Perfect Match

by Lila Monroe

  “Just a sec …” Jack still looks distracted, so I sit down in the cushy leather couch along one wall. No photos, no mementos, nothing that looks at all personal. Hmm. It looks almost … lonely.

  Which doesn’t at all fit the guy who’s turns away from his computer screen. Jack gives me his usual cocky smirk. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have your matches, as promised,” I say, digging a tablet out of my purse. “All you need to do is pick the ones you want to meet.”

  He comes around to sit on the couch beside me. With a couple of taps, I bring up the app, logged in with Jack’s profile, and show the screen to him. “I’ve narrowed it down to a top list of twenty. You can swipe right for the ones you like, or left to say no.”

  “Sounds easy enough. And what’s the next step after that?”

  “Then the algorithm offers three suggested date activities, based on both of your profiles.”

  “Designed to kick-start our chemistry and make us fall madly in love?” He sounds amused.

  I narrow my eyes. “Exactly.”

  “All right.” He picks up the tablet and leans back, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “This one, definitely not.” He swipes left.

  “What was wrong with her?” I ask. He can’t have read more than half her info.

  “She has a dog.”

  I frown. “You never said dogs were a deal-breaker.”

  “They’re not,” he says blithely. “But that woman clearly is not the right kind of dog owner.”

  Before I can say anything else, he’s already swiped left two more times. “Wait, what were the problems with those two?” I blurt out.

  He shrugs. “There’s definitely something wrong with anyone who coordinates their shirt and eye color. And I really don’t think I could get along with a woman who likes both Indian food and skiing. Too hot and cold.”

  “What?” I protest, but he’s swiping again. Left. Left. Left. Damn it, at this rate we’ll be through them all in five minutes, with nothing to show for it. “Hold on. You’ve got to give them more than a glance.”

  “What can I say,” he says, glancing up at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I know what I like.”

  “And what you don’t like, clearly,” I mutter. “Maybe you could have mentioned more of these random concerns earlier?”

  “Well, they don’t always occur to me until I see a person in front of me. All right, this one doesn’t have anything horribly wrong with her. I suppose I could give her a shot.” Swipe right. Then left, left, left. “Far too nice. A kitten shirt—that’s just banal. And that last one.” He chuckles as he shakes his head at me. “An airline pilot? Really?”

  Okay, I’m about ready to strangle him now. “You said you like jet-setting!”

  “I prefer flying private.” He winks at me and dives back into the list. “No, no—”

  I jump in before he can dash right past one of the women I was sure he couldn’t complain about … although I’m somewhat less sure now. “What about ManhattanLife29? She’s got everything you said you look for.” And a whole bunch of things I could easily guess.

  Jack pauses, reading the vital stats I know by heart. Art history degree, curator in a gallery downtown, petite, slim, and beautiful. “Fine, I’ll give you that one.”

  “You’re not supposed to be doing this for me,” I remind him. “They’ll be your dates. It doesn’t work unless you pick the ones you really do like the sound of the most.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can find at least one more. But not that one. Or—oh, dear, definitely not with those ears. I can’t abide by small ears.”

  “Now you’re just messing with me.” I glare.

  He grins back, infuriating.

  “And this one, a marathon runner? I like the chase, but really—”

  “What is wrong with you?” I finally exclaim. “I didn’t come here to joke around. The algorithm matches based on careful work and research, and the least you can do is treat the process seriously. Or is this how you act with all the companies you fund—making fun of their products and driving their founders insane with irritation?”

  Jack’s lips quirk in a smile. “Of course, we should be serious, about … MinnieMouse86,” he says, reading from the tablet. “She’s clearly my one true love.”

  I snatch it back and look at the results. “Three women? Fine. That’s a start.”

  “I await our dates with bated breath,” he grins. “Now, since I have you, a few questions. Talk to me about what exactly you’d be using my investment for. What sort of tech infrastructure do you have plans for? What’s been working for you in your beta trials so far, and how easily can you scale it up?”

  Concrete strategy. If he thinks he’s going to catch me unprepared, he hasn’t figured out much about me yet. I answer all his questions with hard numbers, and my plan for expansion.

  “Have you looked into potential issues with overload? If this thing takes off, you don’t want to be swamped and crash.”

  “I have a plan for increased capacity.” I type a note to myself on my phone.

  “Check again. Your funding plan says you’re looking to add ten thousand new users for this final beta test, is that right?” I nod, and he leans forward. “Why not a hundred thousand. Hell, why not a million?”

  I pause. “That … I mean, it seems like an awful lot when it’s just a beta test. We’ve been taking it slow, making sure we work out any bugs that we might have missed.”

  “No. See, I know you’ve caught anything that could make or break this thing. You’ve got to know when to let go. Think bigger. You can’t make a splash if you creep into the market one tiny step at a time.” Jack gets up. “Here, let me give you a glimpse of what you should be aiming for.”

  I stand, following his lead. “What do you mean?”

  “I funded another app company last year. We can take a little field trip to their office. Better to show than to tell.” He stops and gives me that challenge of a grin. “Assuming you’re up for that.”

