1. Keaton

"Everyone deserves their Prince Charming.And I'm going to prove it and save this company!"

The man in the mirror rolls his eyes and grumbles, and I feel the rumble to my very core.

That's what I really want to say to them. But I know better. I've grown up around investors. Around businessmen just like the one I am today.

Talking to them like they're hopeless romantics won't do the trick.

It'd definitely be easier if I was speaking to hopeless romantics. They buy the dream much easier than people who just get horny for numbers.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I get horny for numbers too, but in good measure and at appropriate times.

However, I doubt this speech will do anything to save my company. My baby. My pet project, as my parents liked to call it.

"A good businessman knows when to buy but also when to sell, son!"

It'd been ingrained in me since I was a babe. And I'm sure he'd tell me the same thing if he wasn't halfway across the world making destructive deals with other wealthy people like him.

Well, like me too. I'm a billionaire too. Whether I like it or not.

I usually do, but at the moment…I wish I could be as heartless as my father. Walter Sinclair. But I can't abandon the business I built from the ground up, the only project that was mine and mine alone, so instead, I am just Keaton Sinclair.

Heir billionaire, New York's most eligible gay bachelor, and one of the world's biggest failures.

At least as far as the board of directors in this company is concerned.

I may own dozens of companies and subsidiaries and have a shareholder portfolio longer than the phone book, but as far as the Cinderfella board was concerned, I was a sinking ship.

"Our share price might be at an all-time low, but I have a plan. We're going to put the app back on the map. We're putting together a marketing plan that is bound to succeed. I've got the best people in the world working on a strategy that will blow your minds."

I try to ignore the pun there, although I'm sure most of those old fucks would love to get their minds blown by anyone, let alone app users. But just because they're old and horny gay men doesn't mean they'll go easy on me.

"That, plus the new features we're introducing this year, will bring the stock up an anticipated forty-five percent."

I'm sure the board would love that number to be higher, but we've got to be realistic. Our stock has never been higher than fifty dollars a share. What I'm suggesting is more than generous.

There's a knock on the door, followed by Jessica's voice calling me from the other side. "They're ready for you, Mr. Sinclair."

I sigh and adjust my tie.

I'mnot ready for them though. Definitely not. They're going to eat me alive. Especially because I still don't know what this glorious marketing plan is, but they don't say fake it ‘till you make it for nothing.

I open the bathroom door of my office ensuite, and my thirty-year-old blonde assistant smiles at me awkwardly like she always does before a big meeting.

"Thank you, Jessica," I tell her and march out of the room with her beside me. "Have you arranged a meeting with Shanghai?"

"Not yet, sir. I was going to do it while you were in the meeting."

I purse my lips and nod.

"Make sure it's done and confirmed by the time I'm out. Also, message my sister and tell her to meet me for lunch at noon. She should be back by now."

"Yes, sir."

"Has my dry cleaning arrived yet?" Jessica shakes her head. "Then it needs to be picked up ASAP. I need it for the function tonight. And drop a call to the mayor's office and schedule dinner with him this week. We must discuss this new city tax increase before it goes any further."

"Of course. I'll take care of everything, Mr. Sinclair."

We reach the meeting room door and I turn to my assistant.

"Make sure you do." I know she doesn't need the reminder, but that's who I am. I may be a puddle of mess in my private life, but I'll be damned if I bring any of that into my professional life.

Even if, in this particular case, in this particular company, I can't help but bring emotion to the table.

The idea for a dating app for gay men came to me in college, and I spent all my years learning how to code it, put it together, and get it off the ground.

It was the laggiest thing that had ever gone to market, but it was mine and mine alone. And things got better, fast.

My app helped change the dating game for queer people. Because everyone wants to find their Prince Charming, whatever they may look like or their definition.

So, of course, I'm emotional when it comes to Cinderfella. It's the only thing that's ever been mine. And now it belongs to a bunch of strangers who don't give a shit.

"How do I look?" I ask and mess about with the tie again. Why is it so fucking tight?

"Perfect, sir. Good luck, sir."

I scoff.

"I don't need luck, Jessica. I know what I'm doing."

I turn and walk into the lion's den before I give away the nerves coursing through my body.

* * *

"So? How did it go?" my sister asks two hours later at the rooftop café where we like to meet when our schedules allow.

Manhattan View Café offers a great atmosphere, premium New York City views, luxurious coffee, and enough privacy for its esteemed clientele.

"They ate me. Alive."

Kara lifts an eyebrow and hums with a mischievous grin.

"Ate you, you say? And that's a bad thing?"

I let out a groan.

"You know what I mean."

"How am I supposed to know what your kinky board gets up to behind closed doors?" Feeling a little too proud of herself, she takes a sip of her velvety latte and I give her a good stare-down.

"I knew we shouldn't have gone public. The app was doing just fine being a private company."

"So why did you?"

I shrug.

"You know why. Dad. The media. Pressure. Progressiveness. I thought we were doing the right thing. Getting queer-owned companies on the stock market."

"So what actually happened?" Kara asks as our waitress arrives with my eggs benedict and Kara's eggs royale and refills our water.

