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Two
Nora
The lobby isdead quiet as I walk inside. It is Sunday, after all, and most of the companies who work here are nine-to-five Monday through Friday jobs. Mine included but I’m a confessed workaholic, so it’s not unusual for me to sneak in and do a little extra during the weekends.
The security officer up front doesn’t even ask questions as I pass by the front desk on my way to the elevator. He glances up and nods, gently twitching his silver mustache into a kind, familiar smile.
You’d think the founder of a major dating website would have more going on in her personal life than this.
But you’d be wrong.
It all started when I was a teenager.
Hey, you two should go out.
You know who you should meet? My pal, Johnny.
You’d get along great.
My talents for tagging compatible partners grew more and more until friends of friends of friends all over Chicago were practically paying me to start setting them up on dates from my famous black book.
Yes, the Little Black Book. The number one dating app in the entire world.
That was all me and my picture-perfect love-matching algorithms.
Add in a little luck with early investments in cryptocurrency and I made my first million before the age of twenty-five. Five years later and I’m one of the Top 3 Wealthiest Women Under 30 in Chicago. The other two?
Beatrix Argento and Melanie Rose.
That was last year’s list, of course. We all turned thirty this year but we’ll still be just as influential without the benefit of our 20s. The fire beneath Little Black Book is far from burning out.
Unfortunately, my talents for love-matching don’t work so well on yours truly, but you know what they say.
Those who can’t do; teach.
I ride the elevator to the fifteenth floor. The lights are down as I step off but I could navigate this sea of desks with my eyes closed. My office is on the far side — in the corner, naturally — and I walk toward it on autopilot. The paperwork I need to fix is on my computer so it shouldn’t take too long to take care of. Then, maybe I’ll head home and actually take the rest of Sunday off.
Or not. We’ll see.
I twist the knob and push open my office door. I instantly grind to a halt as I see someone sitting in my desk chair in the dark, the sharp features of their face illuminated by nothing more than the bright blue of my computer monitor.
My new temp. My hot, new temp.
“Excuse me.” I flick on the lights. “What are you doing in here?”
“Whoa—” He jumps out of the chair and throws up his hand. “Hi, there. I was not expecting you to be here today.”
I step up to the desk. “Why are you on my computer?” I ask him.
He lowers his hands. “Okay, I’m sorry. I was in bed last night and I suddenly realized that I made a really big mistake on the budget report—”
“Yes, you did.” I cross my arms.
“Right. So, I rushed out here as soon as I could today to try and fix it before you came in tomorrow but then I remember that it gets locked at five on Fridays and the only way to access it was…” He waves at my computer. “So, I jimmied the lock and—”
“You jimmied my lock?” I repeat, my voice pitching as I inspect the door.
“It’s not broken or anything, I swear. But I fixed the thing! And the numbers add up now and… I’m really sorry, Mrs. Payne.”
