Just a couple of days later, I go to meet Jack at his offices at Maverick Capital. I have his matches ready, but something tells me if I leave him to his own devices, none of these dates will ever happen. He’s going to need hand-holding the whole way through the process. Or, to be more exact, ass-kicking.

His assistant is seated out front, and she playfully covers her laptop when I get off the elevator. “Do I need to call security?” she asks, clearly joking.

I wince. “I’m sorry if you got into trouble for my snooping.”

She laughs. “Are you kidding? I’m impressed. Once we had a guy show up posing as a sing-o-gram to get face time with him, but I like your way better. I’m Hallie, by the way.”

“McKenna,” I say, liking her even more.

“You can go right in.” She waves me past, into the corner office.

I step inside. Jack is at the desk, squinting at his computer, so I take a moment to look around. It’s just as clean and modern as the rest of the offices out front, with exposed brick walls and a skylight that lets in soft sunlight. There’s a packed bookcase in the corner, which surprises me. Maybe he gives book-learning a little more respect than he’s suggested. Then I take a look up close and find rows of untouched first editions, all clothbound, and probably sold by the yard by some interior designer. Typical. Just once, I’d like to find someone with books they actually read on their shelves, like well-worn thrillers, or the entire catalog of John Grisham.

“Just a sec . . .” Jack still looks distracted, so I sit down in the cushy leather couch along one wall. No photos, no mementos, nothing that looks at all personal. Hmm. It looks almost . . . lonely.

Which doesn’t at all fit the guy who’s turns away from his computer screen. Jack gives me his usual cocky smirk. “What can I do for you?”

“I have your matches, as promised,” I say, digging a tablet out of my purse. “All you need to do is pick the ones you want to meet.”

He comes around to sit on the couch beside me. With a couple of taps, I bring up the app, logged in with Jack’s profile, and show the screen to him. “I’ve narrowed it down to a top list of twenty. You can swipe right for the ones you like, or left to say no.”

“Sounds easy enough. And what’s the next step after that?”

“Then the algorithm offers three suggested date activities, based on both of your profiles.”

“Designed to kick-start our chemistry and make us fall madly in love?” He sounds amused.

I narrow my eyes. “Exactly.”

“All right.” He picks up the tablet and leans back, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “This one, definitely not.” He swipes left.

“What was wrong with her?” I ask. He can’t have read more than half her info.

“She has a dog.”

I frown. “You never said dogs were a deal-breaker.”

“They’re not,” he says blithely. “But that woman clearly is not the right kind of dog owner.”

Before I can say anything else, he’s already swiped left two more times. “Wait, what were the problems with those two?” I blurt out.

He shrugs. “There’s definitely something wrong with anyone who coordinates their shirt and eye color. And I really don’t think I could get along with a woman who likes both Indian food and skiing. Too hot and cold.”

“What?” I protest, but he’s swiping again. Left. Left. Left. Damn it, at this rate we’ll be through them all in five minutes, with nothing to show for it. “Hold on. You’ve got to give them more than a glance.”

“What can I say,” he says, glancing up at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I know what I like.”

“And what you don’t like, clearly,” I mutter. “Maybe you could have mentioned more of these random concerns earlier?”

“Well, they don’t always occur to me until I see a person in front of me. All right, this one doesn’t have anything horribly wrong with her. I suppose I could give her a shot.” Swipe right. Then left, left, left. “Far too nice. A kitten shirt—that’s just banal. And that last one.” He chuckles as he shakes his head at me. “An airline pilot? Really?”

Okay, I’m about ready to strangle him now. “You said you like jet-setting!”

“I prefer flying private.” He winks at me and dives back into the list. “No, no—”

I jump in before he can dash right past one of the women I was sure he couldn’t complain about . . . although I’m somewhat less sure now. “What about ManhattanLife29? She’s got everything you said you look for.” And a whole bunch of things I could easily guess.

Jack pauses, reading the vital stats I know by heart. Art history degree, curator in a gallery downtown, petite, slim, and beautiful. “Fine, I’ll give you that one.”

“You’re not supposed to be doing this for me,” I remind him. “They’ll be your dates. It doesn’t work unless you pick the ones you really do like the sound of the most.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I can find at least one more. But not that one. Or—oh, dear, definitely not with those ears. I can’t abide by small ears.”

“Now you’re just messing with me.” I glare.

He grins back, infuriating.

“And this one, a marathon runner? I like the chase, but really—”

“What is wrong with you?” I finally exclaim. “I didn’t come here to joke around. The algorithm matches based on careful work and research, and the least you can do is treat the process seriously. Or is this how you act with all the companies you fund—making fun of their products and driving their founders insane with irritation?”

Jack’s lips quirk in a smile. “Of course, we should be serious, about . . . MinnieMouse86,” he says, reading from the tablet. “She’s clearly my one true love.”

I snatch it back and look at the results. “Three women? Fine. That’s a start.”

“I await our dates with bated breath,” he grins. “Now, since I have you, a few questions. Talk to me about what exactly you’d be using my investment for. What sort of tech infrastructure do you have plans for? What’s been working for you in your beta trials so far, and how easily can you scale it up?”

Concrete strategy. If he thinks he’s going to catch me unprepared, he hasn’t figured out much about me yet. I answer all his questions with hard numbers, and my plan for expansion.

“Have you looked into potential issues with overload? If this thing takes off, you don’t want to be swamped and crash.”

“I have a plan for increased capacity.” I type a note to myself on my phone.

