“I did?” I hesitate, straining my gaze to see what she looks like but there’s no photo. “Where’s she at?”
“You don’t get a photo until you unlock that feature after a successful chat. Let me send her a message for you!” El beams at me before her fingers glide back over the keyboard. “This is going to be so perfect.”
Not perfect. It’s the definition of insanity that I would let my sister do this. I don’t need to chat with anyone. I don’t need a date app. All I need is my back to feel better so I can get off this floor and run my business!
fourteen
Portia
I dab the tear in the corner of my eye while squinting at the scathing review one man left on my website. I had stopped inside my apartment after dropping Oliver off, and couldn’t resist logging into the back office of my site for a quick check. Now I wish I hadn’t.
Reviewer - Waste of time. Don’t bother. I signed up and kept getting error messages before it even gave me a match. It’s a scam.
A line of perspiration beads on my lower back. With all the organic traffic on my app yesterday, I had an influx of men. The men were matching, taking the woman out of the match portal. There areno women left. Men are getting error messages. This has never happened before. I’ve always had enough people to at least give them one match to keep them busy chatting.
What am I going to do? I don’t have time to find more women. I promised Christian I’d come back to the store to helphim. If Dad were here, I could send him out. He doesn’t come home until tomorrow. By then I could have more bad reviews!
A horrible thought creeps into my brain.
I can make a fake profile and chat with these men until I get more women.
Should I?
I inhale deeply, weighing that option. It’s not the right option. It could backfire in the worst way. But then again, how would anyone find out? A lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. I’m not scamming people. That’s not what my company stands for. I would rather the app goes on hiatus for a few weeks than do that.
But if it went on hiatus, I might not be able to redeem it. I might get so many bad reviews it would never recover. Not to mention, this is my time to fly this ship. Yeah, I know ships don’t fly. Sail it. Whatever. I need this app. I sank all my savings into it. It’s my one shot at becoming financially independent and finding freedom from my drudgery at the coffee shop.
Sure, Dad could give me money until I find something else. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’m nearly thirty. There’s something about being thirty and needing to ask your dad for rent money that feels dehumanizing.
My app flashes another error message. Someone tried to match, and it didn’t work. It was Thursday, one of our busier days, as people match for the weekend. I stare at my wall, feeling as if the room is shrinking, closing in on me. This is bad. I must figure something out.
Without thinking twice—I don’t have time for guilt—I go to the new client scene, racing to create a profile. Yep, my mind is made up. I must save all my hard work.
I don’t need to lie, because it doesn’t ask for my name or photo. I quickly select preferences from the drop-down menus of what I’m looking for.
Male.
Career oriented.
Family values.
Good looks.
Kind-hearted.
That got me into the portal, where there are a series of more detailed questions to narrow down the search. I don’t narrow it down. I want to match with as many men as possible to keep them on my app until I can get real women.
Sweat pools in the center of my palms by the time I click the Match Me button. A heart thumps on the screen while it finds my matches, and I let out a heavy breath.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
But what choice do I have?
Just this once, because Dad’s out of town, and I don’t have any time to get ahead. If this doesn’t qualify as an emergency, then I don’t know what does.
The screen switches to one that looks like a Guess Who board, filling each square with a match. Twelve! I matched with twelve. That’s good. Not enough. There’s still going to be some men who won’t get matches.
Why did this have to happen now?
