Chapter 2

M y foot bounces under the high-top table. Almost seven o'clock. I'm not nervous to meet Lee Sullivan, but there's a lot riding on this. If we can't license this show to the network, the production company will pitch something new. Which would make it the third time a show has slipped through my fingers.

The first time, funding got pulled. After that, the schedules couldn't align. And now my lead for Love Algorithm , the dating show I created, has dropped out last minute. It's a great concept, and I sold it to the production company as a package deal, one that locks me in as the producer. Do I care about the show? Not entirely, but I know it will work, and all I care about is getting the experience it offers.

Women's hockey and the professional teams being formed across the United States are being discussed on the TVs mounted on the walls. Maybe this is a sign, considering I'm meeting with Lee Sullivan, former captain of the Minnesota Lakes NHL team. I need him for my show. Sipping my cocktail, I roll my shoulders. It's fine. Everything is fine.

It's not like I've spent the last four months working tirelessly with engineers to perfect the AI algorithm. I've busted my ass and trust the system we've created to match singles based on artificial intelligence. However, starting with a new love interest means we have to move fast, because we've got to open another casting call for matches, plus run their background reports, carry out psychological interviews, and perform screen checks to make sure it's not some fifteen-minute-Felicity looking to boost her Instagram following.

My racing thoughts are interrupted by a tall blue-eyed Norwegian drink of water ducking under the doorframe when he walks in the bar. Sully. Damn… He's gorgeous. Even better looking than the headshots I pitched to casting… and those headshots were pretty great.

Raising my hand, I grab his attention, and he smiles. Oh shit, he's perfect. I'm certain that smile is pouring butterflies into the stomach of every woman in his vicinity. Even my stomach did a little flip-flop. I need him for Love Algorithm .

"Kendra?"

Game time. "Hi, Lee! Thank you so much for meeting with me tonight."

"It's no problem. I actually go by Sully—or Sullivan, whichever you prefer," he says while taking a seat across from me.

God, he smells good too. We shake hands, and his palm engulfs mine. It's huge. I steel my expression, slipping on my professional mask, to keep from nervously laughing. All I can think about is the damage those fingers could do to me—I mean, a different woman. A woman who isn't me. Because this isn't a date, this is a business meeting—and I never mix business with pleasure. Never. Especially not when everything I've worked for is riding on this show.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I offer.

"What are you having?"

"A Tom Collins."

He raises his eyebrows. "Old school."

"I prefer classic ."

The corner of his mouth tips up. "Just surprising for somebody so…"

Young . The word he's looking for is young. I raise a brow back to him, daring for him to finish his sentence. "Somebody so…?"

I have a love-hate relationship with my age. I'm proud of what I've already accomplished at age twenty-three, but that number often gets me overlooked. They tell me it takes time to make it in the industry. I know that, but let's face it, this industry is based around youth. As a young Black woman, the cards are stacked against me. I gotta make a name for myself early if I want to get somewhere.

Sully clears his throat. "I was just expecting you to order something like…"

He's struggling, and I can't help but enjoy watching him squirm, trying not to offend me. It's cute. Why did he feel the need to even comment on my age? It's a pet peeve of mine.

I take a sip from my straw as he stumbles over his words.

"Hennessy?" I suggest. That was probably a little much, but he had it coming. Don't come for my age like that. If you make me feel uncomfortable, I will make you feel uncomfortable right back.

His eyes lock onto my brown skin and grow wide. "What? No. I didn't mean—I just meant because you're more Gen-Z, you know?"

When he notices my smirk, the realization I'm kidding sets in and his broad shoulders relax as he shakes his head. "Do you know how Hennessy became popular in Black culture?" he asks. Is he serious right now?

I actually do know why, but I want to see if he does. "Because Tupac rhymed Hennessy with enemies and we ain't been the same since?" I snark.

He laughs. "Hennessy was one of the first warehouses to employ Black workers and pay them equal wages. They also used Black models in advertisements and gave leadership positions to people of color."

Guess he does know. Well done, Norway. "Some people argue that Hennessy exploited Black communities for profit, but I'm still impressed you know your history." A slow smile creeps across my face as we call this bizarre truce. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fuck with you like that… You just looked like someone who's…" My eyes rove up and down his body.

"An easy target?" He finishes with a raised eyebrow.

