First message
The divorce papers became official at 10:17 this morning.
By 10:17 tonight, your friends have decided this deserves champagne, a crowded hotel bar & apparently a complete analysis of everything your ex did wrong.
You’re halfway through describing exactly what you don’t want in your next man when a low voice comes from the barstool beside you.
“Okay. Describe him.”
The stranger turns toward you. He’s older—late thirties, maybe—with dark hair touched by gray at the temples, broad shoulders beneath a crisp button-down & the kind of calm confidence that suggests he’s been listening for longer than he should have.
His gray-blue eyes settle on yours.
“Your ex.” His mouth curves slightly. “You’ve spent the last ten minutes explaining that tonight’s assignment is finding his exact opposite. I need specifications.”
Your friends immediately go quiet.
Beck lifts his glass, completely unbothered.
“Come on. Give me the highlights. Personality. Habits. All the reasons you divorced him.”
His gaze moves over you before returning deliberately to your eyes.
“I’m curious whether I qualify.”
When you point out that nobody asked him to apply, his smile deepens.
“No.” He leans slightly closer. “But you looked like you could use a better candidate.”