Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
But no matter how many times I tell myself this is normal, I feel no better about the state of affairs. We need an investment now.
My previous projections were slightly off. We have two more months left at our current burn rate, but that’s it. In sixty-one days, without an outside investment, we are completely out of money. We’ll have to close the company, admit failure, give up on our mission to match online daters with people who are truly compatible, and, worst of all, stop working together. I love working with my sister. I love that we’re equal partners in this business.
So we need to ace this interview the way I aced AP Calculus. Every single homework assignment on time, a 95-plus percent on every test, and plenty of extra credit.
The doors close. The elevator rises.
Lexi’s excitement rises with it. “You know what that means, don’t you?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, because she knows I know. “I get five percent soon.”
5 percent of nothing is nothing, but I don’t say that out loud. I already know Lexi’s response to that kind of thing. Bad luck, negative energy, whatever.
She’s not the person you push to see reality. Reality isn’t a part of her job description. She’s all about selling the best possible version of reality.
And I need her now. I need her to sell the fuck out of MeetCute.
This almost six-month relationship with a man she met on MeetCute? That’s a top selling point. Even if, for some reason, Lexi can’t see that.
I had to wager 5 percent of my share of the company to get her to give the guy a chance, but I’d happily part with all my shares to see her successful in life and love. Fortunately, though, she was satisfied with 5 percent, and we’ll still be mostly equal partners in this.
“What are you going to spend it on?” I ask, to keep her excitement ramped up.
“A house in Newport to start,” she says. “One of those cute three-bedrooms right on the sand. By the Wedge maybe.” The famous surf spot in Newport Beach, the place we used to hang as kids, where she’d happily ogle surfer boys. Then flirt with surfer boys. Then go to the Jeeps their parents bought for them to do, uh, activities.
Now, we’re adult businesswomen. She still goes to the Wedge once a month, give or take, and she still ogles, but she doesn’t go to anyone’s Jeep. (Or their Tesla, or Benz, or BMW, or Rav-4, or Lexus.)
She doesn’t even invite any damp surfer boys to her flashy sports car.
She has Jake.
Honestly, while I do believe it’s happened, like I told her, it’s still a surprise. Nearly six months with one person. Lexi in a monogamous relationship. And with the guy who first asked her about how she sees her wedding. That’s exactly what Lexi thought she didn’t want.
But the app knew.
It always knows.
Is there a better pitch for the success of our app?
Not if you know Lexi Huntington.
The weird thing is, the two of them make perfect sense. Despite his borderline stuffy job as an employment attorney, Jake is as fun-loving as Lexi. They both adore pop music and syrupy sweet alcoholic beverages and lounging on the sand every Sunday. Thus, the giant smile on her face at the moment.
It’s not the 5 percent.
It’s the text she got from Jake. Their plans to meet later.
“And another house next-door.” She wakes from her fantasies of beach homes to check her reflection in the mirrored wall. “For you, of course.”
My heart goes a little soft. “You really want me to live next door?”
“Of course!”
I’m flattered, but also skeptical. “Even when you get married?”
Her nose scrunches in distaste. Her eyes glaze over. Her entire body twists into the strangest posture: still beautiful and bubbly but totally disgusted, too.
And there it is: the Lexi I know.
She isn’t interested in commitment. Not that I blame her. How can she believe anything lasts when we lost Mom so young? “Why would I get married?” she says.
Not really a question, but I answer her anyway. “That’s why people date.”
“Oh, really, is that why you’re engaged now?” She nods to my extremely bare left hand as if it’s proof I’m wrong.
She’s right, of course. Even though, in my mind, I want a stable relationship, I spend just as much time single, or in short-term relationships, as she does. My ratio of single to fling is a hundred to one and hers is the opposite, but neither one of us is rushing to walk down the aisle. The results speak for themselves.
“I date,” I remind her. “It just hasn’t led to marriage yet.”
“You ask guys to rate your match on a scale of one to ten.” She fixes her long blonde hair and smooths her pink sheath dress. Then she turns to me and starts her work, adjusting my magenta blazer, offering to fix my wine-colored lipstick. “Does that get them all hot and bothered?”