Luca
The lights are bright. Brighter than I’d prefer. Especially when I have a room of over a hundred people staring at me, waiting for me to make my speech.
They aren’t just any people. They’re my employees. Designers. Techs. Software engineers. Data scientists. An entire team hired just to specialize in algorithms. Crazily enough, all of these people are necessary to run a dating app.
Especially since our app is the most successful one on the market right now.
“Can we dim the lights a little?” I ask. “I get enough UV rays on my Cabo vacation every year.”
The room fills with staged, expected, Dom Perignon-infused laughs. Almost as if there’s a guy behind me holding up a cue card.
But I don’t need cue cards.
I’m the CEO of Realr, and everyone in this room feels lucky to be here.
I joke, they laugh. And full disclosure, I’ve only been to Cabo once. But they don’t know that.
The lights dim enough for me to stop squinting, and I scan the room, neither smiling nor frowning. My suit is hot, even without the limelight, and I look forward to shedding it off later, sitting alone in my penthouse.
But for now, I have to entertain.
“Much better,” I say. “You all look great tonight. And I bet you feel great too. How are the oysters?” I ask and I receive a couple thumbs up.
“Good. Alright, well, any of you that know me, and you should all know me, know that I don’t do small talk.
You all know why we are here. You all know why we can afford to be here dining on caviar and Japanese Wagyu.
Five years ago, Realr started as an idea.
We were dropping a hat into an already saturated market.
Yet despite the number of dating apps out there, people were still looking for the next best thing.
Something better. Something that worked,” I say, and the room falls quiet as I pace the stage slowly with one hand in my pocket and a comfortable stance.
“I believe in love. But I don’t believe it happens by accident.
It’s intentional. It’s…an equation. It either works or it doesn’t, and the vast majority of people out there are struggling to find it.
And that’s where we came in. Algorithms tweaked to perfection.
No nonsense filters. We have the lowest rate of first-date ghosts, unmatches, fake profiles, and catfishing.
And we know this because after wading through the cess pool of other dating apps out there…
five hundred million people have downloaded the Realr app globally. ”
With that, the room erupts with claps and cheers and whistles. People stand up from their seats, raising champagne flutes, and it takes a solid fifteen seconds for everyone to settle.
“Thank you,” I say as it quiets down again.
“This is the kind of success that doesn’t happen by accident either.
It happens because we found a problem in the world of online dating, and we tackled it with strategy and psychology and really beautiful marketing,” I say, and everyone cheers momentarily again.
“Because love doesn’t just happen. Curing the pandemic that is loneliness shouldn’t be left to fate and happenstance.
Technology, despite the belief of some, isn’t ruining intimacy.
It’s empowering it. Empowering the people who would have no clue where to find their significant other without a little help.
I don’t believe love can be left to the universe.
People are too complicated for that. Attraction is irrational. Timing is tricky.”
I pause for effect before going on. Meanwhile, every face in the room is smiling, nodding, and glued to my words.
“Five hundred million users,” I emphasize every word.
“Five hundred million stories. Some ending with one date. Some ending with wedding bells. No matter what the story is for each person who took a chance and downloaded Realr, for each person who was brave enough to swipe right, the point is their journey became a story. The story of love starts here.”
The crowd goes wild again, and the band starts to play. I exit the stage, shaking hands and nodding at others while wading through the tables towards the back of the room. Now that that’s over, I’ll allow myself to enjoy a drink. A stiff one.
“Baker and Croft. Rye. Neat,” I tell the bartender, who nods and gets busy.
Then I take in a deep breath. But before I have time to let it out, Matt appears next to me, a drink already in hand.
“Congrats, brother,” he grins.Matt is my right-hand man at Realr. He’s also my colleague and best friend. “Five hundred million. I think it’s safe to say we did it.”
“I don’t know about safe,” I say as the bartender places a cork coaster down on the bar top and sets my whiskey on it. “We still have a lot of bugs to work out.” I take a sip and suck my teeth, letting the hot liquid warm my stomach.
“Problems for another night, my man,” he says. “Tonight is a celebration. We have created the most successful dating app in history. And that’s worth raising a glass,” Matt says, tapping his drink to mine. “And getting drunk.”
“Our match rate isn’t as high as it should be. Not to mention all the reels on social media about no-shows and angle shots.”
“Everyone has those issues,” he says. “But we have less. And in an uncontrollable environment involving human hormones, less is the best we can do.”
“I never settle for less,” I say, taking another sip. “Five hundred million doesn’t matter if people aren’t tying the knot at the end of it all.”
“You can’t control people’s chemistry,” he argues.
“I don’t believe in chemistry,” I state. Because I don’t.
“You can’t control people’s hearts then,” he says.
