I was looking at Ethan Collinder, my insufferable colleague and the only competitor I had in this place vying to take partner out from under me.
We locked eyes and he gave me a smug smile as he tucked his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and rocked back on his heels. The bastard wanted me to blow this. He’d wanted the contract for himself but Jon had handed it to me, deciding that a woman would have better chemistry with Mrs. Pratt and her needs. Ethan hadn’t liked the decision but he respected it.
Sort of.
Ethan pulled one hand from his pocket and waggled his fingers at me in a disguised taunt.
I tried to ignore him. This was the exact reason why I’d told Jon a year and a half ago that we needed real walls in the conference room, not transparent ones. He wouldn’t hear it, of course. He liked the open-concept flow of his office and he felt it was more inviting with all the glass and exposed ceilings. I might have agreed with him if Ethan didn’t work here.
I resolved to deal with Ethan later tonight in my dream, where I would inevitably see him again with his smug smile on the other side of the glass. In my dream, I’d be able to take out my earrings, march out into the hall, and beat that irritating smirk right off his lips with my knuckles.
For now, I had to keep my head in the game.
“We take advantage of these stats by sharing them with your clients,” I said confidently. “We take the average amount of days between the two, which would be one hundred and eleven—a marketable, memorable, and visually appealing number, I might add—and we build a dating program around that duration.” I gestured at my board which displayed everything I’d just said. “We market this with the strategy that users of Perfect Pairings will find their soul mates within one hundred and eleven days with the help of your program.”
Mrs. Pratt tried to purse her lips once more. “For some reason, it sounds like a long time when you put it like that.”
“It does,” I acknowledged, “but this isn’t a hookup app. It’s not a meetup app. This is supposed to be for people who are looking to fall in love. For people who genuinely want it. If they’re serious, they’ll be willing to put in the time. And if they put in the time, statistically, they’ll be successful. And the success of your clients is the success of your app, simply put.”
Jon tucked his chin low to hide his grin and I knew I had this in the bag.
Mrs. Pratt began to nod.
I smiled broadly and leaned forward to plant my hands flat on the table. “So, how would you like to begin, Mrs. Pratt?”
Chapter 2
Ethan
Kathryn had her client by the balls. I could tell.
Not that it was anything new. She pretty much always secured a deal after her pitch. It beat the hell out of me how she was so damn successful in that conference room but the facts spoke for themselves. She had a way with clients.
A pushy, cutthroat, take no prisoners way.
After shooting her a wave and a smug smile, she steadfastly ignored me. I lingered outside the conference room, bemused by how much I could irritate her by just standing close by.
One of my colleagues, Mark Sanders, drew up beside me and crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s doing well,” he said, nodding pointedly at the client, Mrs. Pratt. “She seems engaged. And Jon looks pleased, too.”
I chuckled. “She’s a shark.”
“Always has been,” Mark said.
“She had this in the bag the minute Mrs. Pratt sat down. I know it. Jon knows it. Kathryn knows it. You can tell. Look at the glint in her eye. Hell, we all know it. And Kathryn knows we know it.”
“Are you having a stroke?”
“You know what I’m trying to say.”
“If you say the word ‘know’ one more time, I’m calling an ambulance.”
I snorted. “Relax, Sanders. I’m in perfectly good health. I mean come on. Look at me. I’m the poster boy for protein and exercise.”
“And inflated egos.”
“The only one with an inflated ego in this office is her,” I said, nodding at Kathryn. “This was supposed to be my pitch.”
Mark didn’t say anything. What was he supposed to say? He knew I’d been the initial point of contact between