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  “There’s nothing sexy about hitting people over the head with it,” I explained. “I want you to show sex and say class. Say smart. Say style. Sell sex, not a back-alley screw.”

  Justin widened his eyes. “That paints a picture.”

  I shrugged. Men were visual creatures, right? “There’s a female demographic—and male—that craves a men’s magazine but is put off by most of our material. I can make this happen, provided you’re willing to work with me, not against me.”

  “I think you’ll be surprised to see how many female readers we have,” Sebastian said.

  “I was surprised when I got the numbers,” I said, glancing at the upcoming deck of slides on my computer. I’d decided to play the next part by ear. I wasn’t sure I should get into the exposé yet since it warranted a meeting of its own, and so I wouldn’t potentially embarrass Sebastian within an hour of meeting him. That didn’t worry me anymore. “Females make up a little under sixteen percent of your reader demographic.”

  “It’s closer to eighteen,” Sebastian said.

  “It was. You’ve lost two percent this year, and we haven’t even seen the results of the exposé yet. That’s cause for concern, especially considering the industry standard is over twenty percent and women typically show higher brand loyalty than men.” From the ensuing silence, I could tell nobody but Vance and I were aware of that. “Do I need to cover male readership too?”

  “No,” Sebastian said, shifting in his seat. “We’re up to date.”

  I didn’t like calling him out. I understood he fought this because he cared, and he deserved recognition—the magazine’s readership had skyrocketed the year Sebastian had taken over. But it’d gone stagnant the last several quarters. That wasn’t abnormal for a publication that’d grown at an exponential rate like Modern Man, but numbers had started to slide backward. I couldn’t help wondering if something specific was affecting Sebastian’s work performance.

  I flipped to the next slide, page one of a ten-page spread with a bolded headline across the top: “The Bad Boys of Publishing.” Sebastian flicked his thumbnail under the plastic lid of his coffee but kept his eyes on the screen behind me. “I know you’ve all seen this,” I said. “Regardless of what’s true or false, it has hurt us.”

  Sebastian shifted his gaze to me and stopped fidgeting with his drink. “You don’t think it’s all true?”

  For the first time since I’d walked in, his bravado faltered. I hoped the exposé, at least, wasn’t a joke to him. “It’s definitely sensationalized to get eyeballs,” I said, noting the way he nodded, “but there are some valid points at the core of it. Modern Man has been stuck in the same narrative that popularized it years ago and has since been recycling material. Now it needs to mature. The article paints us and some of our peers, including Poised, in a negative light.”

  “Poised is a woman’s mag,” he said. “It’s basically the female version of us. Why aren’t you over there right now?”

  “I’m in touch with them, but because I’ve consulted there before, they have the tools to survive this. Women’s magazines have faced challenges like this since their inception. When a men’s magazine and its leaders are accused of sexism, the implications are much different and the response requires a more strategic approach.”

  “We’re not sexists,” Justin said. “We do all this because we worship women.”

  I moved on to a photocopy of the magazine’s advice column, Badvice, with a small round picture of Sebastian next to his byline. “In just this edition,” I said, pointing behind me, “you recommend dating several coworkers at once, going Dutch with girls you don’t want to see again, and that short men should wear lifts because, and I quote, ‘the more height you have on her, the more she’ll respect you.’”

  Sebastian sat forward. “The column—”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s Badvice—fake, terrible advice that the exposé definitely misled readers into believing was true. That’s how I know the columnist was looking for a certain reaction. But the reason I agreed to take on this assignment is because I know you guys can do better than this.”

  Sebastian sat back again and picked up his coffee. I expected him to retort, but instead, he seemed to be listening. Maybe I was getting through to him. Or maybe the exposé already had. His demeanor had softened since I’d brought it up. Was he actually ashamed of the things they’d printed? And just how much of it was true?

  Albert grimaced. “Badvice doesn’t really work if it’s not, um, a little . . . polarizing.”

