Chapter 7
SEVEN
Was I selfish?
As I walked past the rows of Matchify employees, that was the question ringing in my ears.
Matchify’s CEO refuses to use her own product—and why you should too
Iterations of that headline shoved themselves to the forefront of my psyche throughout the afternoon.
It wasn’t that I was refusing to use my own product, though; I was refusing to prostitute myself to get Threadline views on their article. I was holding a professional boundary.
Go, me.
When I got back to my office, I grabbed the paper with Grant’s name and phone number on it, scrunched it up, and tossed it in the trash can.
When I got an email in my inbox Friday morning from Vantive asking how things were going with Threadline, I responded right away. I let them know that we had concluded interviews, that I felt it had gone well, and that I hoped they understood why I had turned down the offer Threadline had made.
Surely, they’d appreciate a CEO who didn’t make her own love life media fodder. That was what had gone wrong with their last investment.
Vantive’s reply came after lunch.
Vivian,
Thanks for the update. Glad to know the interviews went well. Threadline is a stellar publication, and we look forward to seeing their take on Matchify.
As far as the idea they floated, we absolutely respect your instincts as CEO.
That said, if there’s any room for reconsidering, we’d strongly encourage it.
Threadline’s largest audience segment closely aligns with your biggest demographic.
The investment of that demographic in Matchify will be key for the next growth phase, and a human-centered narrative could be a powerful way to cultivate that.
The final call is obviously yours, but we’ve seen stories like this shift public perception in meaningful ways.
Let us know what you decide.
Best,
Jeanine
I stared at the email, open-mouthed.
What?!
They wanted me to say yes to Threadline’s idea? To let a stranger with an axe to grind shadow me while I dated whoever Matchify paired me with?
Had they learned nothing from their last PR disaster?
I pulled up my chat thread with Brooke.
I need you.
Less than sixty seconds later, she was walking into my office, her eyes wide with concern. “What happened?”
“Read this.” I scooted my chair away from my desk to give her space.
She came around and leaned over, and her eyes skimmed Vantive’s email. Her brows lifted, and she stood straight. “Huh.”
“Why would they say that? Why would they want that? Wasn’t this exactly what landed their last investment in hot water?”
Brooke folded her arms, her eyes still on the email. “Maybe that’s why they’re suggesting it. I mean, even a decade ago, there wasn’t nearly as much scrutiny of public figures as there is now. Maybe they’re trying to get ahead of it before they’ve invested.”
“So, they’re trying to see if I break before they give Matchify money.”
Brooke shrugged, her eyes apologetic as she sat on the edge of my desk and crossed her ankles. “Sink or swim, I guess. You can’t blame Vantive too harshly for wanting to know how deep the water is.”
“I can when it’s my love life they’re tossing in.” I dropped back in my chair and let my head fall back. “Either I say yes and take the risk of making a total fool of myself—potentially losing Vantive’s investment money—or I say no and likely lose the funding anyway. I don’t like those options.”
“You won’t make a fool of yourself, Viv. You’re not like that couple that live-streamed their breakup. You’re poised and smart. You think through decisions before making them. And you’ll have us by you every step of the way.”
I was less scared of making a fool of myself than I was of other things—things I couldn’t admit, not even to Brooke.
What if Matchify took all my data and spit me out as unmatchable? What if this crazy experiment ended by reinforcing what I already knew: I was too hard to love?
Not love in the general sense—I had friends and family I knew loved me. I meant the type of love that made people want to make vows and share a bed and look forever in the eye with a joyful, synchronized cheer.
If the app I created couldn’t help me, what did that say about it? Or about me?
It would hurt Matchify; it might kill me.
“And what happens at the end?” I asked. “When I’ve gone on a string of dates with a spectator tagging along and I have nothing to show for it but whatever scathing article Grant decides to write?”
Brooke let out a sigh and studied me for a few seconds. She slipped off the desk and stood in front of me. “You know what you need?”
I nodded. “Millions of dollars to fund growth.”
“Yes. But also no.” She grabbed my hands and pulled me up from my seat. “You need numbers. You don’t do decisions without numbers. Give me half an hour to look into a few things, then we can sit down and decide what the best, data-supported option is.”
She was right. I couldn’t make this decision without more data.
I squeezed her hands. “You’re a saint.”
She squeezed right back. “Cold, hard numbers coming right up!”
I had an alarming number of emails to respond to, so I focused on those while Brooke worked her magic. My brain wanted nothing to do with my inbox.
