Chapter 10
Hallie
I was a month into my “Love on Wall Street” column. I’d written four articles, each depicting the same thing: the introduction of a carbon copy of a man I’d written about the previous week, a date with stale conversation that fizzled out or was interrupted before we could discuss a second date.
The only saving grace of this series was how so many women had found the material relatable, adding their own personal accounts of their run-ins with the men of Wall Street.
But with every failed date—every interruption from James Rossi—I was seeing the chances of obtaining the magazine’s restaurant critic role slowly slip away.
That feeling only compounded when I sat down at my desk on Monday morning and opened my company inbox to see an email from Anthea sitting right at the top.
SUBJECT: YOU SEEM INCAPABLE OF SECURING AN ACTUAL DATE
The entire body of the email was blank. There was only the subject line glaring back at me. Anthea’s taunting email in my coffin of self-doubt. My stomach clenched with dread; the weight of missed opportunities pressed down on me, leaving me with only one last desperate gamble.
Hallie:
Want to go to Whiskey Locker tonight? Operation “Get Hallie a Date” needs to begin.
Roxie:
I think I may skip out on tonight. I’m tired of gracing those Wall Street men with my presence when they don’t know the opportunity they have at their fingertips.
Roxie:
But you’ve got this. I have a good feeling about tonight!
Honestly, if I were Roxie, I would have given up on tagging along to watch my best friend crash and burn a long time ago. So later that evening after work, I made the trek to Whiskey Locker by myself with a newfound determination to secure a date to write and finally stop disappointing Anthea.
This experience had led me to the conclusion that the dating scene was overrated. Sipping wine (again!), scoping the room for a date (again!), I thought, seriously, why does anyone do this?
“How are you tonight, Hallie?” Joey, the bartender, asked. The two of us had shared far too many conversations since I’d started coming here. I wore the fact that we were on a first name basis as a badge of honor—or at least that was what I told myself to make myself feel better.
“The usual, Joey. The usual.”
“Hey, I noticed you were sitting by yourself and I don’t want to intrude …” The universe must have taken pity on me and was on my side for once, because a rather handsome man was leaning against the bar next to me.
Thank you, I said up to the heavens, hoping I’d stay in the universe’s good graces.
“You are definitely not intruding.” I gestured to the open seat next to me, which he quickly slid into. After giving myself the quickest pep talk of my life, I stuck out my hand and plastered the flirtiest smile I could muster onto my face. “I’m Hallie.”
“Henry.” The most adorable dimple appeared as Henry enveloped my hand with his own and, for the first time during this entire charade, my stomach swooped.
I noticed the beer in Henry’s hand. Not an Old Fashioned. Already straying from the norm.
Henry’s gray eyes studied me thoughtfully. “Well, Hallie, what brings you to the Financial District?”
“What if I told you I’m looking for a man in finance?” I wasn’t sure who this woman was that was taking over my body, actually flirting, but I was more than happy to let her take the lead.
And to my surprise, Henry seemed to like it. A melodic laugh blended in with the alternative rock music that Whiskey Locker loved to play.
“Then I’d say that you’ve just found one.”
Henry ran a hand through his hair, tousling it in a way that had me wondering what he looked like underneath his perfectly pressed dress shirt and suit.
Would that be a conflict of interest?
Anthea never mentioned I couldn’t have sex with the people I dated …
Hell, that was a pretty crucial part of dating.
“I’m sorry, that was an awful joke.” Damn, even the way he blushed was attractive.
Almost like a reflex, I scanned the room, searching for a familiar handsome face that was plotting my demise.
It was about right now when he typically appeared—like a pop-up thunderstorm on a summer evening, a dark cloud out of nowhere to ruin an otherwise perfect day.
But his deep-blue eyes and signature smirk were nowhere in sight.
I pushed away the sinking feeling that crept in at his absence, choosing to ignore how it felt far too large to unpack.
Especially when I had an attractive man beside me, genuinely interested in what I had to say.
“Are you hungry?” I asked him, trying to force James from my mind. “Because I’m starving. I don’t remember the last time I ate.”
