by Kevin Sean
“You’re… funny,” he says in the deadest pan I’ve ever heard.
What is wrong with me?
“Well… I need to be going on my way,” he says.
“Oh, sure, no problem,” I stutter. “See you around.”
“Looking forward to it,” the stranger mutters. He grimaces—clearly horrified by the prospect of ever having to cross my path again—and speed walks away, outpacing his dog. I’m sure he’ll be looking up apartment listings in a new neighborhood on his phone before he’s walked another three blocks.
Well, in case I needed a reminder: I suck at flirting. No surprise there. I met Zach when I first moved to the city. I was 18 and had never had a boyfriend before. I had never so much as gone on a date before. He was my first love. My only love... so far. We had the type of love you fall into so easily. Instantly—like magic.
And then fall out of just as abruptly. Just like a magic trick.
To my relief, a MUNI bus pulls up to the curb and pulls me out of my thoughts. I hop on, grateful to be distracted by travel. The vehicle climbs up one of the many hills of San Francisco as we ride towards Fisherman’s Wharf.
Standing there shaking with the movement of the bus and gripping the handrail for dear life, I realize that regardless of how awkward I just was back there or however heartbroken I might be on the inside, I need to be hopeful and excited for what this day might bring. I need to manifest a productive day.
Send out the energy you wish to receive, as the yoga guru whose commercials I see on YouTube is always saying before I click Skip Ads.
This staycation will be what I need to get inspired to paint again. Saying this affirmative phrase to myself in my head does make it seem just a bit possible that maybe, just maybe this day will be what I need to get back to painting again.
Images of the muscular arms and toned legs of the hot guy with the dog who hit on me flash through my mind as I stare out the bus window.
What I need is a new muse. I think about the jack hammering construction worker’s bouncing ass that I saw outside of my apartment building earlier. Or perhaps I need to get drilled.
2
LOGAN
I LIVE FOR THIS THRILL.
It’s almost the moment for me to strike.
I adjust my cufflink, feeling like a tiger stalking its prey.
Elevator buttons light up as we ascend, highlighting my increasing proximity to my target.
Time to go in for the kill.
There are so many elements of my job to love. I’m not talking about the nine figure salary, the rides in private jets or the luncheons with Oscar winners. No, what I love is this very rush I’m feeling right here, right now.
It’s the same pure surge of pressure which shot through me when I founded LexTech. The instant rush of excitement when I made my first million. The blaze of adrenaline when I take the stage to present a fresh product idea, the applause that follows, the investors and engineers alike discussing how fascinating and innovative my presentation had been at the after-conference hors d’oeuvres.
That’s the feeling I’m chasing: overwhelming and unequivocal success.
I get nervous leading up to a big pitch. If you’re nervous, that’s a positive sign, I always tell myself whenever anxiety strikes right before an important event. It means you give a damn.
I’m not successful despite my nerves… I’m successful because of them. I’ve risen to the top with the flames of fretful anxiety fanning my ass. I know that there are many out there in the tech world who are content to take the simple route and draw a line between my royal heritage and my overpowering success.
The reality of my success is that it hasn’t worked like that. Never has.
Sure, I have royal blood in my family. Hell, two of my cousins, Charles and Liam, are straight-up princes. But I’ve never thought of myself as royal, or prince-like. Charles and Liam are far removed from the whole royal court scene, but being part of a royal family can be a ton of pressure and a royal pain in the ass. Hence the whole both of them escaping from England to the USA and getting married to sexy, muscular men thing. That lifestyle just wasn’t for them, and it just isn’t for me.
Yes, I want power. But I want to own that power. Not have it handed to me on account of who my parents are. I wanted to rise to the top on my own merits, not because of which branch I sprouted from on a family tree.
And that’s what I did. This Armani suit I’m sporting today, my plush modern office on the tip-top floor, this skyscraper and the stunning views of the San Francisco Bay that it features… all of it made possible by my own entrepreneurial intuition and years of ball-busting dedication. All of it is thanks to me… and LexTech’s pride and joy, ConnectMe.
The social media platform that I launched as a teenager so many years ago took the world by storm. Since then, I haven’t stopped expanding, upgrading, and looking outside of the box. I’m always looking for a novel way to expand ConnectMe’s reach and utility.
My secretary Sue is already waiting for me when the elevator doors open. She hands me a cup of cold brew and a binder she’s pulled from the towering pile of documents she’s carrying.
Her black hair is in a Mad Men-style sixties updo, which brings out the classic beauty of her high cheekbones and cat-like eyes. Her dress is black and made of a fabric that sparkles with different hues dependent on how the light catches it. The frock is both conservative and fabulous, as eye-catching as it is nondescript.
“I’ve collated the most important stats and talking points for the pitch,” she says, handing them over with a manicured hand. Perfect. I’m sure I’ve already memorized all the data in there, but I love the foresight and preparation. Sue is the best.
If I’m being honest, I’m not that nervous for today’s meeting. I don’t know whether that’s a good omen or bad omen. To push the thought out of my mind, I skim through the charts and graphs Sue has compiled.
