Hate to Love You

Chapter 1

Jazmin

It may not be the most spacious office in the world, but it’s mine. The bare walls stare back at me, like a warning not to get too comfortable. To hell with that, I say. Shrug it off, Kara. This is your domain, and you’re the master of it. Month to month, anyway.

The window is nice, even if it looks directly into the apartments across the street. It would be nice to get some trees, but maybe I’ll bring in a potted plant instead. The natural light is welcome, in any event. Though, I realize I’m going to need to put blinds up. Or reconcile myself to the possibility of perpetually catching people fucking across the street.

Maybe they’re clients.

I sit down on the floor and begin to assemble the pieces of my desk out of the box. The Wi-Fi is already glowing in the corner, so the hard work of the day is well behind me. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out which way these particle-board pieces go and which little screws match up with which tools.

The very idea of it makes me sweat. Kevin used to handle all of the furniture assembly, forever grumbling that we should invest in some “real furniture” and stop throwing our money away on disposable corporate crap. Ever the charmer, Kevin. It turns out he was among the more disposable elements in my life. And when he left, he took the bulk of that crappy furniture with him, so joke’s on him.

Honestly, most of renting this office is about getting a legitimate address and out of my apartment. Soul Mates mail has to go somewhere, and you don’t really want the kind of people who frequent dating apps to know where you live. Or sleep. 

Though, my clientele is better than most. We use an algorithm that does a pretty great job of speaking to the personality of our client base rather than just giving them a place to put up pictures and cruise for anonymous sex. There are other apps for that, and while I’d hate to cast aspersions, it’s nice to think I’m helping people find something that will last. 

Or, at least last longer than Kevin. Either in the relationship, or in bed. Sorry, Kevin.

My phone vibrates on the window sill. Grateful to leave the pieces of desk scattered around the carpet, I scramble over to see who it is. Krastel Enterprises. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Kara?”

“It is.”

“Kara, hiiiiiiii. It’s Sharla from Krastel, I just wanted to check in with you about the two-thirty, can we push it back to three? Susan really wants to meet with you, but today has been craaaaazy.”

“Three is fine for me,” I say, giving up a little prayer for the reprieve. Susan isn’t the only one having a crazy day.

“Thanks, Kara. Can’t wait to see you, bye!”

Sharla’s phone voice drives me absolutely crazy, but she runs interference for one of the best advertising firms in the city, so I’m willing to deal with it. Anyone who wants to deal with Krastel has to navigate past their gate keeper, and Sharla manages her little sphere of power without tipping over into pure tyranny. So. I’ll take it.

The desk comes together in relatively short order, making me wonder what I ever saw in my bearded ex-boyfriend. Setting one of the file boxes on my newly-minted work station, I dig in and root out the folder with everything I’m going to need for my meeting with Susan. Data sheets, a mission statement, returns, our marketing materials to date and assorted other files from the inception of Soul Mates until about four minutes before I walked in today. 

It’s an impressive stack, and I have a relative certainty that no one over at Krastel is going to look at anything beyond my cover sheet. Still. One has to walk in ready to impress. On the off chance that she actually wants to comb over the materials, I’ve got the whole thing color tabbed and indexed. How else are we going to make it to number one?

Maybe I should head out now.

That gives me ample time to catch the train, walk the three blocks up, maybe nab a coffee to keep my hands from quaking in the interview. Who knows? If I’m lucky, I might even have time to throw up in the bathroom and brush my teeth before heading into the meeting. 

Stop being so nervous, Kara. You’re not like this. It’s just a meeting.

Actually, think of it as though you are interviewing her! After all, she wants successful clients, right? It only benefits her if she takes on an entrepreneur who is already showing dividends and growth. And, since our launch, Soul Mates has climbed steadily among the serious dating apps. The field has grown, and we’ve met that growth ably – so stop worrying!

I pull on my smart little jacket (new) and make my way to the elevators. Admittedly, I turn the wrong way down the hallway at first, but that’s easily remedied. Anyway, nobody saw.

Pressing the button, I hug the files to my chest and tap my toes. You know what? This is going to go well. I can feel it. 

The bell dings, but before the doors are even fully open, a man steams out and runs straight into me, bowling me over and sending my tabbed files fluttering into chaos. As they settle around me, I look up, rage tickling at the edges of my green eyes. Woe betide whoever this lumbering idiot is.

Six feet, two inches of pure dolt peer down at me. Ian fucking Carmichael. The creator of The Love Connection, another app on the rise. I’m speechless.

“Excuse you,” I burn up at him from my prostrate position.

“You are excused,” he sniffs, “You really need to pay attention to where you are going.”

My jaw drops. He looks uneasy in his quip, which only makes me angrier.

“You ran into me.” My words are hot, and I’m struggling not to launch into something that’s going to rile me up before my meeting.

“Maybe if you weren’t so short, people could actually see you.” 

It’s a schoolyard comeback and I gape at his sheer childishness. He shrugs, gives me a smirk and steps back onto the elevator. 

“It’s not even my floor,” he winks at me just before the doors close.

I flop onto my back and bite my tongue to keep from screaming and pounding the floor. “What an insufferable ass,” I whisper to the ceiling. 

He would have to be to pirate his name from a cut rate 90s dating show. God, I hope he’s not in my building for long.

Sitting up, I look at the cascade of papers strewn about me on the floor. There’s not time to tuck everything back into pristine order, so I just have to line the colors up as much as possible and hope Susan doesn’t want to go over every single page. 

At the very least, I can make sure the index is in order. She’ll have to settle for that.