by M K Lansbury
Silence. Zara just stared at him, deriving great satisfaction from his humiliation with an audience. “And I’m supposed to do what now?” She laughed. “Umm, I’m really stunned you’re here for starters. And what exactly are you trying to prove? You broke up with me over text message. And should I also mention that a little birdie—your birdie to be exact—told me two weeks after you broke up with me that you were cheating on me with her all that time.”
He paled. Zara crossed her arms over her chest. She felt nothing but happiness at the fact that Stewart was there. Only because she took great comfort in realizing that the tables had been turned.
“I was an idiot.” He spoke too fast, stumbling over his words. “I was stupid. I didn’t realize what I had, and I think you could call it a blonde moment.”
“Don’t! Don’t. Don’t demean blondes simply because you are dumb.”
He reached for her again, and this time he clutched her shoulders even while she tried to shrug him off. “You need to give me a second chance.”
“I don’t need to do anything. Let go of me and leave.”
“Zara, please.” He clutched her arms and pulled her toward him.
Zara jumped right out of her skin as Chet’s voice boomed in the conference room.
“Hey! Get your hands off her!”
It was enough for Stewart to release her and glance at Chet. “You stay out of this.”
Zara’s mouth fell open as sweet, charming Chet strode forward and wedged himself into the little space between her and Stewart. With his impressive height and build, Chet was looming over Stewart in an extremely threatening—very unlike Chet—manner.
“Zara asked you to leave several times. I won’t be as nice. If you don't turn around and leave right now, I’ll give you a hand. And by hand,” he muttered ominously, “I mean I’ll throw you down the fire escape.”
Zara pursed her lips to keep from laughing. Chet’s back, blocking her view of Stewart’s face. She peered over the side of Chet’s shoulder and saw Stewart storm off across the office floor and toward the elevators.
Ally’s laughter rang out in the office. “Wow, Chet. That was pretty awesome.”
He turned around, looking like the same calm, composed, very unthreatening man that he was.
“He needed to listen to Zara. I wasn’t having it.”
Zara reached over and gave Chet a tight, brotherly hug. “Thanks, Chet.”
Chet blushed, nodding and sliding into the chair.
Ally caught Zara’s eye and smiled. “You okay?”
Zara sighed. “Actually, I feel like I’ve lost ten pounds. I feel fantastic.”
“Great.”
“So where were we?” The holler again. Chet was back.
Zara slowly lowered herself to her chair and grinned. “Let me say I just had an epiphany.”
Beata grinned. “Elaborate.”
“I need to get back in the dating game. Ally, we’re launching a dating app, but neither you nor I are dating. We have never gone on an actual date via a dating app. Beata is married and has never used an app. Chet, you’re cool and all, but we’re talking about the female demographic right now. No offense.”
“Of course.”
Zara inhaled sharply. “You know what that means, right? We’re like a bunch of vegans promoting a menu of lamb shanks and filet mignon.”
Beata chuckled. “That sounds quite right.”
Zara’s heart was beating in glee. She was inspired. “What better way to test Soul Mate than to use it ourselves. We can be the founders and customers at the same time.”
Slow smiles spread on everyone’s faces. “Sounds great to me,” Chet offered. “You and Ally can do sort of a . . . three-date challenge.”
Everyone turned to look at Chet in awe. He suddenly seemed to physically cower and become smaller, terrified of the attention.
“Did I say something stupid?”
Zara’s heart flipped over. Chet really did not understand how big of an asset he was. “No, Chet. That’s actually a pretty good idea. What do you have in mind for the three-date challenge?”
His eyes darted over the occupants of the conference room as if waiting for them to laugh and say, “you got punked.” “Well, you and Ally can go out on three dates with men through the app.”
“Perfect! That’s a fantastic idea, Chet.”
“It is?” He chortled shortly, sitting up straighter in his chair.
Zara grinned at her friend, who looked like she was in the middle of hand-to-hand combat with that idea in her mind.
“Are you on board, Ally? I’ll even go one step ahead and record each one of my dates. It could wind up creating some great viral videos for marketing. Wait, they might not consent to usage of the recordings, but we can do audio and use those clips during promos. What do we say? All aboard?”
“Hell, yeah!” Chet’s holler sealed the deal.
SEVEN
Dating Landmines
And I’m screaming, standing at the top of the Himalayas, ‘I’m the king of the world, I’m the king of the world . . .’”
Ally jerked her head to zone herself back to what the guy was saying. Mark, or was it, Mike? She wasn’t sure anymore. He’d talked so much in the last twenty minutes Ally was having flashbacks of her seventh-grade physics teacher and his long, droning lectures on who remembered what. Some kind of brain trauma from the overzealous relaying of Mark’s life events.
Or maybe it was Mike. Ally couldn't even care anymore. She glanced around for an escape and simply drew in a deep breath as the monologue continued.
“. . . There’re two people struggling behind me. Really far down the hill. They’re not even close. And I’ve already made it up. And I’m just basking in the cold. I can’t feel my face anymore. Man, it was amazing. But not as cool as . . .”
Oh no!
