Page 18 of Playing With Matches
“What makes you think my algorithm is Italian?” I tease.
“I guess I just get some serious Mafia vibes. Like nobody’s messing with Tony. He’s got your number.”
Suddenly, the door to the conference room swings open, and Rob bursts in. He’s changed into some kind of white-looking guru suit. And right behind him is the last person I’m expecting to see in this office.
“Jackson?” Isla Fairfax stops in her tracks. She is staring at me, eyes wide. She looks almost as confused as I feel. “What areyoudoing here?”
isla
“Dating apps don’t work for people looking for long term relationships because they are about getting laid. Nobody is honest. Everyone is selling something.”
~ Jackson Porter, Playing With Matches Confessionals
We’ve been trappedin the windowless meeting room with the casting director for three hours, and we’re running out of time to make decisions. The production team has to act fast to get everyone on site in just over a week.
“I promised Rob I’d text him our final picks by end-of-day,” she says.
She slides a folder in front of Jackson and me. There’s a photo of a pretty blonde woman stapled on the outside. “How about Chloe and Darwin? I like her. She seems sweet.”
The casting director looks at me hopefully, but unfortunately, I see through her phony smile. She’s tired. Phoning it in. She doesn’t really give a shit who we pick, just so long as we get it over with already so she can get home and read her cozy mystery novel. I feel for her, but she’s going to have to be patient. I need to get this right.
“According to their responses on the app, Chloe and Darwin are an eighty-five percent match.” The casting director slaps down a second folder. The photo on this one shows a bulked-up man who obviously spends all his free time at a gym. His hair is short and so is his neck, but he has kind eyes.
The selfie-style photos are not enough for me to get a read on either one of them.
“Done deal,” Jackson says. “Those are excellent odds.”
“I’m going to need a little bit more than that to sign off on them,” I say, sliding the first folder toward myself to take a closer look at Chloe.
I flip the folder open, reviewing her bio.
Name:Chloe
Age:29
Location:Columbus. Ohio
Occupation:Neonatal nurse at a children’s hospital
Hobbies:Biking, hiking, volunteer work
According to her interview, she’s dated a ton of guys but hasn’t found anyone who shares her passion for social justice and activism. She’s looking for a life partner who’s up for adventure. Her ideal partner is someone who’s flexible, spontaneous, and physically fit.
“We have the videos they submitted, too,” the casting director says. “If you’d like me to pull them up.”
“Maybe in a bit.” I open Darwin’s folder and place their photos side by side. Then I close my eyes.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Jackson snorts. “What’s the point of putting their pictures side by side if you’re not even going tolookat them?”
“Shhh!” I hold up a finger without opening my eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asks, clicking his pen impatiently.
“I’m getting a feeling about them. I need to focus,” I say, struggling to keep the couple in my mind’s eye. It’s not easy in the small room with Jackson Porter sitting so close to me. I can smell his distractingly spicy scent. Something totally mass-market and probably synthetic, but on him, it smells hot. Irritatingly so, as I really am not a fan of non-natural products.
He won’t stop ribbing me. Or clicking that damn pen. It’s like he’s deliberately trying to throw me off my game. I can’t let it get to me.
Rob took me aside and explained why we need him here. It makes perfect sense. As a storyteller, I know the drill. There’s no tension without opposition. If we don’t demonstrate the obvious flaws in Jackson’s matchmaking methods, we can’t make a case for mine.
