When I arrived for my blind date, Lena Hart had already read the matchmaking agency's private profile claiming I belonged to its A8 wealth tier. I told her within minutes that I was a carpenter with a small workshop, an aging van, and no hidden fortune. She smiled as if I'd offered her the first line of a joke, then ordered the bottle of wine she thought I was pretending not to afford. I could have walked out. Instead, I stayed long enough to learn why a public school teacher cared about financial security, and why she seemed to believe my honesty was another kind of performance. Before the agency, her school, and my own pride got between us, I had to find out whether Lena wanted the man across the table or the imaginary millionaire she'd been promised.