The first rule of setting up the man you love with another woman is simple: choose someone completely flawless, but entirely wrong for his hidden quirks.
Aria sat at her desk, aggressively typing into a spreadsheet titled *Operation: Out of My League*.
In Loop 9, she had tried setting Julian up with a high-powered corporate lawyer, thinking his ambition would match hers. Instead, they had bonded over their shared hatred of small talk, and Julian had ended up looking at Aria with realization in his eyes, thanking her for "bringing him out of his shell." Loop 9 ended on Day 12. Total disaster.
This time, she needed a surgical strike.
"Veronica Vance," Aria muttered, staring at the profile of her own third cousin on her laptop screen.
Veronica was a lifestyle influencer, an extreme extrovert, and a woman who organized her closet by color and mood. She was sweet, gorgeous, and absolutely terrified of silence. Julian, who spent ninety percent of his life brooding over architectural blueprints in absolute quiet, would be driven up a wall within forty-five minutes.
It was perfect. Julian would be too polite to leave, too exhausted to think about romance, and—most importantly—too drained to look at Aria.
"Aria. My office. Now."
Aria jumped, nearly spilling her lukewarm coffee. Julian was standing at the threshold of her cubicle, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sharp lines of his forearms. He held a rolled-up blueprint like a baton.
"Right away, Mr. Cross," Aria said, injecting a cold, robotic professionalism into her voice.
She followed him into his glass-walled office, making sure to shut the door with a loud, unnecessary slam. Julian didn't flinch. He sat at his desk, unrolling the blueprint for the museum facade.
"The board rejected the minimalist atrium," Julian said, his brow furrowing as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "They want something 'with more emotional weight.' It's an architectural museum, not a cathedral. I don't do 'emotional weight.'"
Aria stared at the top of his dark head. She knew exactly how to fix it. In Loop 4, she had suggested adding a cantilevered glass ceiling that played with natural light to simulate shifting shadows—emotional weight without the clutter. He had called her a genius, bought her dinner, and kissed her cheek by Day 6.
*Not this time.*
"Maybe you should just glue some gold leaf to the columns," Aria said flatly, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "People like shiny things. Just make it tacky. It fits the budget."
Julian froze. He looked up, his dark eyes narrowing through his glasses. "Gold leaf? Tacky? Aria, are you losing your mind? This is my legacy project."
"And it's a paycheck for me," she lied smoothly, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Look, Mr. Cross, if you're stressed about your lack of 'emotional weight,' it's probably because your personal life is a barren wasteland. You work eighty hours a week. Your brain is dried up."
Julian leaned back in his leather chair, tapping a pen against his chin. Instead of getting angry, a strange, infuriating spark of curiosity lit up his eyes. "My personal life? You're suddenly concerned with my work-life balance?"
"I'm concerned with finishing this contract so I can stop looking at brutalist concrete," Aria snapped, stepping closer to his desk. She slammed a business card down onto his blueprints. "My cousin. Veronica. She's a luxury event coordinator. She understands 'emotional presentation,' and she happens to have an opening in her schedule tonight at eight. You're going."
Julian stared at the pink, gold-foil embossed card, then up at Aria. "A blind date? You're setting me up?"
"Think of it as a corporate networking opportunity for your soul," Aria said, turning on her heel toward the door. "Table for two at *L'Aura*. Don't wear charcoal. She hates muted colors."
"Aria," Julian called out, his voice dropping into that quiet, commanding register that usually made her knees weak.
She paused, her hand on the doorknob, refusing to look back. "What?"
"Why are you doing this?"
There was a genuine, puzzling note in his voice. He was trying to read her, trying to figure out why the sharp, brilliant consultant who had been ice-cold since May 1st was suddenly meddling in his love life.
"Because you're boring, Mr. Cross," Aria said, opening the door. "And I like my clients to be interesting."
At 8:15 PM, Aria was sitting three tables away at *L'Aura*, hidden behind a massive faux-topiary plant and a very large menu.
She had paid the hostess fifty dollars to seat Julian and Veronica in her direct line of sight.
Through the leaves, Aria watched the trainwreck unfold. Veronica was in a vibrant, neon-orange dress, gesturing animatedly with her wine glass as she talked about her recent trip to Bali. Julian sat perfectly erect, his face an unreadable mask of polite agony. He was wearing a navy suit—the only non-charcoal item he owned—and looked like a man undergoing a root canal without anesthesia.
*Yes,* Aria thought, taking a victorious sip of her water. *Look at him suffer. He hates it. He's never going to fall in love this month. I'm going to break the thirty-day barrier.*
Suddenly, Veronica gasped, loudly enough for Aria to hear over the soft jazz music, and pulled out her phone to take a selfie. She dragged Julian into the frame. Julian blinked miserably as the flash went off.
Aria smiled, but the smile quickly faded, replaced by a sharp, hollow ache in her chest.
She remembered Loop 5, when they had eaten cheap takeout on the floor of his unfinished office because they missed their dinner reservation. He hadn't looked miserable then. He had laughed—a real, booming laugh that she hadn't heard since.
*I'm doing this to save him,* she reminded herself, tightening her grip on her glass. *If he confesses, I lose him. This is the only way.*
On screen—or rather, at the table—Veronica suddenly stood up, smoothing down her orange dress. "I have to use the powder room, Jules! Don't order without me, I want the truffles!"
As soon as Veronica disappeared down the hallway, Julian's polite posture collapsed. He loosened his tie, rubbed his temples, and let out a heavy, exhausted sigh.
Then, his eyes scanned the restaurant.
Aria froze, ducking instantly behind the menu. She held her breath, counting to ten.
*He didn't see me. There's no way he saw me.*
"The topiary isn't a very good disguise, Aria."
Aria gasped, dropping the menu.
Julian was standing right beside her table. He had his hands in his pockets, his tie slightly askew, and for the first time all day, the cold, distant 'Mr. Cross' persona was gone. Instead, there was a faint, amused smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"Are you tracking my 'soul's networking opportunity,' or are you just here for the truffles too?" Julian asked, leaning down slightly.
Aria's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "I... I have a right to dine where I please, Mr. Cross. It's a free country."
Julian didn't look back at Veronica's empty chair. He just looked at Aria, his eyes dark and intensely focused. "She's nice. But she talks to fill the silence. You..." He stepped a fraction closer, his cedarwood scent completely overwhelming her defenses. "...you use silence like a weapon. It's much more terrifying. And much more interesting."
Aria's eyes widened in horror.
*No. No, no, no.*
The dialogue was wrong. The trajectory was wrong. He wasn't supposed to find her interesting because she set him up—he was supposed to find her annoying!
"Julian, go back to your date," Aria whispered desperately, shoving her chair back. "She's beautiful, she's successful, she—"
"She isn't you," Julian said quietly.
The restaurant around them seemed to dim. Aria looked down at her smartwatch.
**May 2nd, 08:42 PM.**
It was only Day Two. And the look in his eyes was already starting to shift. The universe was cheating. It was accelerating the timeline.
"Don't say it," Aria panicked, grabbing his navy lapels, her eyes wide with genuine terror. "Julian, do not finish that thought. Go back to the orange dress!"