I shot off a response to an email about our PTO system still not syncing properly, snorted at an invitation to speak at a conference where my topic would be Women in Tech—Work/Life Balance, and forwarded Brooke an email from Lauren Chen at Stratus Capital asking if I’d be at the TechConnect Mixer in a couple weeks.
Brooke was always my sidekick at that sort of event.
She burst through the door. “Order up!”
I spun away from the computer, my eyes fixing on the paper she held like it would actually feed me.
She took a seat in the chair opposite me and cleared her throat like she was starting a presentation.
“Okay. Coming in hot here. Get this. Seventy-four percent of consumers say they trust a product more when they know the story of the founder. You know as well as I do that trust translates to ROI.” She held up a finger.
“Additionally, business social media profiles that feature personal stories from their executives perform 2.6 times better in engagement. People remember stories better than stats. In demonstration of this, I looked at our own Matchify data. We’ve shared quotes from you that featured in past articles, and guess what?
You get higher-than-average engagement. Twenty-four percent higher, in fact.
” She offered something between a smile and grimace.
“Like it or not, Viv, you are the brand.”
I took a deep breath. It might not have been the answer I wanted, but the numbers did calm me a bit.
Brooke set down the paper and looked at me.
“Look, I get it. You don’t want to hand over your personal life to the public on a platter.
But that’s not what this is. This is a temporary, calculated brand move—and one that has the potential to increase user trust and get us the funding we need to reach even more users.
All you’re doing is giving people a glimpse—a controlled one, of course—of how Matchify works.
Obviously, I support you, whatever you decide.
But the case for saying yes is pretty strong. ”
I stared at her, thinking of what Grant had said about Bumble. The CEO didn’t even meet her husband on the app. But just her using it was enough to make users happy.
I could do that. I’d demonstrated the product in a dozen investor meetings; this was that but…in a different format.
One that Grant Wilder would write about. “What about Grant?”
“What about him?”
I shot her a flat look. “Brooke, you were the one who freaked out about him being the journalist Vantive sent.”
“I know, but you’re more than a match for him, Viv. Don’t let him sense your fear.”
“Why don’t you let him snoop in your personal life and see how brave you feel?”
“Point taken. But you get to determine how personal you let this be. And hey, you haven’t said yes yet. Threadline wants this, which means you have room for negotiating. Don’t let it be all take and no give. Make Grant feel he’s got some skin in the game too.”
“How?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure we can come up with something.”
My heart was pummeling my ribs, but that little we slowed it. I’d have Brooke, Jackie, Katie, and Nick to lean on during this, and that would make all the difference. They wouldn’t let me royally screw up.
I straightened, meeting Brooke’s gaze determinedly.
The corners of her mouth pulled wide as she recognized the signs of my decision.
I bent over and started rifling through my garbage can.
“Uh…I think I misread a cue,” she said. “What are you doing?”
I pulled out the crumpled paper and sat up. I set it on my desk, smoothed it with my hands, then tucked the hair behind my ears. “I’m calling Grant.”
“Yes!” Brooke cheered with a clap. “Speaker phone?”
I dialed Grant’s number and tapped the speaker button.
Brooke’s delight was enough to distract me from my own nerves.
Nerves were nothing, though. I’d been doing scary things for years, and I’d come out on top so far. This would be no different.
“Hello?” Grant’s voice filled the office.
“Grant, it’s Vivian West from Matchify.”
There was a pause, and the hum in the background made it clear he was somewhere with a lot of people. “It’s good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”
I breathed. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve reconsidered the idea you mentioned. Matchify would like to pursue it—with a few stipulations.”
Grant chuckled softly.
Brooke and I met eyes at the unexpected—and, frankly annoying—response.
“Did I say something funny?” I asked, half-ready to retract my retraction.
“No. I just landed in New York. Guess I’ll be hopping on the next flight back to Raleigh. Unless there’s a chance you might change your mind again...” His tone dripped with playful challenge. But it was a challenge all the same.
“Providing you’re open to the very reasonable terms I have in mind, there’s no need for you to worry about that.” In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
Brooke gave me a thumbs up.
“Very open,” he replied. “Can we discuss those terms over lunch on Monday? Say, noon?”
“I’ll email you the details of where to meet.”
“Perfect.”
“See you then.” I clicked off the line, ready to take on the world and—more importantly—Grant Wilder.