Page 8 of Meet Cute Reboot
I watch Cassie’s chest rise as she sucks in a breath. The gold cross pendant on her chest reflects candlelight. She doesn’t look happy.
“I noticed you like Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran, Maggie Rogers. I listed them as my musical interests too. What a coincidence. Your favorite ice cream flavor is birthday cake, just like mine. Interesting. You also have an associate degree from Trident Tech. Did you earn that while you were here in your twenties ‘falling in love’ with the city and the people in it?”
I never said I went to Trident Tech. I gave my true stats to Drew, Cassie’s IT guy. I told him I went to DePaul in Chicago. Unless Drew mucked with my profile. Surely not.
“Yes, actually, I did go to Trident Tech,” I say. “I didn’t realize you went there too. I’m sorry, I didn’t study your profile that closely.”
Perspiration bubbles on Cassie’s lip and her respiration rate has increased. “It’s almost like you copied my profile,” she adds with a fake laugh. It’s real enough to convince her audience. “But I know you wouldn’t do that.”
I shake my head. I’m not sure what else to do. I don’t want the Instagram audience to question the stability of Cassie’s app. “Of course not. I guess we’re just compatible. Cupid says so.”
While the waitress is taking our order, I steal glances at Cassie. I catch her inhaling deeply, trying to calm herself.
While we’re waiting for our order to arrive, Cassie continues to field the audience’s questions—the audience that’s grown to over five hundred. She mostly chooses questions about MatchAI: what’s the monthly subscription cost, how soon is it going to go national, are background checks required. She pauses to emphasize that yes, for the safety of her subscribers, she requires background checks.
Our meal comes and she talks about Cupid between bites, how she discovered the AI technology and acquired the contract. I enjoy my shrimp and grits with aged cheeses while Cassie barely acknowledges my existence.
This is all for the audience. An act. But it’s important to Cassie, so it’s important to me. I play along until we finish our meals, head out of the restaurant and onto the street where shoppers and sightseers mill about the palm tree-lined avenue beneath old-fashioned streetlamps.
We say our goodbyes to the Instagram audience and Cassie ends the stream.
“This is my launch, Luke,” she says, immediately laying into me. “I don’t know what you’re doing or who you think you are, but you are not going to ruin this for me.”
I level my hands between us in a defensive stance. “Listen, Cassie. I’m really sorry. I—”
“Sorry,” Cassie hisses. “You think you can just say sorry.”
“I know I hurt you. I wanted a chance to apologize for being a jerk, and—”
“You copied my profile so Cupid would match us up, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.” Did I? Did Drew? I slouch. “I may have done something.”
“What does that mean? You ‘may’ have done something?”
“I may have had one of your IT guys add me to your database. I don’t know what he did exactly. Maybe he fudged my profile. Seems like it. Although for the amount of money I’m paying him, I expected him to do what I asked.”
Cassie’s hands fly to her forehead and she sucks in enough air to fill up a balloon. “Who?” she says in an exasperated huff. “Who did you pay?!”
“I didn’t think Cupid would choose me. I mean, I hoped. It was a longshot.”
“Who. Did. You. Pay?”
“If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”
“Who was it?” Cassie barks.
“Drew.”
“Drew!”
“Don’t fire him. Fire me.”
“You’re not on my staff!”
An older couple wearing Hawaiian shirts and Bermuda shorts glances at us warily. The woman raises an eyebrow before scuttling by.
“Cassie, people are staring.”