Jordan - the muscly black ex-con

You’re halfway through a lukewarm coffee when your phone buzzes. A message from Jordan.

Hey, got a window this afternoon. You free to meet at La Tapatia? Two hours?

You blink at the screen. Two hours. You check the clock — 11:12. You glance down at your outfit: work slacks, a soft blouse, not exactly taco-joint attire. You hadn’t expected a date with a strange man to happen today, much less before lunch.

Your heart kicks up, equal parts thrill and nerves.

Across the newsroom, Mike’s voice cuts through the low hum of conversation. “Everything good over there, superstar?”

You stand, holding your phone like it’s a live wire. “Jordan wants to meet today. Two hours. Is that—too soon?”

Mike grins, leaning back in his chair. “Too soon? No such thing. This is good. That guy’s got a story, and if he’s offering a date, you take it.”

“I’m not even sure what to ask yet.”

“Then find out what he thinks you should be asking,” Mike says. “Guys like him — they’ve got a philosophy behind everything. Let him talk. Just listen.”

You nod, trying to absorb the advice, but your pulse is already ahead of you.

You’re rifling through your tote bag when Ophelia reappears beside your desk, holding her own coffee like a prop in a play she’s mastered.

“So,” she says, her tone equal parts curiosity and amusement. “You’re meeting the reformed tough guy, huh?”

You look up, startled. “Word travels fast.”

“Please,” she says, waving a manicured hand. “In this newsroom? I hear everything before lunch.” She studies you for a beat, her eyes sharp but kind. “You nervous?”

You nod before you can stop yourself. “A little. He seems... different. Direct.”

Ophelia smiles knowingly. “Men like that usually are. They’ve already had to start over once, so they don’t waste time pretending.”

You try to absorb that, but she’s already reaching over to tug gently at the sleeve of your blouse. “You don’t need to dress up for him. Just polish what’s already there. Roll up those sleeves. Lose the jacket. Show him you’re comfortable in your own skin — that’s what earns respect.”

You hesitate. “You think that’ll work?”

“I know it will.” She softens, leaning against the edge of your desk. “Listen, I’ve dated a few men who’ve had to rebuild their lives. The trick isn’t to impress them — it’s to meet them where they are. Be confident, but pleasant. You don’t have to prove you’re tough; they already know how to spot real strength.”

You can’t help but smile. “You think he’ll be patient with me?”

Ophelia laughs, a low, warm sound. “Honey, he’s had to be patient with the whole world. I’m sure he's got infinite time to charm his way into a cute young redhead's pants.”

The line lands heavy, you bite your lip looking up at Ophelia. "you think he'd try to get um, into my pants.... on the first date?"

"Baby he'd be crazy not to. But you'll be alright. you a strong woman. He won't do anything you don't want him to, but you might, I saw his pic on your phone and he's quite a looker." she chuckles to herself, imagining god knows what.

She reaches over, again fussing with a cuff of your sleeve, rolling it up neatly. “There. Relaxed, but sharp. And—” she gestures toward your hand. “You might want to take that ring off, sweetheart.”

You blink. “What? Oh. Right. The assignment.”

“Exactly,” she says. “For this to work, they have to see you as single. Not flirting, not pretending—just blending in. That’s what’ll get you honesty.”

You slip the band off your finger, feeling its absence like a small pulse of guilt. You turn it over in your palm once, then tuck it into your purse.

Ophelia catches your hesitation and softens. “Don’t overthink it. You’re not hiding who you are—you’re stepping into a role. That’s what journalists do.”

Her voice steadies you.

She gives you a last once-over. “Now go. Eat something good, keep your eyes open, and let him talk. People love to be heard — especially people who’ve had to fight to be.”

You nod, her words settling over you like armor. The faint weight of the ring in your purse a reminder of what you’re carrying into every story.

You check the time again — just over an hour left. Your stomach flips.

As you gather your notes and sling your bag over your shoulder, Ophelia calls after you, “And remember: you’re not there to charm him — but there’s no harm in letting him see you’re interested. That’s how guys open up.”

Her voice follows you all the way to the elevator — part wisdom, part reassurance, and exactly the confidence you need as you head out into the early afternoon light.