Page 1 of The Wrong Groom

Chapter 1

Gabriel

If there’s one thing I can’t fucking stand, it’s a man who doesn’t realize he’s bad at his job.

And this idiot, Neal Dixon? He’s a few cards short of a full deck. Of course, I’d be willing to bet nobody’s ever told him that. That’s why he’s here, consulting at Thorne Enterprises, in a position only the most confident people in his field can reach.

Confidence, unfortunately, is no substitute for competence.

“—and users will simply have to fill out the survey,” Dixon babbles, using a laser pointer to circle the accompanying bullet point on his PowerPoint. “Then the algorithm will match their mental state to specific videos each time they open the app.”

Across the table, my brother Tristan, now the CEO of Thorne Enterprises, sits with one hand resting on his jaw, his expression partially obscured by his fingers—an intentional move if I ever saw one. He thinks this guy is a hack, just like I do. As the CEO, though, he can’t put his foot down quite as hard as he probably wants to. He has the company’s image to think about. He needs to keep things civil.

Fortunately, the rest of us aren’t bound by the same level of expectation.

“So every time the users open the app, it’ll hit them with a survey about their mood?” Beckett repeats, incredulous. Beckett, the youngest of my four brothers, doesn’t have the same responsibilities to hide his expression, which is a good thing. He doesn’t have the same diplomatic sensibilities as Tristan, which is fine for a Chief Marketing Officer. With his charm and creativity, he was practically born for his role at the company.

Dixon nods, apparently oblivious to the way his pitch is landing on us. “That’s right. That way, the content they receive will be tailored to their needs in the moment.”

Beckett frowns, and I catch the glance he exchanges across the table with Dominic, another of my younger brothers. All four of them are here with me today, as are Tristan’s personal assistant and a couple guys from the FlashUp team.

FlashUp was supposed to be a slam dunk. Short-form video has been taking the social media world by storm, so to keep up, Thorne Enterprises released its own platform for it. Snippets of content from independent creators, as well as behind-the-scenes stuff and individual scenes from shows and movies on our networks.

It should’ve been a success, but so far, it hasn’t been. User engagement has been lagging behind projections. The app has only been downloaded half as much as we’d hoped.

Neal Dixon isn’t the first consultant to stand in front of me and my brothers, pitching ideas to fix FlashUp. He probably won’t be the last, either. But he’s definitely the stupidest.

“This format will keep users engaged, and could be marketed as a mental health tool,” Dixon tells us. “‘Content to keep you content.’ It’ll be⁠—”

That’s it. I clear my throat, cutting him off mid-sentence. He pauses, looking flustered. He glances from me to Tristan as if waiting for the CEO’s approval to keep talking.

Before Tristan can nod to him, I say roughly, “Yeah, that’s about enough from you. Thanks.”

There’s a quiet huff beside me as Dominic tries and fails to stifle a laugh.

“But I have four more slides,” Dixon says, visibly crestfallen.

I shrug. “Hopefully you’ll be able to recycle them next time someone calls you in to pitch. But we’re not interested.”

Dixon blinks, his gaze once again sliding to Tristan.

Tristan holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m not the one kicking you out of this conference room.”

Swallowing, he turns back to me, trying and failing to look me in the eye. “Um, what… if I may ask… what isn’t grabbing you? Because I’m sure I could⁠—”

“Oh, it’s the whole thing. Don’t bother.”

Sweat breaks out on Dixon’s forehead. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat for a moment, then he says, “The whole… the whole thing?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Mood-based selection algorithm. I can see why you might’ve thought it could be interesting. It’s eye-catching, with a lot of marketing potential. And you sure seemed proud of that slogan, ‘content to keep you content.’” I can’t help but roll my eyes.

Dixon crosses his arms, his body language closing off. He’s pissed but trying hard not to let it show. “Listen, I’ve been working on this for⁠—”

“Unfortunately, the whole premise is just a bust,” I continue, talking over him as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “See, no one in their right mind is going to keep using an app after it flashes a survey in their face every time they open it. People want to be entertained, not analyzed. Especially not constantly. It’s invasive, annoying, and a surefire way to lose users.”

Dixon’s jaw tightens. He’s trying to keep his composure, but it’s clear he’s not used to being shot down like this. “But the survey’s only a few questions, and it provides valuable data to enhance the user experience. It’s personalized⁠—”

“It’s a huge fucking hassle,” I interrupt. “If I’m sitting down with my phone, trying to unwind after a bad day, the last thing I want is to be asked how I feel right now before I can even watch a video.”