Chapter 18
YASMINE
“I matched you to someone utterly perfect today.” Becca makes an O shape with her fingers, pinching her pointer finger and thumb together, giving her approval.
Becca is not only my assistant at FusionTech, but I also employ her to administer the backend of every app I have ever designed, because it’s too much for me to handle on my own.
Since its release, Wildcard has been climbing the dating charts and earning me more money than any other app I’ve ever designed.
It’s exceeded all my expectations, and covering Mom’s medical expenses is no longer hanging over my head like a big, angry black cloud.
We’re going to be okay.
I’ve already booked the surgery she needs on her heart for next month, knowing I can pay for it in full.
At this point, I might leave FusionTech to start my own business much sooner than I had planned, but I’d prefer to join Sancom, which only hires top talent and could help me connect with investors and expand my network.
I need someone to help scale my location-based app—initially in San Francisco—so it becomes global.
I envision creating city- and country-specific versions because our focus isn’t on hookups while in town like other apps.
Our approach is personalized and designed to foster long-term bonds, rather than fleeting encounters that lack significance.
I realize my one-night-with-Cole situation was exactly that, but at the time, it felt far from insignificant.
Becca cuts through my wandering thoughts. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, and you’re not supposed to be matching me.” I shake my head at her defiance. She’s been prattling on for days about this guy who would be perfect for me. “I’m not an experiment.”
“We’re in beta testing mode, everyone is an experiment, even me.”
I look up from behind the computer I have set up in my home office and chuckle to myself.
With her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, deep in concentration, she goes off on a mini rant.
“I’m still trying to figure out how to be diplomatic in my email replies, especially when they include things like no BBLs or fillers, or must-have abs.
I swear they didn’t read the application or our code of ethics.
People should read things through first before they apply,” she mumbles, then adds, “Also, I can’t watch your face drag along the floor anymore.
You’ve been nothing but a fun-sponge since the mysterious man you met on a flight, who you refuse to tell me anything about, hasn’t called you.
I can’t bear it anymore. It’s depressing spending time with you at work during the week, and then all day on a Saturday. ”
“Hey, I’m paying you for today.” And all the other hours she’s working for me.
She ignores me, dismissing me with a hand wave. “What you need is a distraction.” Becca perks right up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “What you need is Flyguy.”
“Flyguy?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah, that’s the username he set up yesterday.
So, what I need you to do is open your phone, click the link I’m about to send you that bypasses the payment gateway, and get chatting.
” She claps her hands together in celebration as the email arrives from her.
“And I’ve locked you out of his profile in the backend of the app under your admin profile and this other new profile I set up for you. ”
I groan because she’s thought of everything. My bad. I taught her too well. “What’s my username?” I already know I’m going to hate it.
“CodeBreaker.” Becca lifts her eyes from her screen to me.
“What?” That’s dreadful and basic.
“It’s very you.” She looks pleased with herself.
“It was that or Codewhisperer, HackHerHeart, or I had thought about RecodeMyHeart or ByteMeBaby. You know? As in byte, B. Y. T. E.” She spells it out as if I didn’t fully understand her and giggles. “I’m on fire today.”
“You’ll be getting fired if you keep this nonsense up,” I tease her.
Becca knows I’m only kidding when she shoots back with humor, “I’m irreplaceable.” She flicks her fiery red hair over her shoulder as if preening.
She’s right. I couldn’t have launched the app without her expertise and dedication. It’s taken not just months but years to reach the beta testing stage.
“Break time.” My mom appears, holding a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate of harcha, my mom’s favorite Moroccan pan-fried semolina cake that looks a lot like biscuits but is much more delicate and softer inside with a crunchy outside.
She usually serves them for breakfast, but today she’s topped the crusty biscuit-sized bread she’s cut into stars with sprinkles, and I already know she coated them in drops of orange blossom water because that’s my favorite.
“Thanks, Mom.” I smile up at her and note how tired she looks. “How are you feeling today?”
“Stop worrying about me, habibti.” She drops “my darling” onto the end of her reply, but she sounds annoyed. “How is the app? How many members are you up to now?” She switches the focus back to me, her face alive with mischief as she sets the tray down on the end of Becca’s desk.