  “Sure, let’s go.” The last thing I want is him thinking I can’t handle constructive advice. And after that quick dash through his approach to business, I’m curious to see what else he’s got up his sleeve. If he’d talked with me like this to begin with, I’d have spent a lot less time wanting to murder him.

  Jack must make some kind of signal to Hallie, because there’s a car waiting for us the second we walk out of the lobby. Not a cab, of course, but a posh Bentley. The driver greets Jack as if they’re old friends—he even has a coffee waiting.

  “So what’s this company we’re seeing?” I ask as we slide into the back seat. The driver pulls away from the curb into the Manhattan traffic.

  “It’s a non-profit venture. CommunitE?”

  “Oh, I read an article about them last week. They’re like a dating app for potential volunteers, right? Matching people by location and interests with community service opportunities.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I didn’t know charity was your thing,” I say.

  Jack grins. “Don’t be so surprised. I like to take a moment out of making oodles of money to spread a little love around.”

  “That’s … generous of you,” I say, and he chuckles as if he knows I’m not quite convinced.

  “Well, the infrastructure and tech can all be applied to for-profit ventures, so you can be sure I’ll see a return.”

  Now that sounds more like the Jack Callahan I know.

  The car pulls to a stop. “Here we are,” Jack says. He hops out and is around the car before I’ve finished taking off my seatbelt. He opens the door for me with a sweep of his arm and a grin. “M’lady.”

  I roll my eyes at him as I get out. But I’ve got my manners. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he says. His hand brushes the small of my back as we approach the building, and it’s probably Jill’s fault for teasing me, but I’m hyperaware of my reactions to him now. Reactions like the warm shi
ver that travels through me at his touch.

  I step away from him as we head inside the non-descript office building, close enough to the subway line to hear the rattle of a passing train.

  I can feel the upbeat vibe of the place the second we step inside. There’s a hum of energetic conversation in the air. Wooden slab tables fill most of an open-concept office space, with people scattered along them with their laptops. Some are working alone, some together. A few employees look to be more intensively occupied in glass-walled cubicles at the back, but they glance up and wave in greeting.

  “Jack!” One of them, a forty-something woman, hustles over to meet us. She shakes Jack’s hand with a wide smile. “Great to see you again.”

  “Good to see you too, Yvette,” Jack says. He rests his hand briefly on my shoulder. Just long enough to send another rush of heat through me. “This is McKenna Delaney. We’re thinking of working together, and she’s in app development. I thought it’d be good for her to see how your operation has taken off.”

  “Sure!” Yvette turns her smile on me. She looks so genuinely pleased to see us, I already like her. “I’d be happy to talk you through anything. But I’ll say upfront, a lot of what you’ll see is thanks to Jack. We had the ideas, don’t get me wrong, but he had the experience to get us moving in the right direction.”

  “And the funds to grease those wheels,” a tall woman in a patchwork dress agrees, coming up beside him. She offers her hand to me. “Sonya. Nice to meet you. If you decide to work with Jack, you’ll be in good hands.”

  “When I first got involved here, it was just Yvette, Sonya, and a couple of interns,” Jack says. “Now they’ve got—how many employees?”

  “Eighteen here,” Yvette says. “And five so far in our satellite office in San Francisco.”

  “San Francisco?” I repeat. “You’ve already expanded?”

  She nods. “We’ve gotten charitable organizations involved in all the major US cities, and enough users signed on that most positions offered are filled within a week.”

  “We’re actually just starting to move into Europe,” Sonya says. “We sent a couple of our top marketing people over to London just this morning to start making the connections we need.”

  Wow. “How long ago did you get started?” I ask.

  “Well, we’d been building on the idea for CommunitE for about five years before Jack came on board,” Yvette says. “That was about a year ago. Amazing how far you can go with the right support, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. My heart has started beating a little faster. From two full employees to expanding overseas in a year? I’d never have even considered trying for that.

  Sonya leads me over to her workspace and shows me a few of the early efforts Jack guided them through to expand their reach quickly. Jack stays quiet through the whole thing, but he’s smiling whenever I look at him. Like a proud parent. He feels good about what he’s helped build here—and he should.

  Maybe the playboy billionaire has some substance lurking beneath that designer suit.

  Along with the chiseled abs, of course.

  “I believe the biggest impact comes from taking big steps,” Jack says. “You’ve just got to believe you’re ready for it.”

  Is Perfect Match ready for a campaign like that? Excitement fizzes in my chest as I look around the office. Maybe I’m getting a glimpse of my future right now. I can’t deny it’s a good one.

  The problem is, getting there still depends on our bargain. I’m two weeks down, and he hasn’t been on a single date. I need to kick his ass into gear if I have a hope of making that deadline.

  9

  Jack

  After a hectic week working, I like to unwind with a basketball game with the guys. It’s my chance to blow off some steam—to forget about the office and everything else I might have planned. The closest thing to work on the court is the sweat we’re all working up. Usually. But this time, Seb has to open his mouth and mention McKenna and our deal. She’d probably be happy to know that even on my time off, I’m ending up thinking about her damned app.