  “Polarizing is okay,” I said. “But I’d still like to phase it out.”

  Sebastian’s mask slipped back into place. “You’re missing the point of it—and Modern Man—completely.”

  “I promise I’m not here to turn you all politically correct,” I said. “That’s not what this pub is. Instead, we’re going to elevate it. I want to immediately disassociate you guys with the sexist label. For the long-term, I want to make you a better magazine. When it comes to women, be deliberate, not callous.” I flipped to the profile of Sebastian, one of the seven men in publishing that’d been targeted. It was accompanied by an image of him at an event in a tuxedo, grinning off to the side with a girl on each arm. I’d seen it more than once over the past week, but with only days to prepare, I’d been much more focused on the article’s content.

  I cleared my throat and read a paragraph off the screen.

  “‘Hemingway and Bukowski were maligned for their machismo, but at least they contributed significantly to American literature. Quinn and his team of equally objectionable men make no apology for their juvenile humor and misogyny. One source who prefers to remain anonymous claims Quinn told her ‘the magazine is full of shit, but would you flush a golden turd?’ Golden, because it has been said that Modern Man is one of the fastest growing publications of the decade. We say there’s nothing modern about sexist rhetoric that pushes an old-school agenda to value women based on how they can serve men. Modern Man treats all women as sex objects.’”

  I glanced at Sebastian, whose jawline had sharpened. Though I didn’t wish this kind of character assassination on anyone, I was glad to see the words on the screen were getting to him. It would be easier to get him to let me help navigate him through these next couple months.

  I skipped to the next passage I’d highlighted. “‘The creative director is no better. A love-’em-and-leave-’em lothario, he and his sidekicks treat the city like their playground, attending each party, restaurant, and club with a new ‘delicacy’ on their arms (a term that comes directly from Quinn’s write-in BadVice column, in which he frequently associates women with food). Quinn’s affinity for damaging beautiful women and flashy cars has landed his name on Page Six more than a few times. It’s time for him to go. The good news? If he keeps it up, the magazine will soon be as obsolete as his caveman ways.’”

  The room remained quiet. Sebastian had stopped clenching his teeth, but he tapped the end of his pen on his notepad in a slow, steady rhythm. I couldn’t tell if he was more pissed or pensive, but I’d ripped off the Band-Aid and now the healing could begin.

  Justin broke the silence. “A lot of that is overblown,” he said. “There was one accident several years ago, and it wasn’t even—”

  “I never said that thing about the turd,” Sebastian said. “At least not like that. I was trying to be clever, and she twisted my words.”

  “You know the source?” I asked.

  “She’s a woman I . . .” He glanced at Justin for help.

  “I see.” Considering I’d been aware of Sebastian’s playboy reputation, it came as no surprise that he’d scorned some women along the way. I’d seen firsthand how easy it would be to fall under his spell. I wanted Sebastian to know I wasn’t there to tiptoe around his bad rap. “You fucked her, so she fucked you back.”

  A few of the guys, including Sebastian, widened their eyes. “Jesus, no,” he insisted. “After the conversation she was referring to, she assumed
she was leaving the party with me and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I had to be blunt with her, and she didn’t take it well.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did Sebastian see himself as such a catch that he was turning away women left and right? And could I really challenge that, considering his magnetism had left me nearly speechless earlier? I wouldn’t blame Sebastian for fibbing to cover his ass, but that wouldn’t get us anywhere. “Much like a lawyer,” I said gently, “I need honesty so I can anticipate any incoming problems.”

  “What I just told you is the truth,” he said.

  “Well, to the public, truth doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’ll also need to be made aware of any interoffice, ah, relations.” It wasn’t the first time I’d made that request of clients, so why was I fighting off the blush creeping up my neck? Because it was the first time my personal interest overcame my professional one. I’d soon know whether Sebastian and June were more than coffee buddies.

  “There are no relations,” Justin said with a sigh. “Believe me, I’d know. The gossip around here is slower than Garth’s comprehension on a good day.”

