Love Bytes

Chapter 1

PAIGE

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as I squint at my laptop screen, willing the lines of code to reveal their secrets.

It's way past normal office hours at NexGen Technologies, but I'm used to burning the midnight oil.

The hum of the servers and the clacking of my keyboard are my only companions as I dive deeper into my pet project: CupidCode.

CupidCode is my baby, my brainchild, my magnum opus.

It's an AI-driven algorithm designed to take the guesswork and frustration out of modern dating.

No more swiping endlessly on apps, no more awkward first dates that lead nowhere.

Just answer a few questions, let the algorithm work its magic, and boom—your perfect match delivered straight to your inbox.

At least, that's the idea. Right now, it's more like a jumble of half-baked code and pipe dreams. But I refuse to give up on it.

A knock on my office door startles me out of my thoughts. I look up to see Jamie, my work best friend and fellow code monkey, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing smirk.

"Still burning the candle at both ends, I see," she says, her brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "Don't you ever, you know, sleep?"

I roll my eyes, but can't suppress a grin. "Sleep is for the weak. Besides, I'm close to cracking this algorithm. I can feel it."

Jamie saunters in and plops down in the chair across from me. "Ah yes, the mysterious CupidCode. Remind me again how this differs from every other dating app out there?"

I lean forward, excitement thrumming through my veins.

"It's not just another dating app, J. It's a whole new way of thinking about compatibility.

The algorithm analyzes everything from your social media history to your Netflix queue, building a comprehensive profile of who you are and what you're looking for in a partner. "

"So it's like a creepy digital stalker?" Jamie raises an eyebrow.

"More like an intuitive matchmaker," I counter. "Imagine never having to go on another dead-end first date again. Imagine finding your soulmate with just a few clicks."

Jamie studies me for a moment, her expression turning serious. "Paige, are you sure this isn't just a way of avoiding the whole dating scene altogether? A way of, I don't know, getting over Brian?"

I flinch at the mention of my ex's name. Brian, the fellow programmer who wooed me with his coding prowess and then dumped me for some bubbly fashion model. The ultimate cliché.

"This has nothing to do with Brian," I say, a little too quickly. "I'm over him. Totally, completely over him."

"Uh-huh." Jamie doesn't look convinced. "So you're not at all bitter about him trading in your shared love of Python for pillow talk?"

I glare at her. "I'm not bitter. I'm just…practical. Love is messy and unpredictable. But code? Code makes sense. Code is logical. If I can crack the code of compatibility, I can save myself and countless others a whole lot of heartache."

Jamie holds up her hands in surrender. "Hey, you do you, boo. But as your friend, I feel obligated to point out that you might have some teeny tiny commitment issues. And maybe a smidge of a problem with vulnerability."

I scoff. "I do not have commitment issues. Or a problem with vulnerability."

"Sure, Jan." Jamie stands up, stretching her arms overhead. "Well, I'm heading home. Try not to stay here all night, okay? Even code ninjas need their beauty sleep."

I wave her off, already turning back to my screen. "Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow."

As the door clicks shut behind her, I let out a long exhale. Jamie means well, but she doesn't get it. She's never been burned the way I have. She's never had her heart stomped on by a guy she thought was The One.

No, I'm not bitter. I'm just done with the whole unpredictable mess of human emotions. From now on, I'm putting my faith in the infallible logic of ones and zeroes.

I crack my knuckles and dive back in, losing myself in the familiar rhythm of coding. Hours blur by as I type, debug, and retype, chasing that elusive eureka moment.

And then, sometime in the wee hours of the morning, it happens. The final piece of the algorithm slots into place, the code compiling without a single error. I lean back in my chair, a giddy laugh bubbling up in my throat.

I've done it. CupidCode is complete.

Now, the moment of truth. With trembling fingers, I input my own data into the algorithm, watching the progress bar inch across the screen. This is it. The answer to all my dating woes.

The algorithm dings, signaling the completion of its analysis. I hold my breath as I click on the results, my heart pounding in anticipation.

And then I see the name flashing on the screen, and my stomach drops like a stone.

Alex Spencer.

No. No, no, no. This can't be right. Alex Spencer, the smug, infuriating marketing bro who swaggers around the office like he owns the place? The guy who's always needling me with his stupid puns and his annoyingly perfect hair?

I must have made a mistake somewhere in the code. There's no way in hell Alex Spencer is my perfect match.

I'm just about to dive back into the algorithm to figure out where I went wrong when I hear a knock on my door. I look up, half expecting it to be Jamie back to drag me home.

But instead, I find myself staring at the very last person I want to see right now. Alex fucking Spencer, leaning against my doorframe with that stupid sexy smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

"Burning the midnight oil, Reynolds?" he drawls, his eyes raking over my rumpled appearance. "And here I thought I was the only one dedicated enough to pull an all-nighter."

I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the way my traitorous heart skips a beat at the sight of him. "What are you doing here, Spencer? Shouldn't you be out charming potential investors with your witty repartee?"

Alex clutches his chest in mock-hurt. "Ouch. You wound me, Reynolds. And here I thought we were friends."