This is all important information for LexTech’s newest project: a dating app. If everything goes according to my detailed rollout plan, our newest service, called ConnectMeet, will be the premiere platform for digital dating within a year’s time.
It has to be a success. I refuse to even consider any other possibility.
I always ramp my dedication and confidence to the max when we’re in the critical do or die phase of transforming an app from an idea into reality. It’s one thing to imagine a site or service in our heads, but it’s entirely another to engineer a platform where millions of people worldwide can find the loves of their lives.
I’m surprised I hadn’t thought of integrating a dating app into my website before now—I guess that because ConnectMe started out with more of a business network focus in its early years, I’ve never thought of it as a very… romantic corner of the net. But as it has grown from a place for coworkers and professionals to connect and expanded to a universal social media platform welcome to all, ConnectMe has become a breeding ground for horny singles to find one another.
I want to streamline this process—and get in on the profits. That’s why my team will develop an algorithm which scours users’ activity on ConnectMe and finds soulmate-level romantic matches for them out of our website’s user database. At least, in theory.
I haven’t gotten around to assigning them the job yet, but we don’t need a fully functioning app to get investors to back us and get this process started.
What we need are superb ideas and an even better sales pitch.
Before I can spare another thought on this meeting’s importance or the potential for my ideas to be received poorly, I’m entering the conference room where I’ll be pitching to investors: wealthy individuals with money to burn from all over the world. Employees from every department of LexTech have gathered here too, eager for an update on the until-now top secret project they’ll be working on.
When I enter, the entire room full of people awaiting me springs to their feet with raucous applause, their clapping echoing off the floor to cei
ling windows. Behind the crowd is a beautiful view of the San Francisco bay.
I can’t help but spend one breathless second admiring the beauty of this city; sparkling reflections of afternoon sunlight on skyscrapers, the criss-cross patterns of city streets… and gloomy clouds forming far off in the distance behind the Golden Gate Bridge.
The sheer power of San Francisco’s beauty grounds me, reminding me of my mission here today.
“Thank you all for coming. I know everyone is very anxious to hear what our team here at LexTech’s latest project is, so let’s cut to the chase!” The investors and employees straighten up in their seats. They’re all champing at the bit to see what my company’s next move will be. “As you all are aware, our world is moving online. Business, leisure, and even pleasure have transformed and thrived in the digital sphere, particularly on the ConnectMe platform.”
The crowd nods as I rack my brain for more platitudes and dramatic elements I can throw in my speech before cutting to the chase.
“This brand new social media landscape requires brand fresh ideas. Brand new strategies. Brand new applications which bring us closer to those we love… and these we don’t know we love just yet.” Some eyebrows raise in the crowd. “That’s why we’re launching a dating app: ConnectMeet!”
A prototype ConnectMeet logo featuring the letters C and M in a sleek modern font and encircled by a blue heart appears on the screen behind me. Welcome to the new age of finding soulmates! ConnectMeet: where you can meet your perfect match, reads the tagline underneath.
“Any thoughts? I’m here to hear from you all. Don’t forget: we’re all in this together, people,” I say, smiling and knowing full well that no matter what concerns they raise or what pushback I receive, I’m the one in charge.
LexTech would be nothing without Logan Lexington’s touch. My touch. I know it and they all know it.
“Well, I for one I love the idea! Dating apps are very in right now.” This assessment comes from Oliver Elliot, the eighteen-year-old billionaire whose parents inherited a fast food fortune and decided that attending shareholder meetings would be a fun pastime for their high school senior. One of my most senior and trusted software engineers, Edison, raises her hand into the air, looking around the room as if to avoid eye contact with me.
“Hit me, Ed,” I say, giving her the floor.
“Well, it’s just… it’s a bit of a saturated and risky market, no? There are one hundred and one dating apps out there, each less regarded than the last,” stammers Edison. She’s terrified by the prospect of pissing me off. “If the rollout for this app isn’t flawless, or the public perception of ConnectMe is that it’s just a place for hookups and meaningless sex, we risk looking… tacky.”
Upon hearing the words “sex” and “tacky” in the same sentence as ConnectMe, Mrs. Melanie M. Montgomery—the primmest and most proper of all our big investors—lets out an offended harrumph.
Hey, don’t knock an app-enabled hookup, I think to myself. I’ve had many fantastic—and sweaty—nights courtesy of those so-called “tacky” apps we’ll be competing against.
“How are we supposed to program an app that accounts for physical attraction and emotional chemistry?” another engineer, Klaus, interjects.
Well, this isn’t going well. Do these people not realize that everyone is already using the messaging capabilities of our social networking site to sext?
“I understand your concerns,” I say, taking care to sound confident, classy, calm, and most importantly: in charge.
“Romantic interpersonal connections are being facilitated on a daily, no, hourly basis on ConnectMe. So why not streamline romance into the social media experience we offer?
“If we can convince users that our site isn’t just for sharing cute selfies and political rants, but is also the new hubbub of husband-finding… the market won’t be over-saturated. It’ll be ours.”
The investors’ ears are perking up now that I’ve turned the conversation back to buzzwords like profit and markets. The engineers and programmers may need more convincing.