  “True love?” Cash, who’s playing two-on-two on my side, laughs as he sinks a basket. He’s got a furniture-design company, and we met back when I was furnishing my apartment. “This I’ve got to see.” He retrieves the ball and passes it to Jake Weston, another buddy of mine. “So how soon do we get to meet this soulmate of yours?”

  “I haven’t even met her yet.” I dodge to the side and block Jake’s run at the basket.

  “You said you have a date with her this afternoon,” Seb corrects me. I snatch the ball out of the air and shoot. It bounces off the backboard … and hits the rim, tipping out instead of in. Damn. My focus is off. Not hard to figure why.

  “I have a date with a woman, who may or may not be soulmate material, today,” I correct him. “I’m betting on not.”

  Jake laughs. “Bets can be dangerous things. And hey, I landed my soulmate with her betting against me.”

  “I think I’m going to skip the ladies making public chastity pledges, as well as that worked out for you.” Jake’s love story is a pretty crazy one—and a one-in-a-million situation that could only happen by chance. His fiancée swore off sex and started a general strike among womankind—and he took the bet to make her break it.

  “I know you like to talk about how much fun you’re having, but you’re going to get the itch to settle down soon,” Seb says. “I know it. You too, Cash.”

  “I’m happy living the single life, thanks,” Cash grins.

  Jake shakes his head. “That just means you haven’t met the right one yet. Just wait until Jack gets matched up with Miss Right. Then it’ll be three against one!”

  I toss the ball to him. “I think you’ll be waiting on that for a while. I wouldn’t mind getting lucky—back at my place. But that other kind of lucky? Not from a computer program. It’ll happen when it happens.”

  “I don’t know,” Seb says. “McKenna seemed to know her stuff.”

  I can’t deny that. Every time I talk to the woman, I’m more impressed by the dedication she brings to her work. And the fact that she hasn’t backed down even when I’ve admittedly jerked her around. It’s hard to resist giving her a hard time when she’s so serious. But she was obviously listening when I started giving her pointers.

  You have to be able to adapt to make it in business—and pleasure. So maybe giving her dating plan a chance isn’t the worst idea in the world.

  After we finish our game, I shower and change, then head out for this ultimate date of mine. I’m meeting Match #1 for an art-walk gallery tour, and when I check the email to remind myself about her, I see that Darcy works in a gallery and is a self-described modern sculpture enthusiast. I know enough about art to fake my way through conversation at charity functions, but I’m hoping she’s not a one-track mind.

  “Darcy?” I find her already waiting outside the first gallery when I get there. She looks exactly like her profile photo: beautiful, blonde, and graceful, in skinny jeans and a loose sweater. My mood improves. This is off to a good start. “Hi, I’m Jack. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “You’re right on time. I’m so glad you made it.” She’s got a smile that could light up a room. All right, I have to admit, this looks promising.

  We exchange small talk as the rest of the tour group gathers. One of McKenna’s associates recruited her at yoga class, and this is her first date using the app. “I prefer to meet people in person,” she admits, “but these days, everyone’s online.”

  “I hope I live up to the Perfect Match promise,” I crack, and she gives me a flirty smile.

  “So far, so good.”

  By the time we head into the gallery, I’ve got Darcy relaxed and chatting easily. She flips her hair back and brushes my arm as she talks, clearly signaling her interest. If I were just looking to hook up, I’d be set. But this app is supposed to deliver me my soulmate, not just another fling. And as far as
that’s concerned, the jury’s still out.

  “You’re the sculpture expert,” I say to Darcy, peering at a work that looks like a metal horse-and-rider, but melted into each other. It’s rather eerie. “What do you think of this?”

  She cocks her head. “Hmm. That’s not really my taste. Now this—this is spectacular.”

  She tugs me over to look at … a big plastic blob. Honestly, there’s no better way to describe it. The thing is a bulbous orange lump with streaks of gray swirled in. Like a very shiny piece of chewed gum discarded by a giant.

  “That is really … something.” I try to be diplomatic.

  “Isn’t it?” Darcy gushes. “The way the artist captured the passion of the storm, but with the contrast of color to show it represents his fraught relationship with his mother.”

  Huh. I was not getting any of that. I take a couple of steps around the blob, but I’m still not seeing any waves, rain, or mothers. “You’ve got a real eye,” I say, and Lord help me, she blushes.

  “Is there anything else here that grabs your attention?” I say. “I’d love to hear more of your thoughts.”

  It turns out Darcy is generally fond of blobs. She oohs and aahs over a pale blue one that looks like a giant melted marble, but apparently depicts the artist’s struggle with her rigid schooling. Then there’s the sculpture made out of two blobs, neon green and yellow, grappling with each other. “What a perfect depiction of spring blossoming!” Darcy says.

  “Oh, yes. Definitely,” I agree, trying to keep a straight face.

  The guide calls for our group to follow him out to the next stop on the tour. “How did you get into sculpture, anyway?” I ask Darcy politely.

  She brightens again as we amble down the street. “Well, my dad took me to the Met for the first time when I was ten, and …”