“. . . There was this time when I went exploring the Grand Canyon. It’s the complete opposite. It’s hot there. It’s dry. My skin is peeling off ’cause the sunblock is shit and just a marketing gimmick. I’m telling you never use the stuff. It doesn’t work! And I covered my face with a bandana like those Arabs do when you see them in movies trekking through the desert with their camels. And my breath is making the bandana kind of moist and damp, and I’m uncomfortable. But oh, man, the thrill . . .”
Ally zoned out, her gaze focused in a dead glare on a tiny thread that was poking out of the stitching on Mike’s shirt. Her ears began to ring so blissfully loud that they muffled out the endless, droning words flowing out of Mike’s mouth.
Or maybe it was Mark.
***
“You look nervous.”
Ally forced a smile, still recovering from the ill effects of her Mike/Mark lecture the night before. She still wasn’t sure of his first name.
“No, I’m not nervous.” Just a little traumatized from my last date. “So what do you do, Jason?” She mentally shook herself to clear history. This is a new man. New possibilities.
“I work in advertising.”
“So you’re a creative person?”
“I think so. Yeah.” He laughed.
He sounded kind of nice. Ally hadn’t dated in so long she was already enjoying the company of a man who looked decent, intelligent, and was very handsome. He also had light blue eyes—she always had a thing for blue eyes.
This date could work out.
“Tell me about your app, Ally. How much time is it taking out of your day?”
“Well, it’s like most jobs most days. I’d say nine to six or so. Probably similar to your hours. But lately, I’ve been working round the clock as we gear up for the big launch.”
“Oh, I’m sure your hours are nothing like mine! I’m talking advertising. Sheesh! Weekends. Holidays. I’m working on pitches for these high-ticket airlines and diamond vendors while my family is having Christmas dinner.”
“Okay.” She laughed mirthlessly. Ally wasn’t sure how to
respond to that. Was there a hint of competitiveness in there?
“And the money! There’s so much money in the biz. I mean, I’m sure there’s good money in your tech field, Ally. How much are you making?”
Ally chuckled. Then chuckled again, waiting for him to say he was kidding. No?
He was waiting for an actual answer to that question. Ally feared that she could say she made a million dollars a month, and he’d still trump that figure with his own earnings.
Don’t write him off too early. Maybe he’s nervous.
“I’d rather not say.”
“See!” he exclaimed exuberantly, pointing his finger at Ally. An admiring smile curving his lips. “Now that’s what I call a woman. So modest. You’re not here to be one of them feminists that want to compete with men over everything.”
My brain cells are dying.
“Now you, Ally, are the kind of women I would marry.”
Ally’s smile evaporated. She gaped at him and then at her drink, then back up at him. “Why?” she snapped.
The color evaporated from his face. As if he was expecting her to gush and shyly swoon at his feet in gratitude of his overeager, premature marriage proposal.
“Because you’re a cool girl. You don’t want to brag about your earnings and your successes. You’re happy to be a woman and follow the sets of rules that determined society before these liberals and these . . .” he shuddered and chortled, “. . . femi-nazis came along.”
Ally gaped at him, something inside her bubbling with what felt like detestation. Bile rose in her throat. She felt like she was going to puke.
“You know, when you speak . . .” she began.
He grinned in anticipation.
“I feel like I wanna puke.”
His smile froze. “Excuse me?”
“Your words. They’re making me . . .” Ally gagged visibly, and he jerked off his chair and back with lightning speed.
Ally grabbed her bag and placed two hundred-dollar bills on the table. “I’ll get this.”
He gaped at the bills as if they were snakes, and Ally was laughing when she made her way out the restaurant and hailed a cab.
***
Maybe her algorithm didn’t actually work.
Ally couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility as she made her way inside the hotel. Ally had initially signed up for Chet’s challenge because she thought it would be fun, a possible marketing strategy, and to prove that her life’s work was effective. But now, after two disastrous dates, she really started to worry. About everything.
And now she was dreading the third date.
The app doesn’t guarantee a match after three dates. Eventually, it’ll work.
Ally followed the maître d to the bar, disinterested already. She glanced at her watch and began to count down the minutes when she would get to leave.
“You must be Ally.”
Ally halted midway, gaping at the man slowly standing up from the barstool. Her mouth would’ve hit the floor, but she clamped it shut quickly just in time.
The tall man’s Soul Mate profile photos did not do him justice. His dark hair was a deep raven black. His brown eyes sharp and intuitive. More importantly, he looked kind.
She’d always felt a little uncomfortable with very tall men. But this man, almost six-foot-five, towered above her without being intimidating. The smile on his face was genuine. His eyes twinkling with interest.
“Tristan?”
He grinned. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
“You too,” she breathed. The waiter arrived instantly, announcing their table was ready.
Tristan turned to her. “After you.”
“Thanks.” Walking in front of him, Ally quickly inhaled a quick lungful of oxygen. Something about the man was really appealing. She couldn’t put her finger on it.
The devil lounging on one of her shoulders casually muttered in her ear, “Wait till he starts talking. You’re going to be running out screaming murder.”
He waited until she sat down in the chair the waiter held for her then lowered himself into his chair.
