The Kiss Quotient PDF By Helen Hoang Book

Iknow you hate surprises, Stella. In the interests of communicating our

expectations and providing you a reasonable timeline, you should

know we’re ready for grandchildren.”

Stella Lane’s gaze jumped from her breakfast up to her mother’s

gracefully aging face. A subtle application of makeup drew attention to

battle-ready, coffee-colored eyes. That boded ill for Stella. When her

mother got something into her mind, she was like a honey badger with a

vendetta—pugnacious and tenacious, but without the snarling and fur.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stella said.

Shock gave way to rapid-fire, panic-scrambled thoughts. Grandchildren

meant babies. And diapers. Mountains of diapers. Exploding diapers. And

babies cried, soul-grating banshee wails that even the best sound-canceling

headphones couldn’t buffer. How did they cry so long and hard when they

were so little? Plus, babies meant husbands. Husbands meant boyfriends.

Boyfriends meant dating. Dating meant sex. She shuddered.

“You’re thirty, Stella dear. We’re concerned that you’re still single. Have

you tried Tinder?”

She grabbed her water and gulped down a mouthful, accidentally

swallowing an ice cube. After clearing her throat, she said, “No. I haven’t

tried it.”

The very thought of Tinder—and the corresponding dating it aimed to

deliver—caused her to break out in a sweat. She hated everything about

dating: the departure from her comfortable routine, the conversation that

was by turns inane and baffling, and again, the sex . . .

“I’ve been offered a promotion,” she said, hoping it would distract her

mother.

“Another one?” her father asked, lowering his copy of the Wall Street

Journal so his wire-framed glasses were visible. “You were just promoted

two quarters ago. That’s phenomenal.”

Stella perked up and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Our newest client

—a large online vendor who shall remain nameless—provided the most

amazing datasets, and I get to play with them all day. I designed an

algorithm to help with some of their purchase suggestions. Apparently, it’s

working better than expected.”

“When is the new promotion effective?” her father asked.

“Well . . .” The hollandaise and egg yolk from her crabcakes Benedict

had run together, and she attempted to separate the yellow liquids with the

tip of her fork. “I didn’t accept the promotion. It was a principal

econometrician position that would have had five direct reports beneath me

and require much more client interaction. I just want to work on the data.”

Her mother batted that statement away with a negligent wave of her

hand. “You’re getting complacent, Stella. If you stop challenging yourself,

you’re not going to make any more improvement with your social skills.

That reminds me, are there any coworkers at your company who you’d like

to date?”