I raise my eyebrows and grin. "I was going to say old , but…"

He gives me the full mega-watt Sully smile. His acute gaze flickers with mischief. Damn, he's attractive, and I stare back with equal intensity. Thankfully, we're interrupted by a bubbly server who asks for his drink order.

His eyes continue to drink me in for a beat before he peers at the petite server.

"What's your oldest whiskey?" he says.

Grinning around my straw, I take a sip of my Tom Collins.

"Oh. Um… I-I don't know. I'm sorry. Let me go check—"

"Nah, that's okay." He holds the drink menu between us and scans it, then peeks over the top of the black book to glance at me. "Age doesn't matter, anyway." He winks at me, then returns his attention to the server. "Actually, I'll have whatever stout you have on tap."

"We have Black Beauty on nitro?" she suggests.

I laugh, and the corners of his lips tip up, and he slides his hands together. Those hands .

"Yeah. I really want that," he says, looking at me.

Is he flirting? Wait, am I blushing? Shit. This is unprofessional. I avert my gaze. The server strides away to fetch his drink. He crosses his arms, sits back, and grins.

I'm here with one goal in mind: get him to do the show.

"Speaking of segue…" I say, clearing my throat and severing the heady connection forming between us. "Did Micky tell you why I wanted to meet?"

His smile falters now that I've killed our playful banter. He sighs and uncrosses his arms. "Something about a dating show."

"It's different from most other shows. It's not like The Bachelor , where people are simply signing up and hoping to ‘win' you. We do an in-depth analysis of what you're looking for, we look at your lifestyle and values and use artificial intelligence to find the most fitting matches out of thousands of applicants also searching for love. They don't know your identity prior to applying. We will narrow it down to ten women. As long as you're honest in your answers, you'll leave the show in love."

He sighs. "And then what?" He's already skeptical. I can't totally blame him, with his level of popularity.

"We film your dates with the different women, evaluate your progress, and let America fall in love with you and one of the ten matches." The server returns with his drink, and he takes a big swig of the obsidian beer topped with a creamy head. Creamy head? Goddamn, I can't seem to pull my mind out of the gutter tonight.

"I'm burned out from dating. I'm tired of having the same conversations over and over. This sounds like all of that but doing it on camera. Respectfully, I'd rather rawdog a garbage disposal."

Well, there's a visual. "Except you'll already have chemistry with these people. We've tested the system, it's solid. By the time it's been thinned down to ten women, the challenge is picking only one, because you'll likely want all of them. I can guarantee you'll depart satisfied."

"If this works so well, how come you're not starting your own online dating app or something? Monetizing the technology?" He nods to me. "Tell me what you get out of it, then I'll consider."

"What I get out of it doesn't matter. This is about you finding love. You said you're burned out from dating, so you've obviously been trying to meet people, and since you're still single—"

"Kendra." The way he says my name in that deep voice gives me chills and disarms me. "What's your reason?"

I swallow, glancing down at my hands before sighing and coming clean. "I'm passionate about cinematography. It's my greatest love. I'm the youngest Black woman to get a shot at producing her own show. Sure, I could sell the technology and make money, but let's be honest, dating companies are already working the AI angle, it won't be long before I'll be competing with them, anyway. This is my ticket to do what I love. It gets me closer to production and network executives." The sparkle in his eye tells me he's satisfied with my answer. "This is dating on the next level; every date is a good date. Dating in the wild sucks. It's a lot of work. But I promise, the hardest part of this show will be having to choose which one is the one."

He drags a hand down his face. "I'm not a fan of being in the spotlight. Especially a dating show. This sounds messy and complicated. People's feelings will get hurt publicly. Also, I hate reality television… No offense."

Shit. I've worked alongside casting and have interviewed people more times than I can count. Sully is easy to read; he's candid with his words and body language. He doesn't seem like the type to change his mind once he's made a decision, and it's obvious he's not comfortable with the show.This is where I should end the night.

Brushing off the rejection, I give him a tight smile and hold up my hands. "None taken. Also, it's unscripted television," I say, the same way car salespeople say pre-owned rather than used.

"Right."

Maybe another shot. "It's only a three-month commitment."

"For you!" He laughs. "Sounds like it's a lifetime for me." He takes another sip of his beer.

"I mean, why are you dating? Just to get laid?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "No."

"Well? You're sick of dating. Don't you want to skip to the good part?"