“Fool’s gold.”
He ignored me, of course. Lucas always ignored me when I was being what he called “unnecessarily grumpy.”
I didn’t evenuseCupid’s Arrow. I had never made a profile, never swiped through matches, never experienced the “magic” we promised our users. How could I? Love wasn’t magic for me. Love was data. Compatibility metrics, lifestyle alignment, shared goals and values. It was a transaction, and I’d built a very successful business around treating it as such.
Which was exactly why this commercial made sense from a strategic standpoint, even if it made my teeth grind to think about it.
I continued to stare out at the city. Wondering how my life had become a series of situations I never wanted but somehow had to manage anyway.
Success. That’s how. And I wanted to be successful. There was always a price to pay. Doing promotional work for my company was one of the hidden price tags.
“We could use an AI-generated model,” I suggested, knowing full well it would never happen but enjoying the way Lucas’s eye twitched whenever I brought up automation.
“Over my dead body,” he said, right on cue. “This campaign is about authenticity. Real connections. Human touch. All those warm fuzzy things that make people open their wallets.”
“You mean their apps.”
“Same thing.” He waved a hand dismissively. “The point is, we need a real woman. Preferably someone who doesn’t look like they’ve been pumped full of saline.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a long breath. A headache was forming behind my eyes, the kind that came from too many late nights and not enough coffee. Or maybe too much coffee. The pink mug flashed through my mind.
“What about using an employee?” Lucas continued, oblivious to my internal struggle. “Someone already invested in the brand. Someone who actually believes in what we do.”
“None of our employees are models.”
“Neither are you, technically, and the camera loves you.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through something. “We need someone approachable. Girl-next-door vibes. Beautiful but in a natural way. Not some fake photoshopped fantasy.”
My attention drifted back to the pink mug sitting on my desk. I’d placed it there when I got back from the Christmas party weeks ago, telling myself I would throw it away in the morning. But morning had come and gone, and it was still there, aggressively cheerful among my sleek black desk accessories.
The card that came with the gift was in my drawer. I couldn’t even begin to figure out why I kept the damn thing.
Dear DK,
I know we haven’t officially met yet, but I wanted to get you something that would make you smile every morning! I thought you could use a cup that’s as bright and cheerful as the love we help people find! Plus, pink is a power color. Studies show it can reduce stress and promote feelings of calm. I hope you like it!
Looking forward to working with you!
Ina
There were little hearts drawn around my initials. Hearts.
The worst part? It had made me smile. Actually smile. For about seven seconds, I felt something dangerously close to joy with a dash of hope.
Then reality had crashed back in. Ina was supposed to be a professional. She was my new assistant. We would be working closely together, literally and figuratively, and our first encounter fell short on the professionalism scale. I didn’t do relationships, work or otherwise. What kind of game was she playing, writing me a note like that? Was she fucking with me? Did Lucas put her up to it?
After meeting with a few members of the PR team, we finally wrapped up at half past midnight. I gathered my laptop and headed back to my office, already mentally cataloguing the work I still needed to finish before dawn. Sleep was optional. Success wasn’t.
I thrived on four to five hours of sleep every night. Sure, I was a workaholic but I was a rich workaholic.
Lucas fell into step beside me.
I shook my head. “Haven’t had enough of me for one night?”
“Almost,” he said, far too cheerfully for someone who should be exhausted. “I noticed you haven’t put your name in the Valentine’s gift exchange.”
I didn’t slow my pace. “That’s because I’m not participating.”
“Come on, Dane. It’s tradition.”
