The Modern Gentleman Page 4

  A gentleman? She’s giving me lessons on how to be a gentleman? Little does she know who she’s talking to.

  Although . . .

  She’s right. One of the things I preach is being cognizant of your surroundings and to anticipate every situation around you. Damn. She’s schooling me in my best subject.

  Feeling defensive, I ask, “So you’re telling me you never operate a mobile phone while walking.”

  “Don’t need to. I don’t have one.” The smug look on her face should annoy me, but for some odd reason, it makes me smile.

  “You’re telling me in an age of having the world at our fingertips, you don’t have a cell phone?”

  “The only phone I carry around is a prepaid flip phone I use for emergencies and calls with my agent.”

  Agent, interesting. Assessing her one more time, I take in her appearance, her posture, and the confidence she exudes.

  “Actress?” I ask.

  “Yes, musical theater.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Really? Broadway?”

  Her eyes turn dreamy as she presses her palms together and looks up to the sky. “One day, hopefully.”

  Ah, an aspiring Broadway actress. Tough business, but there’s something about this woman that makes me think she’ll get to Broadway. Besides, she’s yet to take the poop bag from me, which takes a lot of I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, an attitude necessary to survive in that world.

  “That’s an admirable aspiration. With a lot of hard work and big dreams, you’ll get there.” Cheesy as it may sound, I mean every word. I encourage anyone to reach for what they want in life. Life isn’t worth living if you’re not living it for what you want.

  There is a quirk to her lip when she takes in my words. She eyes the poop bag and takes it from me, her fingers brushing against mine briefly and sending a small tingle down my spine. She twists the top of the bag and ties it off in one smooth motion. With a flick of her wrist, barely looking, she tosses the bag into the trash can a few feet away, scoring two poop points.

  Damn.

  “You’re not so bad.” She assesses me. “Besides being one of those people who can’t seem to take their eyes off their phone to experience the world in front of them, you seem pretty cool.”

  “Yeah?” I stick my hands in my shorts pockets and rock back on my heels. “And why’s that?”

  “I’ve been in this business long enough to notice the disbelief in peoples’ faces when I tell them what I’m trying to do. You didn’t give it to me. You actually seemed impressed.”

  “I am.” I shrug. “It’s not every day you almost step on the feces that belong to a dog with a missing ear whose owner is an aspiring Broadway actress. Almost seems like I hit the jackpot.” I wink.

  She points her finger at me knowingly. “Ah, a charmer. I should have guessed. What man wears workout clothes but still has impeccable hair?”

  I smirk inwardly. A who has a certain persona to keep up.

  “Never know who you’re going to run into on a Sunday in the park.” I nod at her dog. “What’s your dog’s name?”

  “General Fitzbum, but he’s not my dog. I’m a dog walker, one of my many jobs.” She’s not the least bit ashamed of having multiple jobs, unlike some other people I’ve met. She almost says it with pride. I like that about her.

  “General Fitzbum? Interesting name.” I squat down and scratch him behind his ear. “What happened to his other ear?”

  “I was told he was born like that. Mrs. Fitzbum is an author who spends most of her days locked up in her office, so she hired me to offer some fresh air to the general. She thinks he was born with only one ear because he’s her grandfather reincarnated, and her grandfather lost his ear in World War I. Because of that, she wanted to give him an honorable name.” She pauses. “An odd lady, that one. Only drinks orange soda. Says it helps her write.”

  I pat the general a few more times and then stand. “Whatever helps, right?” Extending my hand, I say, “I’m Wes, by the way.”

  “Wes. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m June. June Lacy.”

  “June,” I say, liking how her name rolls off my tongue easily. “Pretty name.”

  “Thanks.” She looks at her watch and cringes. “I should be going. It was nice talking to you. Remember to look up, enjoy the world around you, Wes. Breathe it all in. You will always have time to look at your phone. But the world is a fascinating place, so soak it up.” With a wink, she takes off with the general.

  Panic sets in.