  “He’s right,” Vance said. “Fraternization has been strictly forbidden since Dixon Media had some problems at another publication.” Vance quickly added, “But never this one.”

  “So I was right,” Sebastian said. “You’re more or less here to babysit us.”

  “Don’t be babies, and I won’t have to,” I replied.

  Vance applauded. He’d heard some of this over the phone already, at least what I’d been able to pull together in such a short amount of time, but he still seemed impressed. A few joined in, and others looked to Sebastian for direction. He was definitely more than a boss to these guys. It irked me that he scowled. My presentation had been short, sweet, and backed by numbers—men appreciated that. There was no denying I’d made my point. Why wasn’t he applauding? Because he didn’t, others refrained as well.

  “We’ll do whatever we can to accommodate you, Miss Keller,” Vance said.

  I smiled out at the men, and a few smiled back. Progress. “Call me George,” I said, addressing them all. “Except for you,” I said to Sebastian when I caught him looking at my chest. I adjusted my neckline. “While I’m brandishing the whip, Miss Keller will be fine.”

  More laughing, and this time, Boris slapped Sebastian on the back. “Lighten up, Q.”

  Vance stood. “Thanks, George—”

  “What’s with the tank top?” Sebastian asked, shrugging Boris off. A smirk touched his face as he added, “Not exactly appropriate office attire.” He settled back and stuck an ankle over one knee.

  Even though I’d questioned my outfit earlier, the fact that Sebastian thought he had me made me want to do the opposite of shy away. So I went with it and addressed the room. “Someone spilled coffee on me this morning.”

  “No way,” Garth said. “Are you all right?”

  “Fortunately, it was iced.” I caught the end of Justin’s glance across the table. “The nearest store with clothing only had souvenirs,” I continued, “so I was forced to improvise. But that’s okay, because instead of telling you this next very important detail about myself, I can just show you.”

  A few men shifted in their seats as I slowly unbuttoned my blazer. Sebastian wore an unreadable expression but watched me, twisting his pen cap between his fingertips. I opened my jacket and stuck my hands on my waist to show off the logo printed across the front of the top. “I don’t want there to be any doubt—I’m a Yanks girl through and through. I work fine with Mets fans, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got to like them.”

  “Yankees man right here,” Boris said, jumping up from his seat for a high five.

  “You talking crap about my team?” Garth grinned and dangled a Mets keychain.

  “I just want you all to know where I stand. Transparency is important to me,” I said, returning his smile. “We’ll save the real shit-talking for happy hour.”

  “There’s an idea,” Vance said, lighting up and turning to me. “The guys always go for a drink at the end of the week. Why don’t you join them?”

  I hesitated. While work-social events such as mixers, dinner meetings, and conferences were George’s arena, happy hour could potentially veer into personal territory. I didn’t think I could successfully make the transition from work to play, so I never tried if I could help it. “Maybe some other time,” I said.

  I shifted feet, and Sebastian gave me a once-over. “Got better plans?” he asked.

  My plans involved a hunky Great Dane, an appropriate amount of junk food to ease first-week-at-a-new-school stress—a ritual that had carried over into adulthood—and switching the channels between reruns of Flipping Out and House Hunters International.

  I wasn’t sure if those plans were better, but they definitely sounded more appealing. My ex had gotten our friends in the breakup—more like he’d stolen them using the tactics that made him such a great salesman. He’d convinced them I was a drama-hungry liar, and he’d had to end things to stop enabling me. So, reality TV it was.

  I dipped my head in an elegant, restrained nod I hoped would convey that yes, indeed, I’d already committed to a posh Upper East Side dinner party, a hip Williamsburg gallery opening, or candlelit yoga overlooking the Hudson.

  And then Vance once again opened his big mouth, proving that while Sebastian was Modern Man’s greatest liability, Vance might be mine.

