Chapter 2
DANE
AFew Weeks Later
“I have no interest in being a model.” I swiveled in my chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows in the Cupid’s Arrow conference room.
Lucas shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what you think. Everyone else is interested in you being a model.”
The city sprawled out below me, a glittering maze of lights that never quite dimmed, even at this ungodly hour. It was nearly midnight, but the marketing team was having a last-minute meeting before the rollout of Cupid’s Arrow’s Valentine’s Day promotion, and it was all hands on deck.
Including mine, apparently.
“People don’t know what they want,” I said. “That’s why Cupid’s Arrow works so well. We help them figure it out.”
“Save it for the commercial.” Lucas chuckled. “Clearly you’re a natural at this, even if you don’t see it.”
“Well, I believe in what we do here. Some places try to take advantage of lonely people, but we want people to find the companionship and joy they deserve.”
He snorted. “Says the man who doesn’t believe in love.”
I’d rather have been anywhere else. My apartment. The gym. Hell, even stuck in traffic on the FDR would’ve been preferable to this circus. “My love life is none of your business. Stick to your job description.”
He nodded like it didn’t matter. “Done.”
The promotion itself was solid. The team had done good work.
But somehow, because I’d been voted Most Eligible Bachelor of NYC just a few weeks ago during the New Year’s celebration—a title I neither wanted nor asked for—the board decided it would be brilliant marketing to feature me in a commercial.
The irony wasn’t lost on me but I wasn’t talking about that kind of thing with Lucas.
“So the model dropped out,” Lucas continued, perched on the edge of the conference table like we were in a frat house and not an expensive conference room.
“Her team called it a ‘medical event,’ but my sources tell me it was a poorly executed facial filler appointment.” He shot me a grimace and shook his head. “Another one bites the dust.”
“Your sources,” I said flatly, not turning around.
“I have people everywhere, boss.” I could hear the grin in his voice. “The point is, we’re scrambling to find a replacement. The shoot is tomorrow. As in, twelve hours from now.”
I closed my eyes briefly, summoning patience I didn’t possess. “Can’t we push it?”
“The media buy is locked in. The board wants this out by the end of the week to capitalize on your bachelor status before everyone forgets about it.” Lucas paused. “Their words, not mine.”
I finally turned to face him. “This is ridiculous.”
“This is marketing,” he corrected cheerfully. “And it’s going to be amazing. You doing what you do best, that dark, brooding, and handsome thing the ladies love so much. Definitely need you in a tux with a shiny red bowtie.”
“I don’t have a dark and brooding thing.”
“The advertising folks say you do. Take it up with them.”
“Why don’t we just hire models?” I asked. “Male and female?”
“Do you know what kind of publicity this generates? The algorithm already loves you, but this? Dane, this is gold.”
“Fool’s gold.”
He ignored me, of course. Lucas always ignored me when I was being what he called “unnecessarily grumpy.”
I didn’t even use Cupid’s Arrow. I had never made a profile, never swiped through matches, never experienced the “magic” we promised our users.
How could I? Love wasn’t magic for me. Love was data.
Compatibility metrics, lifestyle alignment, shared goals and values.
It was a transaction, and I’d built a very successful business around treating it as such.
Which was exactly why this commercial made sense from a strategic standpoint, even if it made my teeth grind to think about it.
I continued to stare out at the city. Wondering how my life had become a series of situations I never wanted but somehow had to manage anyway.
Success. That’s how. And I wanted to be successful. There was always a price to pay. Doing promotional work for my company was one of the hidden price tags.
“We could use an AI-generated model,” I suggested, knowing full well it would never happen but enjoying the way Lucas’s eye twitched whenever I brought up automation.
“Over my dead body,” he said, right on cue. “This campaign is about authenticity. Real connections. Human touch. All those warm fuzzy things that make people open their wallets.”
“You mean their apps.”
“Same thing.” He waved a hand dismissively. “The point is, we need a real woman. Preferably someone who doesn’t look like they’ve been pumped full of saline.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a long breath. A headache was forming behind my eyes, the kind that came from too many late nights and not enough coffee. Or maybe too much coffee. The pink mug flashed through my mind.
“What about using an employee?” Lucas continued, oblivious to my internal struggle. “Someone already invested in the brand. Someone who actually believes in what we do.”
“None of our employees are models.”
“Neither are you, technically, and the camera loves you.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through something. “We need someone approachable. Girl-next-door vibes. Beautiful but in a natural way. Not some fake photoshopped fantasy.”
My attention drifted back to the pink mug sitting on my desk.