  I don’t want her to leave. Not yet. I was just warming up. I want to get to know her better, I want to hear more about the general, about her multiple jobs, about her aspirations. She can’t leave.

  Not when she’s the perfect prospect for my dating project.

  What better way to start an article than “We met over dog feces”?

  I need to ask her out.

  Now.

  Fumbling over my words, unable to speak and in a state of sheer panic, I jog after her, only to trip over a crack in the pavement and stumble forward, knocking into her from behind.

  So fucking graceful.

  We both waver between almost eating pavement and catching our balance. Once steadied, she turns to give me a what the hell are you doing look.

  She might be nice, but this girl’s sneers.

  Holy hell.

  For the first time I can remember, I’m speechless, completely out of my element, with absolutely no control over what happens next . . .

  “Food with me!” I blurt out like a robot, sounding like a complete jackass. I promise, I’m so much smoother than this, but with my deadline approaching, my looming desperation, and actually liking this girl, I’ve lost any semblance of cool. Clearing my throat, and trying to straighten myself, I say, “I mean, would you like to have dinner with me?”

  Not as smooth as I’d like, but it works.

  “Dinner?” June asks with a raised eyebrow. “Have dinner with a man who almost stepped in dog poop today because he was too engrossed in his phone?”

  I swallow hard, knowing she makes a fair point. “I’d be honored if you gave me a chance.”

  She eyes me again, biting the side of her lip, uncertainty in her eyes. “Dinner seems like a risk. I don’t think I can commit to over an hour with you just yet.”

  Er . . . what? Maybe her hesitation is coming from the way I asked her out. I did shout at her. If it was a text, it would have been all caps, except, she wouldn’t have gotten the text since she has a prepaid phone. Christ.

  She looks down at her watch again, before studying me. “I have to take the general out at five thirty tomorrow night. I prefer the protection of a one-eared dog in case you turn out to be a real creep. At least I know the general will have my six. Care to join me for a walk tomorrow?”

  Bartering.

  Date bartering. That’s what my life has become.

  “How about a picnic?” I counter, stepping closer, raising the stakes, feeling more like myself, now that she’s giving me a smidgen of hope. “The general seems to think I’m good people.” I kneel down and scratch behind his ear again. He leans into my hand. “See, he approves.”

  “He’s leading you on.” She pushes her sultry hair behind her shoulder and says, “It’s a walk or it’s nothing. Take it or leave it, Mr. Fancy Hair.”

  Conceding and not wanting to push her anymore, I stand. “I’ll take it.”

  “Smart choice.” She pats my shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

  When she turns to walk away again, I have to stop her. “Wait, how will I get in touch with you? You don’t have a cell phone. Do you have a landline?”

  “I do.”

  “Can I have your number then?”

  She shakes her head. “You have to earn that number, Wes.”

  Hell.

  “Then how do I know where to meet you tomorrow?”

  She motions to the open, tree-lined walkway. An elderly couple sits on the nearest bench, feeding the pigeons birdseed bene
ath a wonky-looking tree. “Let’s just refer to this as our magical spot, our meet-cute, the Wes-and-June headquarters. Meet me here at five thirty tomorrow and don’t forget . . .” She reaches out and tilts my chin up. “Eyes up, Wes.” With a slight smile, she drops my chin and turns. As she’s walking away, her beautiful hair swishing across her back, she calls over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Mr. Fancy Hair.”

  For a few moments, I watch her walk away, her pert ass swaying with each step and her lithe body gathering all my attention. I run my fingers through my “fancy” hair, stunned by what just happened.

  First of all, I need to work on my goddamn charm because it was seriously lacking just now. There was no modern gentleman in sight, just an awkward man in workout clothes who almost stepped in poop. I sigh. Not the best material for an article.

  Second, this woman is different. Confident, aloof, knows what she wants, and is interesting as hell, with a touch of quirk. There is a mystery about her, something guarded that I could see in her eyes. I’m intrigued. I want to see who this woman is—this woman who doesn’t believe in cell phones, who walks a one-eared dog for a living, and who has an addictive spark in her eye when you mention the theater.