  “What’s the matter, Sebastian?” Vance asked. “Afraid your new co-manager will see firsthand how little game you have?”

  “I have more game than anyone in this room, and you know it,” Sebastian said.

  “Actually, we don’t know that.” Justin nodded at me. “Now that we have a new member on the team.”

  I almost laughed. George could handle herself fine in a roomful of men. Georgina, on the other hand, not so much. What kind of after-work event required game anyway? But in order to earn their trust, I needed my team to believe that I understood men as well as women. “I do all right,” I said with a half-smile. “But I try not to pick up dates at a work event if I can help it.”

  Sebastian laughed and raised his chin. “This isn’t a work event. This is drinks at the local watering hole for those who can handle it. No office talk allowed.”

  The group looked on as Sebastian and I held each other’s gaze. He’d posed a thinly veiled challenge meant to put me on the spot, and one I wasn’t sure I could afford to turn down.

  Vance plugged his ears. “I think this is the kind of stuff HR has warned me about,” he said before leaning over to add quietly, “but off the record, this could be a great chance to demonstrate your earlier point.”

  “Which one?”

  “About how using a common interest is a more effective way to meet someone than pretending to be someone else.”

  “Oh.” The irony practically hurt. Who was I to teach anyone about dating? I glanced at my feet. “I don’t really work that way. I mean, out in the field.”

  “If you don’t test your theories, how do you know they work?” Sebastian asked.

  I glanced up. Judging by the silence and all the eyes on us, Vance’s comments hadn’t been private at all. If I didn’t say something, I’d start blushing.

  “I’ll bet Georgina can teach you a thing or two,” Vance said.

  “She’ll probably be fighting off guys as soon as we walk in the door,” Justin said, winking and nodding as if encouraging me—as if he thought he was being helpful.

  Sebastian studied me, seemingly curious about my response. A flush began working its way up my neck. “Just another Thursday night,” I said, but my voice had lost some of its confidence.

  He tilted his head as if he’d caught me in a lie. “Yeah? I’d like to see that. Figure out what I’ve been doing wrong all these years.” His eyes sparkled as my confidence drained.

  “I’m not here to teach you how to get a date,” I said, which was laughable considering women obviously flock
ed to him.

  “But that’s what the magazine is about, and if you’re going to come in and start changing things, you should know what you’re dealing with,” Sebastian said. “We help men level up. Teach them how to refine their palates, decorate an apartment, build the perfect fire, and assemble IKEA furniture without breaking a sweat. If you think we learn these things to impress our friends . . . well, I’m not sure this magazine is the right fit for you.”

  “It’s true.” Justin gave me a short nod. “We do all that to get laid.”

  Vance pointed at Justin. “Comments like that are the reason we’re in this mess.”

  “You make them all the time, sir,” Justin said.

  “Which is why we need Miss Keller,” Vance said. “And not just from nine-to-five. We could all stand to be better men in and out of the office.” He clapped his hands together once. “So, happy hour it is.”

  Crap. How had I gotten myself into this? I wasn’t even equipped for a rough-and-tumble night out with these guys, much less proving to them that I could score. Excluding Sebastian, it’d been months since a man had even tried to strike up a conversation with me. If these guys found that out, they might not trust me to helm this ship. Yet happy hour was also prime bonding time.

  Before I could answer, Sebastian shot to his feet. “Is this presentation over? It was fun and all, but some of us have real work to do.”

  “It can be fun and enlightening,” I said, looking up at him. “I’m looking forward to taking this publication in a better direction with you, Mr. Quinn.”

  “If you’re proposing we walk on eggshells to please people outside of our demographic,” he said, gesturing behind me at the slides, “then I assure you, that direction will be down.”

  He left the room without another word, and everyone looked at me. I put on a solid smile, even though his dismissal stung after all the effort I’d made to include him. “He must be a Mets fan. They’re famous for getting butt hurt.”

  The men laughed. “Actually, it’s worse,” Garth said. “He’s from Boston.”