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Xavier arrived at his corner office in the west Loop in a four-story brownstone not far from the United Center. Inside, the building was all gleaming new tech company: open floor plan, stocked fridge, ping-pong table in the glassed conference room that sat in the middle of the office space on the raised first floor. The open floor plan accommodated just four offices: one for each of Nost’s partners. Everyone else worked in glassed-in cubes. As it was a pet-friendly office, dogs sat near various cubes, and a big bowl of dog treats was laid at the front desk. Xavier wanted to push for in-office day care, but so far, only two employees had children, not enough to make a program.
The staff of Nost was almost all young, hip and attractive. It hadn’t been on purpose, but the people who’d showed up for the job interviews just fit that bill. Pets were their priority, and kids seemed a long way off. It made sense to Xavier. Not too many forty-somethings with families would be looking to work for a hookup dating site.
Xavier crossed the main office floor just in time to get the knowing look from his assistant, Justin Tanaka. Justin wore his usual uniform of colored bow tie, slate-gray vest and skinny jeans. The color of the vest and bow tie changed daily, but the general outfit did not. He wore wingtips on his feet and his thick, jet-black hair in a precise cut.
“Well, well, well,” Justin crooned as Xavier arrived, hopping up from his desk and following Xavier into his office. “Wearing the same clothes from yesterday?”
“Only you would notice that,” Xavier grumbled as he put down his messenger bag. Justin, just twenty-four, was the best personal assistant: on time, organized, a hard worker. His only flaw was his nosiness, but Xavier didn’t mind. Justin kept things lively, and he was instrumental in making sure Nost was LGBT friendly.
“Of course I would.” Justin rolled his eyes and put a hand on his hip, jutting it out for emphasis.
Xavier laughed. “I know. You don’t let the office forget it.”
“Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” Justin shrugged one shoulder, back to his normal, less theatrical self. “So...” Justin perched himself on Xavier’s desk. “Tell me...who was the lucky Nost girl?”
“Emma,” Xavier said, sitting at his computer and pulling up his email.
“Emma! I like that name. My cousin’s named Emma. Let’s see, that makes...” Justin mimed flipping through a binder. “Girl number 438.”
“There haven’t been that many,” Xavier protested, glancing up from his keyboard.
“Oh, my bad. That’s 437. Better watch out or you’ll break my record.”
Xavier eyed him. “Which is?”
Justin quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t want to know.”
Xavier laughed. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.”
Justin crossed his arms across his vest. “All right, mister. Remember you’ve got the meeting with the board at eleven, and this evening, the development team wanted to know if you’d join them for their happy hour at seven.”
“Can’t do it,” Xavier said, categorically, thinking about Emma and the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton. “I’ve got plans.”
Justin quirked an eyebrow. “With Emma?” Xavier said nothing, but something in his face must’ve given the truth away, because Justin shrieked, “You are! You’re going out with Emma two nights in a row?” He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth with disapproval. “You’re dipping your wick in the same well! What will this do to our brand?!”
“Technically, Nost promotes the forty-eight-hour relationship,” Xavier explained, as he typed in his email password. “And it hasn’t been forty-eight hours yet.”
Justin narrowed his eyes, doubtful. “Mmm-hmm. You sure you’re not developing a thing for this girl?”
Xavier laughed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You know I don’t do that. It’s the whole reason I founded this company.”
The company his father told him was a mistake. “Love needs more than forty-eight hours,” he told his son a year ago, before the last heart attack took him.
“Papi, this isn’t about love,” he told his father, who’d simply arched an eyebrow and replied, “Isn’t everything about love?”
The damn romantic. More and more, memories of his father kept popping up lately. He wondered why. It had been a year since Xavier had put him in the ground at the graveyard next to his mother. A year he’d been an orphan, and he’d done pretty well by himself: had launched a wildly successful company. Had found comfort in the arms of many women... Maybe not 437. But a sizable number.
