“You deserved a month to grieve and be with your daughter,” she finally says, leaning forward to rest her arms on my desk. “But you are right. We’ve struggled a lot in the time you were away. Did you see my email?”
I sit up, setting the folder down on top of the pile of others I have before skimming through my email. Clicking on the most recent one from her, I open it to discover an article about our company. However, before I can read it, Kirstin speaks again.
“We normally have a minimum of thirty matches a month, our highest being sixty-two. But this month that you’ve been gone, we’ve only had ten.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose at the statistic. “The papers are questioning my standing, our standing, and success. Our biggest competitor has been extremely vocal in the last couple of weeks, trying to discredit us.”
“We both know that’s crazy.” I fold my arms over my chest. “There’s no credibility there. I already have a pile of twelve matches that I’ve put together in the week I’ve been back. We’ll be fine.”
“I’m worried about the possibility of them gaining traction over us,” Kirstin tells me, concern lacing her normally chipper tone. “I think it’s time that we do something big. Something we haven’t done before.”
My eyes narrow slightly at that, knowing that something is coming that I will not like. “Pray tell.”
“All of our clients have been regular everyday people,” she says as she stands, walking to lean next to me against my desk, resting her hand on the pile of folders. “That’s why we’ve been so successful. We market to the regular everyday Joe. But what if we successfully matched someone of higher status?”
I mull it over as I cross my left leg over my right, keeping my arms folded. It would be a great idea, actually. Something that could help prove the legitimacy and accuracy of our company. If we can match someone of high status, that only helps elevate ours.
“Who did you have in mind?”
Kirstin picks up the folder she had dropped on my desk, extending it in my direction. I grab it and set it on my keyboard, flipping it open. As my eyes fall on that all too familiar name and photo, my breath hitches.
“Levi Wright,” she answers as I stare at his picture. “He came in asking for our help, and I think if we do this justice, we’ll be back at the top of the food chain, not having to fight for first place.”
“Okay.” I glance up at her. “I’ll create his profile and plug him into the system. See what matches I can generate.”
A slow smile spreads on Kirstin’s face as she stands, gesturing with her head. “Come into my office for a second. Bring his file with you.”
I raise a brow but don’t say a word as I oblige. Following her into her office, I close the door behind me as she takes a seat at her desk. She gestures to one of the open chairs and I take a seat.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, doing something like this.” Kirstin types on her computer. “These circumstances just gave me the push that I needed.”
I nod absentmindedly as I fidget with the folder, his folder, that is sitting in my lap. “I had been piling data of all I could find out from the internet about those who could be considered New York’s Most Eligible Bachelors and put them into your system. Hand me his file.”
Handing her the blue folder, I sit back as she enters the data, twirling the plain silver ring I wear on my thumb. In my gut, Ialready know where this conversation is headed, but I’m still not prepared when she confirms my suspicions.
“I had some promising matches, some high percentages,” she tells me before turning her desktop in my direction, showing me her screen. “But nothing like this.”
I tear my gaze away from her and look at what is before me. On the left is Levi’s photo and profile, and on the right… mine. My eyes widen slightly before drifting down to the bottom of the screen.
A ninety-four percent match.
I stare in shock, unable to get any words out. If we got anything over eighty, that was amazing—it was rare to get anything over a ninety. It has only happened a handful of times in the half a decade I have been doing this. All of those who have received a percentage over ninety are still together. Some are married, some are engaged, others are just out there traveling the world with their other half.
A match over ninety has never failed before.
“Talk to me,” Kirstin says, breaking the silence.
I can’t take my eyes away from the screen when I ask, “Are you sure that’s accurate?”
“Are you doubting your own program?” She counters, leaning back in her chair.
Kirstin studies me as I finally tear my gaze away from the screen, refusing to make eye contact. Ninety-four percent is all I can think about.
How can someone I met on a rooftop all those years ago suddenly wander into my life and, according to the algorithm I put together, be practically perfect for me? The odds are beyond slim and yet the truth is literally staring me in the face.
“Please, let me set this up,” she pleads, leaning forward and finally drawing my eyes up to her dark brown ones. “My original intentions were to help the company, but honestly? I want thisfor you, Marlowe. This is huge, and it’s such a rare thing to find. I don’t want you to miss out on this opportunity.”
“I’ve got a kid, Kirstin.” Shaking my head, I abruptly stand from the chair and pace the room. “I am grieving the recent loss of my father and sister. Who knows when or if Travis is going to show up again or what I’m going to do about anything involving him. My life is such a mess right now. It’s just not the right time.”