  And third, Roman and Caden can kiss my ass. Their hopes and dreams of watching me trying to date Frank’s daughter have been squashed. Francine is a distant memory.

  Now it’s all about June.

  Chapter Five

  Dear Modern Gentleman,

  I would love to get your take on mixing scents. Between aftershave, hair products, deodorant, and cologne, I feel like one giant fragrance store walking around the streets of New York City. I swear someone tried to give me twenty dollars the other day for a glimpse inside my jacket to see what I was selling. Teach me your ways of the scents.

  Smells Too Good

  Dear Smells Too Good,

  Let’s start by saying, at least you don’t smell like the rat you see scampering around on the subway tracks with a bag of Fritos hanging out of his mouth. Give yourself credit for that. As for all the scents you have going on, skip the aftershave, not necessary with cologne. And it might take some time and a lot of sniffing, but try to find scents that complement each other. I, myself, go for a fresh, woodsy scent in everything I choose. Be the guy who brings his deodorant and hair product to the cologne counter. Have no shame, sniff it up, and keep smelling good.

  Good luck, Gent,

  The Modern Gentleman

  WES

  THE THREAT

  When I walk through the doors of HYPE on this beautiful Monday morning, I can’t help but have a little pep in my step, a little bounce in my loafers, a little cock to my swagger. (Cock as in cockiness, not as in dick—just wanted to clarify.) My weekend was plagued by horrendous thoughts of how this morning would pan out. All I could envision was Frank pulling me into his office, where he would give me the go-ahead to pursue his daughter. Just the thought of that conversation had my penis starting to turn itself inside out.

  But now . . .

  Fuck, I’m high-fiving people this morning, which for the record, I never do. High-fiving is for jocks and frat boys, not gentlemen. But hell if I can stop myself. June swooped in with the general and saved the day.

  After my morning routine, I arrive at my office door to find Caden and Roman waiting, their arms crossed over their chests and smart-ass smiles on their faces. I stopped myself from texting them about June last night so I could see their expressions in person when I told them the news. The best part about all of this will be wiping the smirks off their smug faces.

  “Roman, surprised to see you alert this early in the morning.” I push past both of them and into my office. They follow closely behind.

  “I went to bed early, drank some electrolytes for breakfast, and practically ran to the office this morning.” He rubs his hands together. “I couldn’t miss your big day.” The dickhead is practically frothing at the mouth in excitement. No wonder he didn’t want me to ask his sister to help me—he wanted to revel in my misery. Sounds about right. He’s a good friend, but when he can witness my balls getting busted, he always takes a front-row seat.

  Caden leans against the doorframe to my office, arms still crossed. “Have you prepared yourself? Do you know what you’re going to say to Frank if he suggests Francine?”

  I pick up a pile of letters from my desk and stack them together. “Not worried about it.”

  Roman jabs his thumb at me while he talks to Caden. “Denial. He wore his denial pants today. They’re cute, but reality will knock him in the dick soon.”

  “Reality knocked me in the dick yesterday,” I reply.

  Both Roman and Caden converge on me. Roman leans over my desk and asks, “Did Francine already get her claws in you?”

  “Nope.” I smile at both of them. “Met a girl yesterday.”

  “No, you fucking didn’t,” Roman counters.

  “I did.”

  Margaret, Frank’s secretary, sticks her head into my office with a light knock. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but Frank would like to see you, Wes.”

  “Thank you, Margaret. I’ll be right there.”

  I button my suit jacket and head toward the door of my office when Caden stops me with a hand to my chest. “Did you really meet someone?”

  I pull on the sleeves of my button-up shirt and smile at my friend. “I did.”

  “Bullshit.” Roman steps in. “What’s her name?” He eyes me suspiciously.

  Without skipping a beat, I answer, “June Lacy. She’s a stage actress, and we’re meeting up today at five thirty. Sorry to burst your bubble, boys, but since you seemed so interested in Francine, Roman, I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Frank. Maybe he’ll be happy to see you date his daughter.”