“If we pull this off—which we will—this will be huge for marketing and branding. Just think of the ads we can run! I met my husband on ConnectMe! Thank you, ConnectMe, for finding my soulmate!” One employee from marketing exclaims.
“Thank you, ConnectMe, for helping me get sucked off in a parking lot,” I hear whispered from our youngest programmers, Reynolds and Aria.
I scowl and shoot my subordinates a look which says now is not the time to fuck with me. That shuts the both of them up.
I turn back to the meeting just as the round-bellied and filthy rich investor Steve Sullivan raises his hand, signaling for my attention. I nod, encouraging him to speak his mind.
“Riddle me this, Logan: how is this app going to differentiate itself from the most popular ones on the market? You always bring very out-of-the-box ideas to the table at these meetings, but, well… what’s so special this time? What’s the hook? Sell me, Lexington!”
Mr. Sullivan is right. When I founded ConnectMe as an 18-year-old with a passion for programming and my eyes on Silicon Valley, I was a pioneer. Same thing when I integrated live video streaming and encrypted instant messaging into the ConnectMe app years ago. Soon followed ConnectMeals, ConnectMeMail and ConnecTV. All were hits.
ConnectMeet will be a hit too. It has to be.
I inhale. My mind goes on overdrive searching for an acceptable answer: one which combines platitudes and business projections. I don’t want to overdo it on the saccharine, “we can save the world!” sentiment, but I also want to appear passionate about this new dating app we’re developing.
Fake it till you make it, Logan. Except… I thought I’d already made it. And usually I don’t have to fake it.
I take a split second to breathe and refocus. Get back into pitch mode, Lexington. I own this skyscraper, for crying out loud. I was a millionaire by the age of twenty. I can sell this dating app in my sleep.
“Well, Mr. Sullivan, clever assessment,” I say, sure to start with a compliment. “The move to the dating market seems far less risky than our usual undertakings. It is far less risky. We aren’t early adopters in this realm, we’re followers—which is a first for us.” I chuckle.
“Have you had success finding love? Online, that is. Do you use apps to find dates, Logan?” he proceeds. That’s not what I expected to hear from the investor’s mouth.
I can’t tell whether this is friendly banter or a sign that he’s unsure about my project. “I haven’t, that’s why I ask,” he adds.
How should I answer his query? With the truth?
No, Steve, I don’t use apps to find dates. I use apps to find sexy anonymous men who’ll suck me dry. I’m not looking for love online because I don’t want to find love—period. It’s not worth the trouble.
Hmm, maybe I need not be 100% honest.
“Of course I do! No shame in the game—dating via smartphone is very normal in today’s day and age. An overwhelming majority of millennials have created a profile on a dating app. Any stigma against online dating is a thing of the past,” I assure Mr. Sullivan.
I feel a tad cheesy reciting these pre-rehearsed selling points, but the relaxed looks on the investors’ faces tell me all I need to know.
They’re in… and it’s on.
This isn’t my first, second, or even third time pitching an app for a group of wrinkled, wealthy people.
Since the end of my teen years when I made the sudden switch from student to Silicon Valley figurehead, I’ve pitched ideas for innovative inventions and ideas in front of some of the world’s most powerful people.
“Is the design team ready for our meeting?” I ask Sue, who is speed walking alongside me, answering emails as she navigates to the graphic design office.
“They’ve just confirmed that they’re ready for you, Mr. Lexington,” she answers as we’re about to arrive.
“Perfect.”
“Impressive sell
in the meeting, as always. You turned every single investor around by the last minute of the pitch.” That means a lot coming from perfectionist Sue.
“Thanks, Sue—” Before I can say anything else she’s gone, fielding calls from the accounting department.
The glass doors of the graphic design office light up to announce my arrival and slide away, disappearing into the walls. I walk in to see my design team huddled around a bunch of desktop monitors, clicking furiously.
“Hello, designers!” I say, putting on my best Tim Gunn impression.
The design team members all roll their eyes. Once upon a time, these people had all only just started working for me and their initial impression had been that Logan Lexington is only ever in scary boss mode. So they had all been incredibly amused the first time I made that joke and showed my cards—revealing that yes, I can be a hard-ass when it comes to managing my company, but I’m also not afraid to laugh at myself.
By now I guess the humor of my Tim Gunn voice has worn off… but now I’m more amused by their annoyance than I ever was by the original impression.
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Streep,” quips Rachel, a senior graphic artist. “Sorry, sorry, Mr. Gunn, I mean.”
“We were so worried you wouldn’t grace us with another academy award-worthy performance so soon,” cuts in Dan, the head designer. “Thank goodness you’ve proven us wrong.” His words are dripping with exaggerated sarcasm.
This just makes me laugh even harder. I’m very serious and intimidating when I’m in a work environment or have my mind on business, which is 24/7, but my walls go down a little when I’m around the graphic design team. I don’t know if it comes from being artists or if it is just a result of the dynamics of this group, but they have a certain innate wittiness and sensibility that I respect and enjoy.
“Enough, enough, you’re all too kind. It was far from my best performance,” I chuckle. “Now, let’s see some design options. I was told you guys have some mock-ups prepared of potential color combinations for the app’s interface?”