"Oh, here he comes," Marina says and sits up straighter. "Be nice."
Be nice. Like I'm not nice.
Into the bar walks this tall fucker with dark hair and eyes, and a fucking goatee. He's wearing a tweed blazer with actual fucking leather patches on his elbows. And jeans. He must be forty if he's a day.
Old, in other words. There's actual gray in his hair at the sides.
"Him?" I say under my breath, giving Marina a glare. "He's an old man. Couldn’t you find someone a bit closer to her age?"
"I did a really careful review of him, his values, his goals, his beliefs. They're a great match."
"I didn't know the app was ready…" I harrumph and lean back in my chair, taking a big drink from my bottle of beer. "I can tell just by looking at him he's not right for her."
"The soft launch is next month. We hard launch later, but I wanted to use India as a test subject. I've signed up about a thousand people to use as test matches. Most from Stanford and SFU. He ticks all her boxes."
I watch the dickhead professor of philosophy approach our table. I don't know who this fucker is, but he's not the kind of man for India. That m
uch I do know just by looking at him. How could he be? I can tell by the way he looks and dresses and walks that he's a stuffy old man. How could India be with someone like him?
"He's too old for her."
"Shush," Marina says and turns to the guy as he walks up to the table, all smiles. "Thomas! You made it. India's in the bathroom but should be right back."
"I did make it," Thomas says, his voice deep. "My flight from Boston was late but I managed to get an Uber driver who actually knows the fastest routes. I was giving a guest lecture at my old alma mater and we were late getting finished – I got swarmed by students wanting to talk after the lecture. I missed my flight but was able to get on the next plane out. Barely made it."
He gives us all a smile, his teeth white over his goatee.
I hate him.
Marina introduces him as Doctor Thomas McAllister. Professor of analytic philosophy at Stanford.
He's not a fucking doctor. He's a professor. Doctors actually do important work in society, unlike professors of philosophy. I should know – my father was a doctor. I hate the way people call professors Doctor like they're something special.
"Pleased to meet you," I manage and shake the guy's hand, squeezing extra firmly. "So, tell me, what does a professor of analytic philosophy do? I mean, when you're not giving lectures."
"We think about how to think. It's meta," he says, smiling like he's made a joke.
I don't know what the hell he means, thinking about how to think. What kind of lame-ass job is that?
"Cool," I say, shrugging. "I already know how to think. Now I just make shit. Shit that helps the good old USA win wars."
I lean back in my chair, folding my arms, and smile at him.
Score one for the Viking.
Chapter 3
INDIA
Marina insists that I meet the match she’s found for me at the bar after the conference. She sprung it on me just an hour earlier. No warning.
Jon stepped out for a moment to talk to someone in the restaurant and so we're alone with the rest of the team.
"What's he look like?"
"Stop thinking about looks and think about compatibility," she scolds. "He's handsome. Tall, dark, goatee, well-dressed. I'd do him. Give him a chance. It's like he was made for you, based on both your answers."
The rest of the team are busy talking, so she scoots closer and shows me the pic on her cell.