Читать книгу Matched - Kelli Ireland - Страница 10

ISAAC MILLER WORKED to control his breathing, his heart rate, his every response as he stared out over the New York skyline. Behind him, his brother paced. Jonathan had never been able to settle when nervous anticipation got the best of him, even when they’d been children. But Isaac was less concerned with his brother’s anxiety than the predicament his younger sibling had finagled Isaac into this time.

He turned, every step controlled, his hands locked behind him. Less chance to strangle the little genius who stood in front of him if he kept his hands occupied. “I agreed to fund your new app, Jonathan, but I did not agree to be a test subject. You’re well aware I only answered the questionnaire to help with your testing. I neither intended nor authorized you to use my profile as part of your initial trial.”

“I know, Isaac. I know.” Jonathan paced back and forth, his steps precise, his pattern across the room as tight as any military formation.

His brother would be counting every step to ensure he spent the same amount of energy crossing the room as he did coming back. Same number of steps to and fro. Same view from every window. Same length of stride, as if he’d measured it. The guy was obsessed with patterns and, as part of that, the accuracy of those patterns. He wouldn’t have made a mistake like this. He wouldn’t have accidentally put Isaac Miller, CEO of the capital investment group Quantum Ventures, in a speed-dating pool that would test Jon’s newest app—a dating app—tentatively named Power Match.

But, somehow, Jonathan had done just that.

Isaac crossed his arms over his chest. “Just remove me from the pool of desperate singles willing to allow their love lives to be determined by digital algorithms.”

His brother looked at him, regret and tension etching stress lines across his brow. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just delete my profile and remove me from the group. If it creates an odd number, replace me with someone else. In fact, use someone from the office.” He pulled out his desk chair and sank into it. “I’ll send out a request for participants. I assure you, someone will volunteer.”

“You can’t send out a request,” Jonathan said in a tone Isaac rarely heard from him. It was a tone that was firm, even demanding. A tone that brooked no argument.

“I beg to differ,” Isaac said softly. Brother or not, Jonathan was here as a client—the head of a start-up venture that Isaac had financed. He believed in his brother’s vision. Even more, he believed in his brother’s history of success in creating apps that went viral. But no one—no one—told Isaac what he could and couldn’t do. He hadn’t become head of one of the world’s premier capital-venture firms by allowing others to dictate what he did, or did not, do. Even family.

“I’m serious, Isaac.” Jonathan dropped bonelessly into one of the guest chairs across from Isaac’s desk. “I input all the data and the app has already pre-paired test subjects for tonight’s meet and greet. To take you out, I’d have to find someone with your identical personal parameters.”

“So do it.”

“I. Can’t.” Jonathan slid lower in the chair. “You’ve already been matched with three volunteer subjects the app determined would suit you. Well, two, anyway.”

Isaac arched an eyebrow.

“According to Lucky, you’re, uh, apparently a bit...” Jonathan waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “Anyway, I can’t just—”

Isaac leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I’m a bit what?”

Jonathan dipped his chin, the younger brother overshadowing the tech genius as he mumbled an indiscernible answer.

“Speak up.”

Jonathan’s head snapped up, his eyes ablaze. “You sound like Dad.”

“I’ve been insulted more gravely than that,” Isaac said. Though not by much, or by anyone Isaac cared about. The coarse observation stung, but he buried the emotion behind the facade he wore like a custom-fit suit. “Go on, then. I’m a bit what?”

Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest. “Lucky says you’re difficult to get along with.”

“And who, pray tell, is Lucky, and why should I give a good goddamn about what he thinks?”

Jonathan snorted. “Lucky is the app’s nickname. You know, like ‘get lucky.’ It’s a play on the common vernacular for getting laid.”

“I get it,” Isaac growled.

“When’s the last time you got lucky? Because, brother to brother, you sound like you could use a little somethin’. Why don’t you shed your corporate persona for a single night, stop suspecting that everyone wants something from you and simply work on getting laid. We’d all be grateful.” The last was muttered with more than a little snark.