"They bought that I have a plan, which I do. Kind of. I just don't know what it looks like yet. And they want to see results. So I've got until next quarter."

"Or what?"

I raise my eyebrow. "What do you think?"

"But you love that company. They can't take it away from you."

"Wait three months, and you'll have a front-row view as they do."

"But that won't happen, right? You said you've got the best marketers working on it."

I sigh.

"Yeah. But what if…what if nothing works? What if I lose…my baby?"

Kara points her knife at me and jabs it a couple of times.

"Sinclairs don't go down without a fight. And neither will you."

"I hope you're right."

I hate this doom-and-gloom version of me. It's not befitting for a man of my age and caliber. I was raised better.

So I turn the conversation back to my sister, freshly returned from Paris Fashion week, dressed in a white frilly suit with gold embellishments on the waist and sleeves. Plus, golden shoulder pads with tassels and shit. When did those come back in style?

"What's new with you? How was Paris?"

"Fabulous, as usual."

"How was fashion week?"

She shrugs.

"Could have been better."

"How's Maxwell?"

Kara takes a sip of her coffee and smiles with relief.

"Fucking a twenty-year-old in Italy, thank God!" she says.

"Nice. And who are you fucking?"

I'll never understand my sister's marriage, and I won't pretend I ever will. Just like I'll never understand why she stays married to her husband when they never spend time on the same continent, let alone in the same city.

Kara snatches her cell from the table and taps several times before turning the screen toward me, revealing a photo of a tall, buff man in his mid-twenties, dressed in overalls with a grease mark across his cheek.

"Isn't he fucking hot?"

He's not my type, but he's certainly attractive.

"Where did you meet him?"

"Elite. Duh!" she says, and I roll my eyes.

"Sweetie, you're supposed to use Elite Connections for serious stuff."

"I am. My vagina was in serious need of a good blue-collar pounding, and they delivered," she says.

I rub my hand over my forehead, unsure whether I should laugh or huff.

"That's what you should do."

"I don't have a vagina."

Kara rolls her eyes and sips more of her coffee.

"You do have other parts though, don't you? You don't have to use Elite if you don't want to, even though that's what they're there for."

"They're a concierge service. Not an escort service."

"Potato, po-tah-to. What's the difference between needing a good nanny for your weekend getaway and a good fuck?"

"If you don't know that, then I don't think I want to keep talking to you."

Kara dismisses me with a wave.

"As I was saying…you don't have to use them. Use your app. Meet someone and let him sodomize you. Trust me, you'll feel a hundred percent better, and you might even get an idea of how to save your company."

I give her the stink eye and lift my coffee to my lips.

"Be serious," I tell her.

And that's when it hits me.

"Shit. You're a genius."

"Tell me something I don't know." She laughs, and I reach for my phone. "Are you going to hook up with someone?"

I roll my eyes.

"No. I'm going to meet someone on the app."

Kara opens and closes her mouth. "Not to undermine my genius, but what the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's my ticket to save the app! To find someone on Cinderfella and make it a love story for the ages."

Kara scrunches her face, holding her cup in front of her mouth.

"I mean, it'll get some media attention."

"It'll get a lot of media attention. I'll make sure of it. It will put the app back on the map, and we both know social chatter boosts numbers."

Kara nods.

For the first time today—probably all week—I feel hope. Like there's a plan.

"That's all well and good, big brother, but…you haven't met anyone on the app since you first launched. How on earth are you going to find someone now, with your face?"

I grimace and pull back, showing how insulted I am.

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Are you kidding? You're plastered all over Forbes, newspapers, and tabloids. It's either gonna get ugly or get ugly."

Yeah, there's definitely a lot of truth to that statement.

Dating as a billionaire isn't exactly easy. Not that I can complain. I've got more than anyone in the world could ever need. But dating apps aren't exactly for people like me.

Even the app I created.

The app I created so I could find my own true love.

How ironic that I can't use it without getting mobbed or love-bombed in DMs.

People have a lot of opinions about me and people like me—and with good reason—and no amount of charity or goodwill can change their minds.

Even if, in theory, those same people could have never met me or others if it weren't for Cinderfella.

"It's easy. That's what Elite is for."

Kara leans back in her seat and gasps.

"You wouldn't?—"

"To save my company? I would. I am." Determination takes over every inch of my body.

My sister's shock turns into a grin and her cheeks go red.

"Wait, does that mean I helped? Do I get credit? Am I a co-owner now?"

I shoot her a glare, and she laughs and takes another sip of her coffee.

"I know it's not exactly honest, but I need guaranteed results to save my hide and company."

"Hey, I'm not one to judge. The gods of the rich created Elite for a reason. If you want to use them to find a fake boyfriend rather than a real one…that's your problem, not mine. Speaking of problems, I've got an itch to scratch, and I know just the man for the job, so…love you and leave you?"

I laugh way too hard at her crude joke only because I'm giddy with excitement.

I don't know how, but I know this idea will save Cinderfella.

Now, I only need to contact Gracie, my liaison at Elite, and ask her to work her magic. To find me the perfect fake boyfriend with a price tag that no one could refuse.