I’d placed it there when I got back from the Christmas party weeks ago, telling myself I would throw it away in the morning.
But morning had come and gone, and it was still there, aggressively cheerful among my sleek black desk accessories.
The card that came with the gift was in my drawer. I couldn’t even begin to figure out why I kept the damn thing.
Dear DK,
I know we haven’t officially met yet, but I wanted to get you something that would make you smile every morning!
I thought you could use a cup that’s as bright and cheerful as the love we help people find!
Plus, pink is a power color. Studies show it can reduce stress and promote feelings of calm. I hope you like it!
Looking forward to working with you!
Ina
There were little hearts drawn around my initials. Hearts.
The worst part? It had made me smile. Actually smile. For about seven seconds, I felt something dangerously close to joy with a dash of hope.
Then reality had crashed back in. Ina was supposed to be a professional.
She was my new assistant. We would be working closely together, literally and figuratively, and our first encounter fell short on the professionalism scale.
I didn’t do relationships, work or otherwise.
What kind of game was she playing, writing me a note like that?
Was she fucking with me? Did Lucas put her up to it?
After meeting with a few members of the PR team, we finally wrapped up at half past midnight. I gathered my laptop and headed back to my office, already mentally cataloguing the work I still needed to finish before dawn. Sleep was optional. Success wasn’t.
I thrived on four to five hours of sleep every night. Sure, I was a workaholic but I was a rich workaholic.
Lucas fell into step beside me.
I shook my head. “Haven’t had enough of me for one night?”
“Almost,” he said, far too cheerfully for someone who should be exhausted. “I noticed you haven’t put your name in the Valentine’s gift exchange.”
I didn’t slow my pace. “That’s because I’m not participating.”
“Come on, Dane. It’s tradition.”
“I took part in the Secret Santa exchange. That’s enough forced holiday cheer for one quarter.”
“That was Christmas. This is Valentine’s Day. Completely different holiday.” He was practically jogging to keep up with my longer stride. “And it’s not one gift. It’s four gifts. One for each week of February. Small tokens of appreciation and affection among colleagues. Team building.”
I stopped walking and turned to face him. “Lucas, I’m not doing it.”
“Please?” He actually clasped his hands together like he was begging. “Everyone is participating. Even Allie from accounting, and she once told me she thinks Valentine’s Day is a capitalist conspiracy designed to sell chocolate and flowers.”
“Allie sounds wise.”
“Dane.” He shifted the pink and red bucket he’d been carrying around all day. I had seen it in the conference room. Little paper hearts were sticking out of the top. “It’s good for morale. The CEO participating shows he cares about company culture.”
Anger burned through the weary fog in my brain. “I care about company culture. I’m the only reason all these people have jobs in the first place. And I pay competitive salaries and offer excellent benefits.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“Said no one who’s ever actually needed it,” I muttered, but I could feel my resolve weakening. This was Lucas’s superpower, wearing people down through sheer persistence and strategic deployment of guilt. He would have made a good hostage negotiator.
He must have sensed the crack in my armor because he pressed forward. “Four itty-bitty little gifts. That’s it. You don’t even have to choose the gifts yourself. Delegate that shit. Just put your name in the bucket.”
I stared at him. He stared back, completely unfazed by what I’d been told was an intimidating glare.
“I have actual work to do and this conversation is eating into my already limited time,” I said finally. “Fuck it. Give me the bucket.”
His face lit up like I just told him Christmas was coming twice this year. He thrust the bucket toward me with both hands, nearly dropping it in his enthusiasm. “You’re a poet and you don’t know it.”
I reached in without looking and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The name was written in looping handwriting, feminine and careful.
I stared at the name for a moment and inwardly sighed. “Can I pick again?”
“Not on my watch,” Lucas said. “Who are we to defy the whims of fate?”
I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic. You’re a good sport, Dane Kavanagh.”
“I’m really not.”
“Agree to disagree.” He was already backing away, probably sensing he should quit while he was ahead. “I’ll see you bright and early for the commercial rehearsal. Five a.m. sharp. Don’t be late!”
“When have I ever been late?” I retorted.
“I’m just saying, Heidi wants to do a full run-through before the actual shoot.”
“Alright, already,” I groaned.
“And wear something nice but not too nice, because you’ll be changing into your on-camera outfit anyway.”
“I’m no longer listening to you,” I said.
“And try not to look like you’re being marched to your own execution. We’re selling love here, remember? You’re supposed to look happy.”
“I’ll be happy when you’re gone.”
He laughed and finally left, taking his damn bucket with him.