Heart Attack
Sloane
“You have two meetings at eleven, a podcast at twelve, and a network call at one,” Lila says, flipping through her schedule with the gaze of a soldier on a mission.
“Great, cancel lunch and add a nervous breakdown at two.”
“Already scheduled.”
Welcome to the Cupid’s Agency.
The place where love is an absolute priority and feelings have their own Google Calendar agenda. One hundred percent success rate; here, you will find your soulmate for life.
The sound of notifications is now an integral part of my heartbeat.
A pling for every waiting client, a ding for every urgent message, a constant buzz of chats, emails, and reminders competing for my attention.
I stand up from my desk to grab a coffee. Lila, of course, follows me because she’s not finished yet.
But… she’ll have to wait because as soon as I enter the atrium, she’s interrupted by everyone else.
“Sloane, the press needs confirmation for the Valentine’s Day campaign!” Quinn trails me, asking for the okay.
Her cute purple dress is swaying. I signal yes with a thumbs-up.
“Sloane, the influencer video needs to go out by tomorrow!” Tessa from the social media section raises her green eyes to me as I pass her desk.
“Sloane, yesterday’s client asked if we can change her soulmate’s profile because he’s not ready for a man with a dog!”
“Breathe,” I tell myself out loud, even though the only thing I'm breathing is the smell of burnt coffee and chronic stress.
I miss Ivy's coffee.
I only ask for five minutes to cross the street and grab a coffee at the Pumpkin Spice Café.
But no.
My fingers tap on my iPhone keyboard at a speed that not even a pianist on caffeine could replicate.
I answer an email, correct a dating bio, approve a promotional reel, and sign a contract… all while my assistant, Lila, desperately tries to keep up with her tablet in hand, and I still haven’t filled my cup. Her dark bob waves slightly but stays in place.
I smile, though only halfway, and pour some coffee. Cold. Obviously.
There are more mugs in my office than fall decorations in Elm Hollow.
Okay, let’s not exaggerate now. It’s late summer, so my favorite little town has already turned into an autumn-themed playground.
The Cupid’s Agency, however, is not particularly Elm Hollow style.
Yes, I was called into a town meeting for this, but I have excellent lawyers as well as great friends who defended me from Cassandra the harpy's accusations.
Ugh, I hate her.
In fact, my company building is a hive of glass and pastel lights. As soon as you enter, you’re greeted by an explosion of light: wide windows, glossy cream-colored floors, and a sea of neat desks with laptops, heart-shaped pink headphones, and mugs with sayings like “I match people for a living.”
On the walls, glass panels with real-time charts—not stocks, but compatibility: colored lines crossing, blinking hearts, and matchmaking software that looks more sophisticated than NASA.
Every workstation is personalized with details that tell you who works there.
Empty spaces are filled with plants (the new addition supplied by Penny is a beautiful pothos hanging from a shelf), photos of happy couples with the agency logo, a heart-shaped candy dispenser that plays a melody every time someone closes a contract.
And… yes, also a dispenser for condoms, lubricants, and sex toys. Because love is also passion, creativity, and fun.
In the internal lounge—the “Heartbreak Recovery Corner,” as the staff ironically calls it—there are pastel-colored sofas, a coffee nook with glittery mugs, and wall neon that reads: “Love Is Strategy!”
And I, Sloane Heart, am the proud Creative Director of the magnificent Cupid’s Agency.
Daughter of Katherine Heart, co-director and founder, a living legend, and the most inspiring mother in the world.
“Sloane, we need a quote for the newsletter!”
“Put the usual one. The one about how love is a calculated risk.”
“We used a similar one last week.”
“Perfect, change ‘risk’ to ‘adventure’ and ‘calculated’ to ‘fate-coordinated.’ Does that sound new enough?”
“Enough.”
Another pling notification.
Another urgent email.
Another day of strategic romance.
Sometimes I wonder if Cupid, the real one, hates me a little.
I imagine him on a cloud, laughing heartily as he watches me manage fifty couples simultaneously.
My phone vibrates.
I sigh. “Lila, please, tell me it’s not another crisis.”
She looks at me with the face of someone who has bad news but wishes she didn't have to deliver it.
“It’s your mother.” Her brown eyes scrutinize me, and she adjusts her red glasses.
“What did she do this time?”
“She says she wants you in her office. Right now.”
I freeze. “Did she say right now or when you can?”
“She said right now. And she used that ‘emergency meeting’ tone.”
“Fantastic.”
I take off my glasses, rub my eyes as we enter my office searching for the latest dossier. I imagine she wants to talk about that.
My office is at the end of the hall, fully furnished and designed by me. The door is separated from the rest by a frosted glass wall engraved with a large golden bow and arrow.
Glass desk, a giant Mac, stacks of files, a bouquet of fresh flowers, and a digital whiteboard full of notes, phone numbers, and hand-drawn hearts.
“Do you want me to bring you another coffee?” Lila asks as I look around.
Ah, there’s the dossier.
“No, thank you. Bring me flowers. And maybe a coffin.”
She laughs, but she knows I’m not entirely joking.
I compose myself, adjust my jacket, gather my hair into a quick knot, and grab my iPad too.
Every step in the corridor is accompanied by the sound of notifications still vibrating in my purse.
Katherine Heart isn’t just my mother.
She is the woman who turned matchmaking into an empire.
And when she calls you into her office, it’s never to ask how you’re doing.
I sigh, looking at the golden logo on the wall—Cupid’s Agency: We Make Love Happen.
Perfect.
The only thing I can never seem to make happen, apparently, is a break.
I stop in front of her office door, knock once.
“Come in,” her voice says, as crisp and sharp as ever.
I breathe.
I smooth down my shirt.
And I enter.