Page 14 of No Match Found
Grant was thoroughly unconvinced, but he kept watching me, quiet, like maybe if he did it for long enough, I’d crack under the pressure of his gaze.
Maybe I would.
“So, what d’ya say?” Katie jumped into the silence, saving my bacon—not for the first time. “Will you fill out a profile, Mr. Wilder?”
Grant didn’t take his eyes from me. “I’ll fill one out if she does.”
FIVE
I scoffed.What was this, second grade?
“Live a little,” he said. “I have it on the best authority that your data is very secure. And you can always delete it after, right?”
He was good. And so annoying.
I couldn’t deny that I was curious about his answers, and continuing to refuse would only make him doubt I believed in Matchify. I could imagine how that would play out in his article.
It wasn’t my belief in Matchify that had kept me from filling out a profile for myself all these years, though. I had all sorts of data to support that the app worked.
But I knew how data worked. I knew the general spread of profiles from the women who used our product, and I wasn’t like them.
You’re so intense.
I had a years-old text from Chase with exactly those words—a message that had been conveyed dozens of times by other people in other words. My mom whenever I came home with a plan for a school project. My friend Julia in high school after we finished a group presentation together. My fourth-grade teacher who told me I didn’t always need to be the smartest one in the room.
I could go on.
But men in particular didn’t seem to like intense, driven women. At least not for long. Matchify data made it clear that most were looking for soft edges andsmiles.Chillandlow-maintenancewere thrown around like caps on graduation day by our male users.
It’s why I’d never wanted to see my own match percentages. I’d had actual nightmares that someone would run my profile, and it would buffer and buffer and buffer until finally, a big black screen with stark white letters would show up: NO MATCH FOUND.
But filling out a profile didn’t mean I had to run the numbers. And if it got us closer to Vantive’s wallet, it would be worth it. I could always delete it later, like Grant said.
“Fine.” I checked my watch. “But I’ve only got half an hour until my next meeting.” This meeting was an unofficial one with my email inbox, but so what? I couldn’t spend hours of my day on this sort of thing when I had a company to run.
Grant’s mouth pulled into a curve that made me wonder how he intended to turn my choice against me. “Then we’d better get to it.”
Katie, who seemed highly intrigued by the development, let me take her seat, while Grant stayed in the one to my right. Meanwhile, she sat a few feet away on the edge of the desk behind us, watching us use the app she put scores of hours every week into designing.
Ostensibly, she was looking for any pain points or hesitation in our navigation. In reality, she was curious.
The first few questions were a breeze—basic identifying information—and I let out a slow breath through my nose. It shouldn’t make me so nervous to do this.
What’s your idea of a perfect Saturday?
I looked at the answers, frowning slightly, then selected the option that saidsleep in and read a book. A more accurate answer probably would’ve focused on no app emergencies and coming into the office for less than five hours, but that option wasn’t offered.
Most of the questions had fixed options—multiple choice, sliding scales, yes or no. Sprinkled throughout were open-ended options, though.
What’s your most controversial opinion about love? the next question prompted.
That it’s not meant for me.
I didn’t write that. Instead, I wrote:Feelings lie. Numbers don’t.
What’s your favorite flower?
I suppressed an eye roll. Flowers weren’t my thing—yet another reason I was an outlier amongst our average female user.
