Page 1 of All The Wrong Notes
CHAPTER 1
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
Early June
“Tell me again why I’m here?”
Elise Benzion glared at her friend through a haze of smoke. She coughed and pushed past the phalanx of smokers, seeking the entrance to the downtown Toronto edifice, Janet scuttling behind her.
“Because I want to meet someone, and you promised.”
Janet pulled the large glass door closed behind her and pushed Elise a little further into the small, modern lobby. The air here, at least, was smoke-free and blessedly cool. Thank God for air conditioning.
“Come on, Elise,” Janet cajoled, “won’t you at least try to enjoy yourself? Speed-dating isn’t for everyone, but I know Maggie Jennings, who runs this one, and she’s careful about who she lets in. You might even meet someone yourself. You know you keep too busy at work to get out. Please?” She dragged out the last word, a supplication if ever Elise had heard one.
“Fine. But you owe me. What do we do?”
Janet rustled through the fashionable tote she carried. Like most of Janet’s clothing, the tote probably bore some fancy designer label and cost more than Elise’s entire wardrobe. It was very cute, with just the right amount of decoration, shiny buckles, and beautiful fabric. Just like Janet: Cute, beautifully put together, and a bit expensive. Janet was also stunning and one of the sweetest people Elise had ever met.
Fine. For Janet, she would have a good time.
The two women drifted over towards one of the marble-clad walls as Janet scanned the information on her phone. “It’s simple. We each get an ID card. Women get letters, men get numbers. Then we take our seats at the tables, and every eight minutes, the guys will move to the next table, until we’ve all met everyone. That’s it.”
“And if you like someone?”
Janet giggled. There was no other word for it. “We’ll each sign into the app, and for each man we meet, we’ll click yes or no by his number. Yes means we want to get his contact info, no means we don’t. They do the same for us. Wherever we both want to connect with the other, they’ll give out the contact info we’ve provided.” She giggled again.
Elise sighed. It sounded safe enough. If she didn’t click yes for any of the men, she’d never be bothered by anyone. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Yeah, girlfriend!” Janet gave her a high-five, and all but dragged Elise into the hall.
It was, at first glance, somewhat reassuring. The modern downtown building was designed with several fair-sized spaces on the ground floor, clearly intended for large meetings and conferences. This room could comfortably hold about fifty people, she estimated, without being crowded. If Janet’s claims were correct, there would be thirty here tonight: fifteen men, fifteen women. Not a huge pool to choose from, but if the promised culling process was efficient, a decent pool, nonetheless.
The lighting was subdued, without being too dark to see, and there was a table along one long wall with a selection of drinks and snacks. Your ticket got you one of each. More were available for purchase. Fair enough.
The room itself was dotted with tables large enough for two, each with two chairs facing each other. Girls on one side, boys on the other. Elise followed Janet as they checked in with an elegant-looking woman, and then went to find her table. Letter H. There was enough space between the tables that two people could converse without being overheard, but close enough for nothing… awkward to happen. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
Over the next few minutes, the room filled up. Beautiful women and handsome men, all dressed up for a day in the office or a night out, floated around the space, their motions betraying confidence their eyes didn’t quite believe. Elise glanced down at her own outfit. She had come right from work—when didn’t she?—and she looked it. The small arts centre she ran didn’t have a dress code, and while she had taken a bit of care this morning, her nice blue chinos and pale yellow shirt with the gold buttons didn’t quite meet par here. She had slashed a smear of lipstick on her lips and had patted her dark hair into a neater version of its ponytail, but that was all. Janet, with her accustomed elegance, was rocking a deep green dress that matched her eyes and set her auburn hair glowing. All the men would want to match with Janet!
Soon enough, Mrs Jennings rang a little bell and the buzz in the room quietened until only the hum of the ventilation system could be heard. The organiser gave a short speech and repeated the rules that Janet had gone through before, and the event began.
One by one, Elise met the procession of men. Most were handsome, most were charming. All would probably be perfectly fine company over a cup of coffee, but none made her toes curl. These were all professionals, swanning down from their corner offices in the towers above, oozing Success and Establishment. She was an arts-loving do-gooder who had put her MBA to work not on Bay Street, but at a small centre that brought music and painting to under-privileged children, and rented out rehearsal and performance spaces to small organisations. These men thrived on big business and mega-deals. She relied on donations and grants.
There was one person to go before the night was out. A glance towards Janet had revealed her friend, deep in conversation with a very pleasant man with olive skin and a slight accent. Number Twelve. He hadn’t knocked Elise’s socks off, but he had been delightful to chat with for those eight minutes. He was also a music lover, and his lovely smile had reached his eyes. If Janet liked him, she could do a lot worse.
“Thank God this is nearly over.”
A deep masculine voice brought her attention back to her own table. There, across from her, was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Or, rather, he would have been if there had been the slightest glimmer of good humour in those slate grey eyes. Thick dark hair with just a hint of curl, a chiselled jaw, a fine nose, and cheekbones to die for, all vied for her attention. The broad shoulders in the impeccably cut suit didn’t hurt either. But that expression he wore undid almost all of it.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Charmer.
There would be no initial chit-chat, it seemed. No social pleasantries. Elise glanced down at the list of questions she had in front of her. “Nice to meet you, Number Seven.” Not a crack of a smile. “Uh, unless you want to start, why don’t I ask you some questions.” No response. “Um, are you a tea or a coffee person.”
The man stared blankly at her. No joy in his expression, no anger. Merely dislike and boredom. “Coffee in the morning. Tea in the afternoon. Whisky at night.”
Elise waited for him to elaborate, but he seemed to have said everything.