be running a fever. I’ll have Parker send over some horse tranquilizers.”
“Absolutely not.” I swatted his hand away. “I am planning a date so that I have something to talk about with Martin Shaw at our meeting tomorrow,” I said smugly.
Mike applauded. “That’s why you’re the boss. Way to seal the deal.”
“It’s not done yet,” I cautioned. “I need to pull together a nice hate date and take pictures to discuss with him. You know, make it seem like he and I are on the same wavelength.”
“Who are you asking out?” Beck said.
I grimaced. “Belle.”
“Yikes.”
“Can’t go wrong with dinner and a boat ride,” Liam suggested.
“That’s too basic,” Mike retorted.
“Besides, it’s a hate date. I have to plan things that we both mutually hate,” I explained.
“Poetry readings, art exhibits, charity dinners,” Liam said as he listed off things that I did hate. But did Belle hate them too?
“I need some opposition research on her,” I told my brothers.
“Already got you covered,” Walker promised. “I had Crawford pull some info. I’ll tell everyone to meet at the office in two hours.”
Crawford was smug when I walked into the conference room later that morning. “Look who’s trying to pretend to be a human being and go on a date.”
“Fuck off and go start your silly, little security firm.”
“Please,” he preened, “it’s already started. I just landed a contract from the Richmond Brothers to do security at their next big fundraiser, and I’m about to sign a contract with Evan Harrington for the Tech Biz event.”
Crawford clicked a button on his laptop, and a presentation popped up on the screen at the front of the conference room. “Belle Frost. Sister to Owen and Jack Frost, who you have done business with. So it looks like someone is eating where he sleeps.”
“I don’t care what Owen thinks,” I scoffed. “And Jack is a moron. I need that Shaw contract. What are some of the things she hates?”
“The big thing is you, apparently,” Crawford said. On the screen flashed a picture from the bullshit Christmas party Jack Frost had thrown a couple of weeks ago. There was me and Belle. She looked displeased.
“You’re just the paradigm of Christmas cheer,” Crawford said sarcastically.
“What else does she hate?”
“Her parents. Printers that have subscription ink plans. And the sun.”
The next slide was a screenshot from a Swedish girl’s Instagram. She was posing on the beach with a slightly sunburnt, scowling Belle, who was wearing a bikini. She looked fantastic in it.
“Belle has no social-media profiles, and according to the Frost brothers, she had been missing for the last two years.”
“She was kidnapped?” I snarled, jumping up. “Who the hell did it?”
“Are you fucking serious, dude?” Crawford said. “I literally just showed you a picture of her on vacation.”
“Right.” I sat back down.
“According to her younger brother Jonathan, she doesn’t like party planning, idiots, and food that is not served on a plate.”
“It’s incredible,” I said, “you go to these restaurants, and they charge an arm and a leg, then they serve you your food on a piece of tree bark or a shovel.”
“They truly are a match made in heaven,” Beck remarked.
“I’m working up the perfect date itinerary,” Liam said. “It’s going to be the best hate date ever! What time is Belle free tonight? Because at seven there is a trust-fund kid doing a reading of his debut novel inspired by his three-month stint as an organic oregano farmer, and it sounds stupid as fuck.”
“Uh…”
“You haven’t even asked her yet?” Crawford raised one eyebrow that was bisected by a scar.
“It’s not like she has anything else to do,” I scoffed and dialed the number that had been sent with the hate-date email. The phone rang. And rang. “Shit.”
“Send her a text message.”
Greg: Come have a hate date with me.
“You can’t send that!” Liam exclaimed over my shoulder.
“Too late.”
But the text message bounced back.
Error: Unable to send.
“Fuck,” I said. “I need to get in contact with her. I need to go on this date. Tonight. One of you—find her.”