“No. But I can control the algorithms,” I say, setting my drink down so it doesn’t dilute my focus. “We need two-step photo verification. You don’t verify, you don’t swipe. You know why women are ghosting?” I ask. “Dick pics.”
Matt snorts at that. “We can’t control what people do once they ditch the app for normal texting,” he says.
“No, but we can discourage leaving the app messaging board prematurely. We could create our own messaging app. It would give users the feeling of more freedom while still providing security. We could call it Real Talk.”
“Luca. Loosen your damn tie, brother. Jesus. This is Monday talk. Right now, revel in the fact that you are the king of the industry. It’s okay to take a breath. Your competitors are miles behind,” Matt says.
“Making it the perfect time to get even further ahead,” I say.
Matt sets his glass down, smirking at a couple of girls walking by. Then he looks over at me. “You know what you need?” he asks. “To get laid.”
“Why is that your answer to everything?”.
“When was the last time?”
“That’s none of your damn business,” I state.
“So it’s been a minute,” he says and I breathe out, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers.
“You know, you’re making it harder to enjoy the party,” I say.
“No, you’re making it harder. Look in front of you, Luca. There are at least twenty girls in this room invited simply for aesthetics. Women who would gladly hand you their panties if you handed them a drink. Hell, you’re Luca Laurent. You don’t even have to offer them a drink.”
“You know that’s not my style,” I say, taking another sip. “There’s an app for that…”
Matt chuckles at my joke. Because yes, I use the Realr app. As the owner of the company, I have the privilege of extra filters. Not photo filters. Filters that prevent ninety-nine percent of those five hundred million people from being able to swipe right on me.
For one, I need to weed things out more than that. Especially considering I’m not actually in the market for love, as ironic as that sounds.
But even the CEO of a dating app prefers his bed a little warmer from time to time.
And for that, the app, my app, is very handy.
“Speaking of that,” Matt goes on. “When’s the last time you went on a date?”
“It’s been a minute,” I admit. “I’ve been busy, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, yeah. Wait. You never told me what happened at your little Italian dinner last night,” he says.
“That’s because there’s nothing to tell,” I say.
“Wasn’t it with that redhead? From marketing?” he asks.
“Design. And yes. And no, it didn’t end well.”
“Damn,” he says. “She was cute.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not looking for cute,” I say.
Just then my phone buzzes, and I pull it out to look at it. It’s a notification from the app. Of course.
I would just shove my phone back in my pocket and ignore it until later. But unfortunately, Matt already saw it. “Well, look at that. The app is listening.”
“That’s not how any of this works,” I say. Yet with nearly a glass of whiskey in my stomach, my brain is a little buzzy, and my thumb is hovering over the notification.
What the hell.
“Damn,” he says. And while I don’t show the same emotion, that was my thought as well. “Swipe right. Swipe right now,” he says.
“I don’t even know who she is,” I say as I scroll through her photos, and she gets arguably more attractive with each swipe.
Matt takes the liberty of scrolling down to her profile.
“She’s Livv. She’s twenty-seven. You got a couple of years on her, but that’s nothing new,” he chuckles, poking fun at the fact that I’m forty-eight.
“She works in communications. She has her own place. That’s beneficial.
No roommates. She loves live music and sushi and rainstorms, and thrifting,” he goes on.
“Thrifting is tacky,” I state. “She sounds like every other woman.”
“She doesn’t look like every other woman,” Matt muses, and he’s not wrong. “She almost looks familiar…”
Livv–if that’s even her real name–doesn’t look anything like any other woman.
She is both understated and unforgettable.
Honey blonde hair. Blue sunburst eyes. Lips that curl even when she’s not smiling.
A constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose peeking through the modest amount of tinted moisturizer she’s wearing.
Yes, I know makeup. I also know that if I can see that, she didn’t use any filters. A good sign.
Still, I shove my phone back in my pocket, robbing Matt of her digital presence.
“What are you doing?” he asks. “Get on that.”
“One,” I say. “Even if I was going to swipe right, I’m not going to do it ten seconds after she swiped on me. And two, like I said before, my dating life is none of your damn business.”
I offer a staged smile, and Matt shakes his head. “Screw you too,” he says and my lips tick in the hint of a real smirk.
Later that night, when I am finally alone at my place, I head into the bathroom to shower. I turn on the water as hot as it will go and watch the steam fill the air. Then I pull my phone from my pants pocket and set it down on the counter before stripping down to my black boxer briefs.
For a moment I think about Matt’s jab at my age. But as I look at myself in the mirror, lean, toned muscle, defined abs, sharp jawline with little to no wrinkles, I shake my head. He can kiss my ass. Figuratively, of course.
Then I pick up my phone and open the app.
Because I didn’t swipe one way or another, Livv’s face is still there. I look at the photos again. There’s only three, but each one is a hard ten.
And without overthinking it, because there’s no logical reason to, I swipe right.