"It's me," she says.
"I wasn't expecting to hear back quite so soon. Is the date over?"
"Yes, we cut it short. Although it didn't feel short."
I ask the next question with dread. "How did it go? First impressions?"
There's a delicate pause, and Isabelle doesn't do delicate. I grit my teeth.
"Well, he's not very talkative, is he?"
"He's definitely more of the strong, silent type," I agree. "Which can be good, at times. It means he gives others more space to express themselves."
"That's true, Summer. I'm sure there are women who'd like that." Another pause, and her words don't need to be spoken to be heard. A woman who isn't me. "He certainly has a lot of… well. He's memorable, you know?"
"Sure is," I say. No white lie there.
"I was willing to overlook the silent thing, the fact that I had to drag responses out of him. And oh, he had magnificent hands. Men sometimes do, and you know I like men's hands. But even so…"
"Yes?"
"The thing is, Summer, I just can't see myself dating a guy who collects dolls. I'm sorry. I know you're so good at what you do and I always enjoy my dates, but this is a hard no for me. I didn't know it was before I met him, so I suppose I learned that about myself tonight?" She laughs, once more the Isabelle I'd spoken to an hour ago. "So you can add that to my profile. Won't date a guy who collects dolls."
It takes me several moments to form words. "Anthony Winter… collects dolls?"
"Oh yes. It was the only subject he seemed passionate about. Porcelain ones, too." Her voice drops an octave. "He said he has them all on display in his apartment. He'd just ordered a rare one from Russia. Had it flown here with its own attendant."
"Christ," I mumble.
"That's what I thought too. You know, I've heard this before about some of the old New York families. Not about the Winters specifically, of course. But about others. They have their little quirks. Perhaps that's what comes with too much time on your hands." Isabelle laughs again.
"Yes, well, I suppose we all have to have hobbies. I'm sorry this date wasn't a hit for you. I'd hoped it might be."
"Oh, Summer, I don't mind. Anthony's older brother was in school with my brother, but I'd never spoken to him before. This was nice. Unexpected… but nice."
"I'm glad you see it that way."
"Absolutely. And you know what?" she says, voice turning optimistic. "Collecting dolls might be a wonderful pastime, for some. We shouldn't pass judgement. Who knows? Without it he might have turned to hard drugs or liquor, or something."
"Yes," I say. "Quite."
"I'll talk to you later, Summer. Thanks for tonight."
She hangs up with a cheery goodbye. Good to know nothing rocks Isabelle Ashford, not even being set up on a date with an adult man who apparently collects porcelain dolls.
When Anthony strolls in through Opate Match's doors the next day, I'm ready for him. My professional smile has a knife's edge to it.
His dark eyes meet mine. "Miss Davis."
"Mr. Winter."
"Is your aunt out of the office?"
I speak before Suzy can. "She is indeed, but she'll be back shortly. Why don't we head into my office? I can give you another overview of our clientele. You were so interested in it last time."
His lips tug, a slight shift in the muscles. "All right."
Ace makes it into my office before the door shuts. He sprawls on the carpet beneath my desk, his tail on one of my shoes and his head next to Anthony's.
"I'm interested in the clientele?" Anthony asks. His gaze is fixed on me, penetrating in a way I refuse to let make me uncomfortable.
I knot my hands in front of me on the desk instead. I'd worn a blazer today and put my blonde hair into a high ponytail, all to feel more in control of this conversation.
"You're sabotaging the bet," I say. J'accuse, Winter.
Anthony raises an eyebrow. "Sabotaging the bet?"
"You collect porcelain dolls?"
"They have a separate room in my apartment," he deadpans.
"You lied."
He leans back in the chair. "Yes, I did."
"That goes against the bet. If you're to get the true Opate experience, you can't deliberately undermine yourself on dates."
"I have to be on my best behavior?"
"Yes. Don't be anything other than what you are. If you keep sabotaging, well…"
"You won't admit I won the bet fairly," he says. "Is that it?"
"Fine. I won't sabotage any more of the dates."
"Thank you."
He leans forward, bracing his hands on the edge of my desk. They're good hands, I admit. Perhaps I'm not Isabelle with a hand fetish, but… yes. Strong, broad across the back, with wide knuckles and long fingers. They'd probably feel amazing gripping your skin.
"Miss Davis," he says.
I look up. "Yes."
"For the record, I told her about my imaginary doll collection to end the date. It was clear to me that we wanted different things, and I didn't want to lead her on."
"I won't sabotage going forward, but once I've determined that the date won't work out, I won't waste these women's time."
"No, that's good." I nod. "I approve."