Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 347: 347 | A Financial Instrument

The classroom had mostly emptied. Delgado collected her rubrics and coffee cup and headed for the door, pausing to glance back at the two of them with an expression that said I am not paid enough to be a marriage counselor and then vanishing into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzzed at their constant irritating frequency. A pen someone had dropped during the debate rolled back and forth in the aisle, pushed by air from the closing door.

"Two minutes," Jordan said.

Eliza’s shoulders dropped half an inch. She pressed her palms flat on the desk and looked at them instead of at him, her blonde hair falling forward in those expensive waves that he knew required three products and forty-five minutes.

"I’ve been thinking about what you said. About figuring out what kind of person I am."

"I said that two weeks ago."

"I know. I’ve been thinking slowly." She laughed, a small brittle sound that crumbled on impact. "You said your dad’s business and Chloe’s dad’s dry cleaning shop. In the debate. You used real names. You meant it."

Jordan said nothing.

"Cameron’s grandfather bought land before the Fair Housing Act. You said that in front of Cameron. In front of forty people." Eliza looked up at him through the curtain of her hair with something that resembled awe mixed with vertigo, the expression of someone watching a person walk across a tightrope without a net and realizing the tightrope walker genuinely doesn’t care if they fall. "You didn’t even flinch."

"It’s true. Why would I flinch."

"Because he’s six-one and plays lacrosse and his family could make your life difficult."

"My family owns convenience stores. His family owns real estate. Those aren’t the same weight class, you’re right." Jordan zipped his bag shut. "But I’ve been getting hit by someone who actually knows how to throw a punch three days a week, and Cameron Mitchell learned to fight by shoving freshmen at parties. If he wants to make my life difficult he’s welcome to try."

Eliza stared at him. Her lips parted and closed twice. The calculation running behind her eyes was visible, a rapid reassessment of someone she’d filed under harmless and now couldn’t find the right folder for.

"Two minutes is up," Jordan said.

"Wait." Eliza stood so fast her chair skated backward and hit the desk behind it with a plastic clatter. "Let me buy you something. Coffee. Food. Whatever. As a thank-you for the debate."

Jordan’s internal alarm system, which had been calibrated by Chloe Kim and tested against two weeks of Eliza’s escalating gambits, fired on every cylinder. The request was textbook. A thank-you positioned as casual, framed as professional gratitude, designed to extend the interaction past the point where Jordan could leave without being rude. Eliza had learned from her failed attempts. The push-up bra and tennis skirt had bounced off him like rubber bullets. The iced coffee gambit had earned a polite thank-you and nothing else. Now she was trying something Chloe would recognize instantly: the humble ask, the grateful student, the girl who just wants to celebrate their teamwork and isn’t that innocent.

Jordan’s phone buzzed. He felt it through his jeans. Did not reach for it.

"I have boxing."

"After boxing."

"I’m busy after boxing."

"You’re always busy. You’ve been always busy for two weeks." Eliza crossed her arms, and the movement did specific things to the geometry of her cashmere sweater that Jordan observed in his peripheral vision and then discarded from active processing. "Jordan. We just killed a debate. Delgado literally nodded. She never nods. Tanner Morrison had no response and Cameron looked like someone told him his trust fund was frozen. Let me buy you a smoothie. Thirty minutes. That’s it."

The smart play was to say no and leave. Chloe had scripted his week with the precision of a chess grandmaster, and the script said white t-shirt, Thursday, professional distance, sustained indifference. The script did not include post-debate smoothies with a girl whose attraction had jumped fourteen points in five days.

But Chloe’s script also hadn’t accounted for the way Eliza had delivered that Chetty argument, or the fact that she’d found a fifth academic source over the weekend without anyone asking her to, or the crack in her voice when she’d said she was thinking slowly.

And the System’s objective said Jordan must not pursue Eliza. Eliza must initiate all escalation.

Eliza was initiating.

"You’re paying," Jordan said.

The smile that broke across Eliza’s face was the most genuine expression he had seen from her since the night they met at a frat party in October, when she’d laughed at something he said and he’d interpreted it as love because he was eighteen and stupid and desperate enough to mistake politeness for passion.

"Obviously I’m paying. I owe you like four thousand dollars in karmic debt." She grabbed her bag and walked toward the door ahead of him, her tennis skirt swishing above tan thighs, her heels clicking against tile with the confident percussion of someone who’d gotten what she wanted and knew it.

Jordan followed three steps behind and pulled out his phone.

Meeting ran long. She’s buying me a smoothie. 30 min.

Chloe’s response arrived in nine seconds.

She initiated?

Yes.

What’s she wearing.

Jordan hesitated. Cream sweater. Tennis skirt. Push-up situation.

The same push-up from Tuesday or escalated.

Escalated.

Eight seconds of nothing. Then: Get the large. Make her watch you drink it slow. Don’t touch her. Don’t sit on the same side of the booth. Text me when you leave.

Then: 47 → ?

Jordan locked his phone. The question mark meant Chloe wanted to know what number the System reported after the smoothie. It also meant she’d already calculated the probable gain and wanted to verify her model. His girlfriend was using his magical dating app as a financial instrument, and the fact that this made her more attractive rather than less said everything anyone needed to know about Jordan McKnight’s psychological profile.

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