Jaw set, Isaac stared at his younger brother. “My private life is off the table.”

“In other words, it’s been a while.” Jonathan shook his head. “When are you going to relax?”

“When it’s reasonably justified.”

“Which will be when...never?” Jon ran both hands through his mop of hair, pushing it off his forehead as he closed his eyes. “I know what this is. I’m not stupid. It’s about Mike. Like everything is always about Mike.”

The name hung like a silent condemnation, and Isaac fought to keep his face neutral as his brother continued, blissfully ignorant of the pain just the name could elicit.

“When are you going to let go of his death, Isaac?” The question was delivered softly, but there was an unmistakable need to understand within the words. “He’s been gone more than twenty years now. And what happened wasn’t your fault. No one blamed you for it. Not even Dad. We all knew it was an accident. There was no way you could’ve stopped it.”

An accident. No way to have stopped it.

Isaac refused to let his brother lure him into discussing the past. They were here to discuss the future. More specifically, the risk he’d taken on Jonathan’s new project. This app was an unknown. That made it dangerous in its own right. It was one thing to invest in it, given Jon’s history of success. It was another to be subject to the initial testing of an unproven product. “Take me out of the test pool, Jonathan. That’s an order.”

A finely shaped eyebrow rose in sardonic, wordless response. “An order? You really do sound like dear old Dad. Look, Isaac, you clearly haven’t been listening to me. What do I need to do to make you understand that what you’re ordering me to do can’t be done? Do I need finger puppets? Flash cards? I’m telling you, Isaac, I can’t take you out of tonight’s test run without scrapping the whole event. My team and I collected information on roughly six hundred volunteers and entered all their data into the software. Your profile was accidentally included and, God only knows how or why, you made the cut. Lucky selected the top ninety-eight that were most likely to find a suitable match. If we pull one participant, we have to find an identical replacement. That’s not possible. So we’d have to cancel tonight’s event, collect a new sample group, reenter their data, rerun the program and reschedule the test event. We can’t do that. Not even for you. The app is set to launch in thirty days, Isaac. I don’t have time to start over with a new test pool.”

“You’re sure there’s not someone who could pose as me?” A last-ditch hope, yes, but Isaac didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to sit across from strange women and see what did, or didn’t, spark between them. He opened his mouth to tell Isaac to simply remove the women he was supposed to meet with when his brother played the one card Isaac had never been able to say no to.

“I need your help. Bad. I don’t want this to go south, Isaac. Not for me and definitely not for my team. They’re depending on this to pay out. I don’t have the same financial demands thanks to my trust fund, but...” He sat up and leaned forward, forearms propped on his knees, and looked at Isaac with undeniable, wholly authentic sincerity. “They have families counting on them. Most of them have kids. You’re my only family. Forget the capital-investment side of things. Just—” Jonathan tunneled his fingers through his hair “—use an alias for all I care. These people don’t run in your social circle. The chance that anyone will recognize you is slim. I need you, Isaac. As my brother. Please.”

It was the please that broke him. That and the reminder that, with their father gone and their mother suffering severe dementia, the two of them were truly all that remained of their family. They had each other. Brothers.

“Don’t expect me to ‘hook up’ with one of the test pool or whatever you’re calling them.”

“TPCs. Test-pool candidates.”

“Whatever. I’ll show up tonight, and then I’m out. Nothing more, Jonathan. Promise me you’ll remove me from the unalterable ‘TPC list’ when the night’s over. No finagling me into a second event. Are we clear?”

Jonathan beamed. “Absolutely. I’ll make sure you’re declared unsuitable for the project at the end of the night. That way you won’t be selected for future events. I promise.”

Isaac sat back in his chair and looked out at the New York skyline. He’d do this for his brother before he slipped back into the predictable solitude of life as he’d crafted it. A life he lived alone.

And alone suited him just fine.