"We're not friends," I snap, turning back to my screen. "We're barely even colleagues."

Alex saunters into my office uninvited, perching on the edge of my desk like he owns the place. "Colleagues, huh? Is that why you're always undressing me with your eyes during team meetings?"

My head snaps up, my cheeks flushing with indignation. "I do not undress you with my eyes!"

He winks at me, the bastard. "Hey, no judgment. I know I'm irresistible."

I scoff, rolling my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "Please. I have standards."

"Ooh, kitty's got claws." Alex leans in closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I like a woman who knows what she wants."

For a moment, I'm caught off guard by his proximity, by the intoxicating scent of his cologne and the heat radiating off his body. It's like all the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only the electric crackle of tension between us.

But then I remember who I'm dealing with, and I shake myself out of it. I will not be charmed by Alex Spencer's cheap flirting tactics. I am a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a man to validate her existence.

Even if that man happens to have eyes the color of honey and a jawline that could cut glass.

I clear my throat, scooting my chair back to put some distance between us. "Did you actually need something, Spencer? Or did you just come here to annoy me?"

Alex grins, unperturbed by my hostile tone. "Can't it be both?"

I glare at him. "I'm busy. If you don't have anything important to say, kindly see yourself out."

He holds up his hands in mock-surrender. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He slides off my desk, heading for the door. But before he leaves, he pauses, turning back to look at me over his shoulder.

"For the record, Reynolds? I think you're brilliant. Whatever it is you're working on, I have no doubt it's going to change the world."

And then he's gone, leaving me staring after him with my mouth hanging open like an idiot.

Did Alex Spencer just...compliment me? Sincerely, with no trace of sarcasm or ulterior motive?

I must be more sleep-deprived than I thought.

I turn back to my laptop, staring at the name still flashing on the screen. Alex Spencer. My perfect match, according to the infallible logic of my own algorithm.

But that's impossible. The algorithm must be flawed. There's no way in hell that arrogant, insufferable man is my soulmate.

Is there?

No. No, I refuse to even entertain the thought. I close out of the program with a decisive click, shutting my laptop with a little more force than necessary.

Clearly, I need to go home and get some sleep. And possibly reconsider all my life choices.

I gather up my things, stuffing my laptop into my bag and shrugging on my jacket. As I step out of my office, I catch a glimpse of movement down the hall. For a moment, my heart stutters, thinking it might be Alex.

But it's just the janitor, mopping the floors with a blank expression. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

Get it together, Paige. You're acting like a lovesick teenager, not a grown-ass woman with a PhD in computer science.

I make my way out of the building, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stuffy confines of my office. As I walk to my car, I can't help but replay the conversation with Alex in my head, analyzing every word and gesture for hidden meaning.

But that's ridiculous. There is no hidden meaning. Alex Spencer is a player, a smooth-talker who flirts with anything in a skirt. His compliment didn't mean anything.

And even if it did, it doesn't matter. Because I am not interested in Alex Spencer. Not even a little bit.

I keep repeating that to myself as I drive home, like a mantra warding off evil thoughts. By the time I pull into my apartment complex, I've almost convinced myself.

Almost.

I trudge up the stairs to my third-floor walkup, fumbling with my keys at the door. As soon as I step inside, I'm greeted by a soft meow and the brush of fur against my ankles.

"Hey, Byte," I murmur, scooping up my fluffy white cat and burying my face in his fur. "Mommy had a weird day."

Byte purrs, butting his head against my chin in commiseration. I carry him into the kitchen, setting him down on the counter as I rummage through the fridge for leftovers.

My apartment is small but tidy, decorated in shades of white and gray with sleek, modern furniture. Some might call it stark or impersonal, but I find it soothing. Everything in its place, no clutter or chaos to distract from the clean lines and simple functionality.

Kind of like code, now that I think about it. Elegant, efficient, logical.

I plate up some leftover Thai takeout, popping it in the microwave as I pour myself a glass of wine. Red, because it's been that kind of day.

As I wait for my food to heat up, my eyes drift to my laptop bag, still slung over the back of a chair. I think about the algorithm hidden inside, the one that so confidently declared Alex Spencer my perfect match.

It has to be a mistake. A glitch in the code, a flaw in the logic. Because the alternative is too ridiculous to contemplate.

Me and Alex Spencer? Please. We'd kill each other within a week.

The microwave beeps, jolting me out of my thoughts. I grab my food and my wine, settling onto the couch with Byte curled up beside me. I flick on the TV, scrolling through Netflix until I find something mindless and comforting to watch.

As I shovel pad thai into my mouth, I feel my eyelids growing heavy. The exhaustion of an all-nighter is catching up to me, my body demanding rest even as my mind races with unanswered questions.

I should probably head to bed. Get a good night's sleep, wake up refreshed and ready to tackle this CupidCode conundrum with a clear head.

But as I drift off right there on the couch, takeout container still balanced on my lap, I can't shake the feeling that my carefully ordered world is about to be turned upside down.

And somehow, I know Alex Spencer is going to be at the center of it all.

God help me.