“Check again. Your funding plan says you’re looking to add ten thousand new users for this final beta test, is that right?” I nod, and he leans forward. “Why not a hundred thousand. Hell, why not a million?”

I pause. “That . . . I mean, it seems like an awful lot when it’s just a beta test. We’ve been taking it slow, making sure we work out any bugs that we might have missed.”

“No. See, I know you’ve caught anything that could make or break this thing. You’ve got to know when to let go. Think bigger. You can’t make a splash if you creep into the market one tiny step at a time.” Jack gets up. “Here, let me give you a glimpse of what you should be aiming for.”

I stand, following his lead. “What do you mean?”

“I funded another app company last year. We can take a little field trip to their office. Better to show than to tell.” He stops and gives me that challenge of a grin. “Assuming you’re up for that.”

“Sure, let’s go.” The last thing I want is him thinking I can’t handle constructive advice. And after that quick dash through his approach to business, I’m curious to see what else he’s got up his sleeve. If he’d talked with me like this to begin with, I’d have spent a lot less time wanting to murder him.

Jack must make some kind of signal to Hallie, because there’s a car waiting for us the second we walk out of the lobby. Not a cab, of course, but a posh Bentley. The driver greets Jack as if they’re old friends—he even has a coffee waiting.

“So what’s this company we’re seeing?” I ask as we slide into the back seat. The driver pulls away from the curb into the Manhattan traffic.

“It’s a non-profit venture. CommunitE?”

“Oh, I read an article about them last week. They’re like a dating app for potential volunteers, right? Matching people by location and interests with community service opportunities.”

“That’s right.”

“I didn’t know charity was your thing,” I say.

Jack grins. “Don’t be so surprised. I like to take a moment out of making oodles of money to spread a little love around.”

“That’s . . . generous of you,” I say, and he chuckles as if he knows I’m not quite convinced.

“Well, the infrastructure and tech can all be applied to for-profit ventures, so you can be sure I’ll see a return.”

Now that sounds more like the Jack Callahan I know.

The car pulls to a stop. “Here we are,” Jack says. He hops out and is around the car before I’ve finished taking off my seatbelt. He opens the door for me with a sweep of his arm and a grin. “M’lady.”

I roll my eyes at him as I get out. But I’ve got my manners. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he says. His hand brushes the small of my back as we approach the building, and it’s probably Jill’s fault for teasing me, but I’m hyperaware of my reactions to him now. Reactions like the warm shiver that travels through me at his touch.

I step away from him as we head inside the non-descript office building, close enough to the subway line to hear the rattle of a passing train.

I can feel the upbeat vibe of the place the second we step inside. There’s a hum of energetic conversation in the air. Wooden slab tables fill most of an open-concept office space, with people scattered along them with their laptops. Some are working alone, some together. A few employees look to be more intensively occupied in glass-walled cubicles at the back, but they glance up and wave in greeting.

“Jack!” One of them, a forty-something woman, hustles over to meet us. She shakes Jack’s hand with a wide smile. “Great to see you again.”

“Good to see you too, Yvette,” Jack says. He rests his hand briefly on my shoulder. Just long enough to send another rush of heat through me. “This is McKenna Delaney. We’re thinking of working together, and she’s in app development. I thought it’d be good for her to see how your operation has taken off.”

“Sure!” Yvette turns her smile on me. She looks so genuinely pleased to see us, I already like her. “I’d be happy to talk you through anything. But I’ll say upfront, a lot of what you’ll see is thanks to Jack. We had the ideas, don’t get me wrong, but he had the experience to get us moving in the right direction.”

“And the funds to grease those wheels,” a tall woman in a patchwork dress agrees, coming up beside him. She offers her hand to me. “Sonya. Nice to meet you. If you decide to work with Jack, you’ll be in good hands.”

“When I first got involved here, it was just Yvette, Sonya, and a couple of interns,” Jack says. “Now they’ve got—how many employees?”

“Eighteen here,” Yvette says. “And five so far in our satellite office in San Francisco.”

“San Francisco?” I repeat. “You’ve already expanded?”

She nods. “We’ve gotten charitable organizations involved in all the major US cities, and enough users signed on that most positions offered are filled within a week.”

“We’re actually just starting to move into Europe,” Sonya says. “We sent a couple of our top marketing people over to London just this morning to start making the connections we need.”

Wow. “How long ago did you get started?” I ask.

“Well, we’d been building on the idea for CommunitE for about five years before Jack came on board,” Yvette says. “That was about a year ago. Amazing how far you can go with the right support, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. My heart has started beating a little faster. From two full employees to expanding overseas in a year? I’d never have even considered trying for that.

Sonya leads me over to her workspace and shows me a few of the early efforts Jack guided them through to expand their reach quickly. Jack stays quiet through the whole thing, but he’s smiling whenever I look at him. Like a proud parent. He feels good about what he’s helped build here—and he should.

Maybe the playboy billionaire has some substance lurking beneath that designer suit.

Along with the chiseled abs, of course.

“I believe the biggest impact comes from taking big steps,” Jack says. “You’ve just got to believe you’re ready for it.”

Is Perfect Match ready for a campaign like that? Excitement fizzes in my chest as I look around the office. Maybe I’m getting a glimpse of my future right now. I can’t deny it’s a good one.

The problem is, getting there still depends on our bargain. I’m two weeks down, and he hasn’t been on a single date. I need to kick his ass into gear if I have a hope of making that deadline.