  “Mention my name in that office and I’ll slice your balls off.”

  I chuckle. “I’m more of a man than to throw you under the bus like that. I’m a gentleman, for fuck’s sake.”

  As I walk toward Frank’s office, Caden calls out, “Pretty sure gentlemen don’t say ‘for fuck’s sake.’”

  They don’t, but I can afford a slip-up every once in a while.

  Frank’s face lights up when I walk into his office. “There he is, the man I’m excited to talk to. Take a seat, take a seat.” He’s bouncing in his chair. His hair’s slicked back today instead of a coiffed wave on the top of his head. He’s the only man I know who has a different hairstyle for each day of the week. He must be feeling powerful today.

  Doing as he says, I take a seat while unbuttoning my jacket, letting the quarters drape to the side. “Frank, how are you this morning?”

  “None of those pleasantries. I want to know how the girl hunt is coming along?” He leans forward, his hands on his desk while he wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Do I get to pick someone for you?”

  I chuckle, because honestly, it’s the only thing I can think to do without insulting him. Every other reaction I have floating in my mind involves either cursing or potential violence. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I met someone.”

  “No.” He snaps his finger across his body in disappointment. “Who is she?”

  “June Lacy. I met her yesterday in the park.” I want to tell him I even like her, she isn’t just a test subject, but I don’t want to divulge too many of my personal feelings to him. Knowing Frank, he’d use it to somehow make this “experiment” worse for me.

  “Is that so?” He studies me for a second. “Are you lying to me?”

  “What? No.” I sit up taller in my chair. “I wouldn’t lie to you, sir. We’re actually meeting today at the park.”

  “Mm-hmm, and what do you have planned?”

  “We’re going for a walk,” I answer lamely, my bubble deflating slightly. I wish I had bigger plans, but it seems like I’m limited with June.

  “A walk?” He studies me thoughtfully, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. I have a feeling I’m not going to like what he says next. “Wes, do I need to
remind you what the premise of this experiment is? I’m not sitting around waiting to read about you going on a walk. I want material, authentic material, and I want to know the steps a modern gentleman would take in order to develop a long-lasting relationship. This is going to be a how-to guide.”

  So no pressure at all.

  “I understand that, sir, but—”

  He holds up a hand, stopping me from continuing. “I don’t want excuses, Wes. I want you to get it done. We’ve carried your advice column long enough that anyone could step in and answer your questions. You’re replaceable. Don’t make me get to that point. Got it?”

  Well fuck me. And here I thought I was an asset to HYPE. I swallow hard as sweat forms on the back of my neck. The pressure cooker just turned up a notch. This is no longer an easygoing article I can write in my sleep. From the look in Frank’s eyes, he’s not joking around.

  “Okay.” I nod my head. “A how-to guide. I can do that.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Frank smiles, victorious in his heavy hand he hangs above me. “That’s what I like to hear.” He tosses a pen and piece of paper at me from his desk. “Take notes. This is what I want to see from you.”

  I quickly situate myself in writing position and wait for him to sound off his expectations. “I want to know how you met her, how you got her to meet up with you again, how you got her number.” Yeah, still working on that one. “Your first date, communication between dates, what you send her, how you speak to her. Your rules about sex, foreplay, and PDA. What you talk about with her. How do you make her fall in love with The Modern Gentleman?”

  Frank rises from his chair and paces a few steps before raising his hand to the ceiling, looking absurdly ridiculous. “I want men around the city, around the country, to talk about this ongoing piece, to use it as a road map to love, in addition to your advice column. Follow these steps and score yourself a partner for life.” Leaning forward, Frank levels with me. “Make it impossible for women to say no to our tribe of modern gentlemen. And by no means are you permitted to reveal any aspect of this article or the column to June, or else you can pack up your desk. You should, of course, protect her identity, change her name, but I want this relationship to be organic, without any outside influences. Can you do that, Wes?”