Despite Susie’s reluctance to give me any positive feedback, it’s thanks to events like these that Fate is steadily becoming the number-one dating app for women and men who are looking for classic, fairy-tale love. Unfortunately, Fate’s growth rate is more than often overshadowed by Ignite’s “swipe first, askquestions later” marketing strategy. I understand why people use their app: it’s simple and uncomplicated. But it’s the furthest thing from what I want; I’ve never been able to play it cool and do the “casual” thing. Unlike some people in this room, I haven’t got the constitution to jump from person to person like trying out new desserts on a menu; I’d rather accept that I’ll be on my own.
I glance at Bancroft, catching his eyes for a heartbeat before they flick back to the screen. He’s clearly plotting his taunts for after this meeting. Shit, I should prepare something too. For the past six months, I’ve spent so much time thinking about him just to try and maintain the upper hand. It didn’t use to be like this; we used to be friends. Which is how he knows just where to hit me and make it hurt. Our relative positions have always added an edge of rivalry to our interactions, but now he makes sure his jabs sting for days. Friendly banter turned into a sour visceral taste in the back of my throat. Bancroft runs a long finger across my painstakingly formatted page of growth figures and sighs contentedly. I’ll bet he’s mentally checking the figures against his own. My skin goes hot and clammy as I realize he’s won this month’s battle for marketing dominance.
“No, darling, you’ve got that wrong,” Susie chimes in, a patronizing laugh in her tone pulling me back to the room in front of me. “You’rehosting the panels; I don’t have time for that.”
“Oh, OK.” I scramble, letting out a breathy laugh and tucking my copper curls behind my ear. “I guessI can make that work...” I trail off as I think of the barren wasteland that is the post–6 p.m. section of my Google Calendar. I shouldn’t be surprised that Susie is making me cover for her: it’s become the norm over the past few years. When I asked if Fate was offering any internships, she took a chance on me. When Fate was bought by Martin Catcher for a bazillion pounds and brought under the Catch Group umbrella, Susie stayed on as the recognizable Girlboss™ figurehead to run the day-to-day. She insisted her core team, including me, retain their current positions.
She is responsible for any and all of my career growth, and she never forgets to remind me of this fact. I’m grateful to her, but ever since Fate was bought out I feel like I’m constantly stepping over trapdoors and she holds the lever.
“It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do, no?” Susie asks.
A rush of hot shame shoots through my veins, heading straight to my pounding chest. Why did she have to say it like that? It’s true—but she doesn’t need to showcase my utter lack of a life in front of everyone like a circus attraction. Come and look at the Lonely Woman, she markets love for a living but has absolutely no romantic prospects!
“Ummm, not tonight. No.” My face feels freshly sunburnt. I move to sit back down, avoiding eye contact with the now doubly victorious smirk I know is waiting for me on the other side of the table. Loser in work,loser in life. Why does this sort of thing never happen tohim? Probably because his boss actually respects his time. Bancroft will never experience this; he has been worshipped at Ignite from the moment he was handed this role on a silver platter.
He stands up to present, running a hand through his sandy hair and commanding the room with majestic ease, without needing to say a word. He stands directly behind me, meaning I have to turn my chair 180 degrees to bear witness to his inevitable victory. He’s tall, probably one of the tallest men in the company, but it’s his inherited aura of utter belongingness that forces everyone to shut up and listen before he has even spoken. He looks down at me and uses his eyebrows to gesture that I move.
Get out of the way—the person who actually belongs is here.
I bite the sides of my mouth and push the soles of my feet against the dull carpet, rolling my squeaky wheels across the floor.
“Our objective this month was to boost user acquisition, something we’ve achieved with ease thanks to a variety of successful projects.” He clicks a black button to move his presentation to the next slide.
I look around. Where did he get a remote from? Did he bring that from home or was it always here? No one else seems fazed by it; frankly, they probably haven’t even noticed.
“Our mixed-media approach has been integral to the success of our current campaigns. Unlike some of ourcompetitors, who prefer their marketing to stay stuck in the past, we’re utilizing AI and VR to reiterate our USP.”
He continues on like this for another five minutes, vomiting corporate jargon that I’m sure everyone is only nodding along to so they don’t look stupid for not knowing what on earth he is talking about. The most annoying thing is, he doesn’t need to do all this. It’s not expected of him. He is a face, a brand, a legacy. A white smile and designer hair for users to desire or aspire to. To be him or to fuck him. Yet every month he walks into this room and tries, sometimes succeeding, to win.
It’s as if he gets some sort of sick pleasure from entering the ring with me.
As the meeting comes to a close I keep my eyes glued to my phone and head to the door. If I’m being honest I did this to myself, enjoying the months I won way too much, spending the next few days gloating, rubbing it in his face and taking disproportionate levels of pleasure in his loss. I set the tone for this rivalry a long time ago and now there’s no way out of it. Yes, the time I sent a “World’s Biggest Loser” ice-cream cake to his office may have gone a bit too far. It is entirely possible that it was my actions that created a creature whose sole purpose is to destroy me. My very own six-foot-three, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, fake-glasses-wearing Frankenstein’s Monster.
“That’s two months in a row I’ve beaten your growth numbers, Hastings. You’re losing your touch,” he said, lifting his chin and sticking his full bottom lip out in a sarcastic pout.
I want to take that lip in my fingers and tug it off his smug mouth.
“The only thing I’m losing is my patience with this conversation.” I spin on my heel and walk away, making sure my hips sway a bit more than usual as I leave the meeting room.
Bancroft follows me toward the shiny lift at the other end of the hallway. It’s difficult to do a good storm off down a tight corridor with a large annoying man taking up most of the space.
“If you’re struggling, I’d be happy to help out. Give you some...” He tilts his head, scanning me up and down. “... tips.”
I roll my eyes and suck my teeth while staring at the permanent smirk plastered on his face. He should trademark this look: the Permasmirk, for only the most entitled London pricks. The Permasmirk, no doubt inherited from his notorious father, has been the key to opening doors that I didn’t even know existed.
“Thank you so much, O wise one. I’ll be sure to get in touch next time I need to throw a rager to get drunk freshers to sign up for Fate. My app is for people who want to find someone of worth, someone who is serious about true love.”
“Oh, so... shouldyoube running the marketing then?” Bancroft retorts with a pouted lip.
I tilt my head to the side and shoot him an incredulous look, unable to come up with a retort fast enough.
He backtracks, realizing he’s overstepped the invisibleline. “Come on, Hastings. You don’t believe in this fairy-tale bullshit.”
I’ve managed to keep up the facade with most people, so I hate that he can tell my feelings have slowly been souring. “Of course I do. I love love.”
He scans me with a laser focus, analysing my declaration before rolling his eyes. “Please, don’t insult me. I know you better than that.”
“You don’t know anything about me. Sorry, but I don’t want to just go home with everyone I meet and never see them again.”