Henry flagged Joey down. “We can’t have that, can we? Can we get an order of mozzarella sticks and pretzel bites?”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “A man after my heart. Mozzarella sticks and pretzel bites?”
“It’s sacrilegious to not have both when you’re at a bar.” The two of us shared a smile, and I was already mentally taking notes on everything I wanted to write in this week’s article. Surely this article would blow Anthea away.
“So, Henry, I’m assuming you work in FiDi.” I gestured to his suit as evidence.
“You have exceptional deduction skills, Hallie.” Henry glanced down at his attire with a chuckle. “I’m the Chief Financial Officer at Young Investments.”
“A CFO of an investment firm? I feel like that’s like an inception of the financial realm.”
“That’s the best response I think I’ve ever gotten to my job title.” Joey dropped off our order, which Henry immediately dove into. “Normally, I get glazed eyes and incoherent nods. And what do you do, Hallie? I’m sure it’s something far more impressive than being another unit in the FiDi.”
“Oh, I’m a writer for Sophisticate .” Henry’s expression shifted in surprise, and I braced myself for the usual dismissal I was accustomed to. The only guy who had ever truly acknowledged my accomplishments without brushing them off was … James.
But Henry surprised me once more. “That’s impressive. Writing and the entertainment industry are wildly fast-paced, and Sophisticate is definitely a leader in that space. So, I’d say that makes you an industry leader.”
A guy who knew good bar food and could dish out compliments. It was about damn time.
“This may be forward,” Henry added, his smile widening. “But do you want to go grab a bite to eat sometime? Get to know each other in a place that isn’t looping the same seven songs?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You noticed that, too?” Then, before I could second-guess myself, I added, “Actually, how about now? I could go for something more filling than mozzarella sticks and some pretzels.”
Henry raised an eyebrow, taken aback for a moment, but then he nodded. “Now? Well … sure.”
I couldn’t believe it. It felt almost too perfect, too easy, and I knew I couldn’t let the opportunity slip away. Who knew how long he’d stick around? Or if he would show up at any moment, turning everything upside down again. There was no time like the present.
Henry offered me his hand to help me off the barstool before handing me my clutch. “A culinary expert and a real visionary. I’m intrigued.”
I was already thinking about how I could nail two birds with one stone—write the killer article Anthea was expecting by the end of the week while highlighting another restaurant that I’d had my eye on.
“After you.” Henry gestured for me to lead the way, and I couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of a man following closely behind me. Lost in my excitement, I barely noticed the person entering Whiskey Locker from the corner of my eye.
“Oof—” Strong hands reached out to steady me as I pitched toward the side.
“Woah! Easy there.”
Wait, I knew that voice. Perfect timing, as always. Right on cue.
“Hallie! You’re already leaving?” Bright blue eyes twinkled down at me once I regained my balance. James glanced over my head at Henry, who was still right behind me. His lips pressed into a hard line and his hands, which were still on my arms, gripped me a little tighter. “Henry.”
“James! It’s nice to see you, man. How are you?”
Suddenly I was in a finance man sandwich that I’d never asked for.
I swear, if this article isn’t a hit, I’m going to reconsider all my life choices.
“I’m doing good, man.” Oh God, was that animosity I detected in James’s voice? “How’s your wife , Henry?”
I stiffened.
Surely, I’d just misheard James. Surely, he hadn’t just asked Henry about his wife.
Henry had taken a few steps back, putting some distance between the two of us.
“She’s doing well.” The flirty finance man that I’d just sat next to at the bar was gone, replaced by a buttoned-up douchebag. “Thanks for asking.”
James still hadn’t removed his hands from my arms and was now moving toward me, tucking me into his side. His body pressed against mine, a jolt of electricity arcing between us, and I gasped.
Henry’s face was now suddenly a deep shade of red as James continued to stare him down. After a few more awkwardly tense seconds passed, Henry cleared his throat and pushed past James out of Whiskey Locker.
My shoulders sank as my best shot at writing about an actual date walked out of the door.