“I have to admit . . .” He leaned close, his voice husky and deep. “. . . I’m really nervous.”
Ally grinned. “Really?” Something that looks like you gets nervous too? There’s no hope for us mortals then, is there?
“This is my first time using a dating app, and all because my sister kept pushing it on me. Anyway, tell me about yourself, Ally.”
“I work for a tech startup.”
“Oh yeah? Which one? What do you do?”
“I’ve created an app. A dating app, actually.”
“Wait a minute. You work on a dating app, and now you’re using Soul Mate? Is this some sort of testing of the competition?”
“Actually, I’m using my own app.”
His eyes widened and he smirked. “Woah. Cool, Ally. You work at Soul Mate?”
“I created Soul Mate. I’m the founder, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. That’s so cool. I love meeting people with so much ambition to do something like that.”
Ally laughed. “I thought you were going to say you love women with ambitions. As if we’re a rare breed.”
“Are you kidding me? Why would I say something like that?”
“Apparently, some men still think like that.”
“Those men are dumb.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Look, I was raised in a household of women. My mom taught me how to be ambitious by being a single mother running her own PR firm. And my sister is a women’s rights activist. You know what I would be in my home if I were a misogynist? A dead misogynist.”
Ally couldn’t help but laugh. He looked like he meant it. “You sound like you have a good relationship with your family.”
“Yep.” He beamed at the mention of family. “My mom. My sister. My cousins. We’re together every chance we get. Which is why . . .” he paused and grinned, “my sister Adelaide is hell-bent on making me date.”
“They sound wonderful.”
“They are. What about your family?”
“Uhh.” Ally’s heart churned a little. “My dad left when I was very little. I haven’t seen him since. And my mom passed away when I was in middle school during the Thanksgiving weekend.”
“I’m so sorry. Really.”
“No. No.” She grinned. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. But losing my own family, or what little I had of it, makes me really appreciate the family unit. So it’s nice hearing about the fun things you do with yours.”
“Thanks. They mean a lot to me. We’re always planning the next holidays. I’m in charge of the next one.” Tristan’s eyes were gleaming. “You know what?”
“What?”
“You should totally come with me to . . . Oh, shoot. Sorry. Maybe I should first ask you if you even want to see me again. We haven’t even ordered an appetizer.”
Ally bit her lower lip to keep from grinning ear to ear. “Well, let’s hear what you were going to ask, and then I can answer.”
His laugh was a throaty boom. “We have a little farm outside the city. My family. Not very luxurious. It’s pretty much exactly what the name says. A farm.” He sounded almost apologetic. “All farm animals and the whole deal.”
“I love farms. Farm animals and the whole deal.”
“Perfect!” His eyes glistened as he openly, unashamedly, ogled Ally’s face. “My family is going to be there this weekend. Maybe you can join us? There’s plenty of space, and we can go as . . . friends. For now.” His grin said it all.
Tristan Reddy.
Ally wanted to jump for joy. He was the ultimate consolation prize, made of solid gold after the two big fat fails she’d matched with through Soul Mate.
Her app worked. And not just for others.
For herself. This was the begi
nning of something amazing.
***
“Seven figures!”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Zara muttered, feigning interest.
“Nice?” Don’s face fell. He leaned over the table, almost threateningly. “That’s not nice. That’s freakin’ amazing, right? My father made fifteen grand a year for a family of five people. Last year, I made seven figures, all because I . . . you know . . .” He leaned back in his chair, adjusting his tie. “. . . I work hard. Really hard. Harder than anyone else. I have big dreams, and I'm making them all come true. So now I have bigger dreams! And you know who’s behind my success?”
Zara chuckled, a crackling, empty sound. She couldn't believe this guy was her match through Soul Mate. “Let me guess. You?”
“I wish. No, there’s a program I signed up for. It’s really good. You sign up for it, you can start making that kind of money too.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’m not lying. It can all become a reality for you too.”
“This sounds like a pyramid scheme.”
“No, that’s such an archaic term. It’s a program where you can make money and then sign others up, and you get a chunk of their sales.”
Oh, boy.
It was a pyramid scheme. And this? A nightmare of a date.
***
“How’s your chicken?”
Zara almost lurched out of her seat. Jensen had been so silent for so long she was a little taken aback by his voice. She’d forgotten he was even there.
“It’s good.” She smiled politely, deciding to take the chicken question as a jumpstart to their conversation after a forty-five-minute hiatus.
“How’s your fish?” She tried to sound interested.
“It’s bland,” he replied in monotone.
“Oh.” Zara had trouble chewing her bite and tried to think of something else to say. “So you travel for work a lot?”
“Yes.”
Zara drew in a sharp breath. Jensen was focused on slicing a piece of crunchy fish. She was not giving up.
“Where do you travel to most often, Jensen?”
“London.”
“That’s nice. It’s such a great city.”
Nothing. He’d been snapping one-word responses at her ever since he got there. Zara was exhausted trying to end the silence. She glanced toward her phone, the voice recorder switched on and running. All it did was eat battery. There was no sound to record because Jensen would not speak.