Calling my mom my greatest supporter doesn’t do her justice.
She never stops bragging to her friends about how clever I am and still manages to slip into every conversation at her book club meetups, telling them I was the only girl in my college course and the only one to graduate with a first-class honors degree.
She’s been excited about this app, maybe more than I am, since the minute I told her my idea.
She even suggested she would like to join Wildcard herself; that is, after her surgery.
Until then, she said she is off-limits because her heart couldn’t take falling in love with a handsome man, which made me laugh.
She’s being serious, too. I know she’ll be requesting a username as soon as she’s out of the hospital.
“It’s not about the quantity of members, Mom, it’s the quality that matters.”
“Ooo, a bit like a man’s—”
“Not now, Mom,” I cut her off, causing Becca to giggle as she lifts a harcha off the plate when Mom offers her one.
“And we’re a dating app, not a sex-for-sale ring,” I add. I hate that there is no distinction between the two in people’s minds.
“Wildcard is unique. It’s brains before banging, Ms. Alami.” Becca does her best to keep a straight face while I die a little inside.
“Stop calling me that, I’ve told you, it’s Ines,” my mom instructs Becca for the hundredth time.
The first thing my mom did after the divorce was change her name; she couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.
There will soon be a new Mrs. Montgomery, which I haven’t told my mom yet because my dad has asked his new girlfriend to marry him. She’s apparently the one. I thought his girlfriend before this new one was the one, and the woman he left my mom for, too. How wrong I was.
This new woman is young enough to be his daughter because she’s my age. But who am I to interfere with love? I suspect she’ll take him for everything, but I shouldn’t say anything, or I might lose him completely.
He may have messed up our family by cheating with his secretary, but he’s still my dad, and I can’t change that. It’s much easier to be friends than enemies.
Even though my mom hates him and prays he’ll be eaten by a kraken during his sailing trips along the Californian coastline, where he lives now, I wish him no harm and still love him. I always will.
“We’re up to four hundred members.” I finally answer my mom’s question while checking the signup tally. That’s a hell of a lot of people to administer. I may have to hire someone else soon to help Becca.
“I think that deserves two harcha each.” Mom places two on my desk beside my coffee mug, then hands Becca another.
I love how unaware my mom is that the new app is covering her surgery costs. I told her a small lie, claiming the insurance covered everything. If she realized the true amount, she’d be shocked, so it’s better she remains oblivious. It stays my secret. She never needs to know.
“I matched Yasmine to someone who sounds incredible,” Becca announces while I shoot virtual daggers at her.
My mom’s eyes light up like the Fourth of July, then she takes a seat on the lounger in the corner, settling in for the day.
“We’re working, Mom,” I snap, annoyed that we have heaps of work to do and that the last thing I want to talk about is my new Wildcard match. I can focus on that later.
Becca goes all starry-eyed, then reels off a list of things she knows about Flyguy. His username makes me think he’s a pilot.
She starts, “He’s professional. Let’s just say he argues and negotiates for a living.”
So, he’s not a pilot.
Becca spills the tea further, giving my mom more details, “He’s a couple of years older than Yasmine, loves basketball, and wants someone to take to the Warriors’ games. He’s into fitness, owns his own company, and invests in other small businesses and properties.”
I perk up, already loving the sound of him. But the third degree is the last thing I need, and I prepare myself for my mother’s high expectations along with excitement, in… 1… 2… 3…
“Oh, Mina, he sounds darling. And you love basketball,” she says, swooning over a stranger, then trails off in her Moroccan tongue, saying things I don’t understand, which means she’s excited.
Well, at least someone is.
“I have a list of stuff to do, so if you don’t mind.” I bury my nose in my computer again as Becca and my mom chatter away like two twitter birds on a summer’s day.
Ignoring them, I click the link Becca sent me to e-meet my Wildcard.
Cole was a wild, wonderful, and beautiful wildcard.
Wicked wildcard, more like.
It was cruel of him not to call, to keep me hanging and play with my feelings.
I still check my phone, making sure it’s not on silent, just in case.
Of course, I wouldn’t pick up. Never.
Although that’s a lie I will continue to tell myself today, tomorrow, always.