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“Do you know who I am?” “I know a rich a-hole when I see one.” “What else do you think you know about me?” Tapping a finger on my lip, I look him over. His suit is impeccable—black as night, with a cream-colored shirt, top few buttons open, enough of his chest visible to see that he’s obviously fit. He’s got a two-hundred-dollar haircut and a twenty-thousand-dollar watch. He screams wealthy. He screams arrogant. He screams, I will break your heart and forget you ever existed. “I think that there’s no way this is your first blind date, that’s for sure.” “You’d be surprised. Men in my position don’t usually make time for distractions like this.” Laughing, I say, “Keep up that stream of compliments and you might even get lucky.” “I don’t need to compliment you to get lucky.” I roll my eyes. “I take back what I said about the chivalry. Your arrogant score is quickly taking the lead.” He leans back in his seat. “Pity. I was just starting to picture our wedding. I was thinking beach.” “I hate the sand.” “Mountains then.” “Too cold.” “Vineyard.” “Red wine gives me a headache.” “Well, this won’t,” he assures me—just as a server appears out of nowhere, bearing a silver tray with a glistening bottle of vodka and two chilled glasses. “Compliments of the chef,” the man explains as he sets the liquor down on our table and vanishes. I squint at my date. “That was suspiciously smooth.” “Things have a way of working out for me,” he explains as he pours two shots and slides one over to me. I take it reluctantly between my fingertips. “Do they now? Must be nice. I have no idea what that’s like.” He chuckles. “The trick is to relax.”