Zoe Tawn is about to finish her bachelor’s degree and start a PhD program in quantitative psychology. Yet her friends don’t think she’s quite ready to graduate: she still hasn’t played her v-card.
Zoe’s friends don’t know her v-card was played years ago; she doesn’t talk about that crap.
She does agree that dating would make her a more well-rounded individual, however, so she tries, and realizes the dating game isn’t for her: she’s a geek, not a flirt.
Zoe decides to utilize her strengths with the mantra “Smart is the new sexy” and develops a predictive model for companionship to replace those outdated compatibility questionnaires.
Her model goes viral in no time, so her friends secretly enter her profile into it.
When a match comes back, it shocks them all: it’s Wesley Williams, the twentysomething CEO billionaire of Quantitative Solutions, where Zoe is doing an internship.
Zoe insists the error in her model must be unacceptably high until she gets an email requesting she stop by Mr. Williams’ office at her earliest convenience…
Zoe’s friends don’t know her v-card was played years ago; she doesn’t talk about that crap.
She does agree that dating would make her a more well-rounded individual, however, so she tries, and realizes the dating game isn’t for her: she’s a geek, not a flirt.
Zoe decides to utilize her strengths with the mantra “Smart is the new sexy” and develops a predictive model for companionship to replace those outdated compatibility questionnaires.
Her model goes viral in no time, so her friends secretly enter her profile into it.
When a match comes back, it shocks them all: it’s Wesley Williams, the twentysomething CEO billionaire of Quantitative Solutions, where Zoe is doing an internship.
Zoe insists the error in her model must be unacceptably high until she gets an email requesting she stop by Mr. Williams’ office at her earliest convenience…
I started to gather up the papers; Wes
obviously had another meeting. He looked genuinely regretful as he nodded at
Mrs. Jensen, who turned and left to resume her post at her desk.
“Time got away from me,” he said. I felt a
little thrill that he looked genuinely disappointed about having to end our
meeting. “If I could cancel this, I would- this is much more enjoyable.”
Even now, after working with him for a few
weeks, when he said certain words, like “enjoyable,” I felt my cheeks flush. If
he ever lost his billions, he’d have a job in the voiceover industry, that was
for sure. “Oh, it’s no problem- we’ve been working for a while.” I stuffed the
rest of the papers into the folder and slid it into my backpack. I could feel
him looking at me. “I’ve gotta get back to campus anyway.”
“This is great stuff,” he said as I stood
and he stood with me, running a hand through his dark hair. It looked cute
ruffled. “Do you have any plans tonight? I should be done by six.”
Meeting in the evening, after work, when
everyone had gone home. I swallowed as the flutters that kept recurring in my
stomach started up again. I was being silly. When would I get a grip around
this guy? He was proposing a dinner meeting. We worked plenty over lunch:
working over dinner wouldn’t be any different, right?
“Sure, I can work over dinner.” I grinned
to hide the effort it took me to keep my voice casual. “Do you want me to meet
me here?”
I didn’t know if it was just something
weird about the lighting in his office or what, but for the first time, it was
like the glow that seemed to warm up his deep brown eyes dimmed a bit. What was
up with that?
Then he smiled at me, and I blinked: his
rich brown eyes looked normal again. “A
working dinner: that’s good. Meeting here
is fine: I’ll figure out if we should order in or grab dinner nearby.”
I nodded and picked up my backpack. It felt
heavier than usual. I felt as if I’d missed something, like an opportunity had
been lost, but what? I’d agreed to meet to work over dinner. “If you want me to
bring something, just, you know, send me a text or whatever.” He probably
wouldn’t leave this office between now and six.
He nodded and gave me a little wave, which
I returned before heading out the door. I still had the feeling something weird
had just gone down. I needed to run this conversation by Lena and Talen. I got
out my cell to text them to see if either was going to be in the apartment as I
stepped in the elevator.
A text came through before I could finish
typing my own text. It was from Wes.
Leave
the laptop and printouts at home. Put on a nice dress. I’ll pick u up at ur
place @ 7; I’m taking u out to dinner. Think of it as further validation of the
model.
My stomach dipped, and I knew it wasn’t
from the elevator’s descent. No laptop. No printouts. Just us, going out to
dinner. I didn’t need Talen and Lena to tell me what this meant.
My cell beeped again as the doors to the
elevator slid open, revealing the lobby. The beep told me I had another text,
also from Wes.
Is
that OK?
Forget the flutters: it was like a force
lit up inside me. I felt my cheeks tighten as I grinned. I glanced around as I
walked through the lobby, but no one was paying me any attention, thank God. I
texted back:
OK. C
u @ 7.
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Missy Marciassa loved getting lost in novels from the time she could read, so it’s no surprise she wanted to write. Her very first “novels” were re-writing the books she read to get the endings she wanted in second grade. Missy continued to read and write through grade school and high school.
After becoming rather disillusioned with fiction after writing literary criticism as an English major in college, however, Missy focused on her enjoyment of learning about people and studied psychology. Reading fiction fell to the wayside with all the reading and writing required for college and graduate school, but once Missy became a doctoral candidate, she rediscovered her love of fiction. Then she started getting the urge to write, an urge that wouldn’t go away (she refuses to diagnose it as a compulsion). Covert Assignment is the end result of that urge.
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