Chapter 7
On Friday morning, I exhale a deep sigh of relief. I survived the very first week, which is saying a lot, all things considered. I start working my way through emails when a new one materializes at the top.
Hello Olivia,
I have to cancel our session today. Work is keeping me busy these days, and I have to focus on that for now. I’d also like to suspend further sessions until my schedule clears up. Apologies for the last-minute notice.
Regards,
Greg
Damn Greg using “Regards” like we’re colleagues in a corporate setting. I’ve known the man for a year! I even helped him decide between festive ties for his company’s holiday party!
This is the third cancellation this week. I want to revel in a successful onboarding session with Harper, but we need more sign-ups. The tug-of-war on my emotions won’t end.
On the edge of my desk, Lunar Love’s planner is filled with crossed-out sessions. Auntie preferred not to rely on technology for appointments so we would all mark our meetings on the designated planner. Alisha and I now track our client sessions digitally, but we’re still in the habit of maintaining the paper calendar. Updating our client management system is yet another thing to add to my to-do list.
I cross out Greg’s session, adding one more tally to the series of recent cancellations. I refuse to let this moonquake shake me. My mind drifts off to what I’m going to stress-bake tonight. Something fudgy.
Needing a change of scenery and a more productive distraction, I decide that the only thing that can make me feel better right now is a Singles Scouting. When I first started working at Lunar Love, I learned about the lengths Pó Po would go to find clients love. She could talk her way into and out of anything and everything. She once secured two invites to the members-only magician clubhouse, The Magic Castle, for her clients who were obsessed with magic by obtaining and calling the entire list of magicians who were set to perform that month. She offered dating services in exchange. All but one magician thought it was an illusion, and Pó Po got her clients in. It was happy ever after for all parties involved, including the magician.
Stories like that have inspired me to be more hands-on, not only with creating unique dates but also in finding the matches themselves. Ideally, we’re pairing Lunar Love clients together, but if we don’t have someone already in our database who might be a good match for a particular client, I go out and actively find them myself. There have been a lot of laughably awkward encounters at yoga classes, movie theaters, and parks, but I do it for love. For every ten who say no, there’s one who says yes. I just need a yes from the right person.
As I walk down the sidewalk in downtown LA, I habitually check my phone for new emails and tap into a link from a Google Alerts email to see what’s happening with ZodiaCupid. Looks like there’s action in the press. New articles surface about the company hoping to raise funding from investors.
“We’re looking to raise a small seed round,” says founder Bennett O’Brien. “We’ll be pitching at Pitch IRL in November.” O’Brien says that the funding will be used to double its design and engineering teams and to expand their marketing efforts. With a rollout strategy already in place, he plans to dominate a few markets and hone their messaging. “We’re offering a service in the market that wasn’t being met,” O’Brien says. “Our users are looking for relationships that work best for their personalities. It’s based on a system that’s been around for over two thousand years. We’re rethinking online dating and adding a new level of interest. Lots to come, so I hope you’ll stick around!”
If they raise money, they’re going to be able to grow fast. Put us out of business fast. I fume quietly. The blatant disregard for Lunar Love is infuriating. Bennett may come off as a decent person who’s incapable of stealing ideas and faking ignorance, yet in every interview, he comes off as overconfident and tactical. I need more information about this pitch.
I remember that he works in a coworking space downtown. I start a new text message to Bennett.
I just wrapped up a meeting in downtown. Have time to say hi?
It’s worth a shot.
While waiting for him to respond, I do another lap around the block. When Bennett sends me his coworking space address, I fast-walk over three blocks.
“Hey,” Bennett says when he meets me downstairs, “this is a nice surprise.”
“I was just in the area,” I say casually. “This is your coworking space, huh? I’ve never been inside a start-up’s office before.”
“Is that your way of asking to see it?” he asks.
“Do I want to see it? Sure, my schedule’s wide open,” I say, pretending to look at my phone’s calendar but instead scrolling through images of Pinot.
Bennett hesitates outside the building. “We’re pretty busy. I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
I look past his shoulder, exaggerating my movement. “What are you, a supervillain? You hiding something up there?”
He looks dramatically from side to side to make sure no one’s listening. “I’ve got a couple of blueprints and top-secret codes that are for my eyes only.”
“I promise I won’t tell anyone what I witness or hear.”
He sighs. “Okay, come on,” he says, finally agreeing.
Three levels later, we’re winding our way through narrow hallways in the coworking space. Bennett gives me a brief tour as he shows me through the office. I peek into the spaces of other businesses, where two-person teams sit back-to-back speaking into headsets. I wonder if the businesses willing to pay more get the bright, sun-filled rooms closer to the building’s tall windows, printers, and kitchen area.
The ZodiaCupid headquarters looks more like a dim, oversized conference room where five desks are crammed against walls. It’s located in the back of the building that surely has never seen sunlight, about a mile from the common area.
In the room are four others who are eating lunch at their desks.
“This is Elmer. He’s in charge of development, growth, and payroll,” Bennett says, pointing to a man wearing bright red glasses. “And that’s Carrie, Christof, and Jingwen. They make up our design and engineering teams.” Everyone looks up from their monitors and simultaneously waves.
“That’s Carrie’s pup and our office mascot, Elvis,” Bennett continues, gesturing toward a sleeping bulldog who doesn’t seem to mind my presence.
“Clearly he runs a tight ship around here,” I joke.
“I blame him for the unpaid overtime. This is where I sit.” He gestures toward his astonishingly clean desk. So much for swiping any important documents.
“It’s not what I imagined,” I say, looking around trying to find something, anything, that will give me an indication for what they’re launching next. The only hint of Bennett in this space is the coral sweater from the baking class draped over his chair in a plastic dry cleaning bag. Not a speck of mooncake filling is left, all traces of Bennett’s nice gesture for me wiped away.
“I liked the look of the filling, but I started getting some weird stares so I had to have it cleaned,” Bennett says, catching me looking.
“Too bad. You pulled it off so well,” I joke.
“Can I know the real reason why I had to pay twenty dollars for dry cleaning?” he asks in a slightly amused, curious tone.
I straighten my shoulders, carefully thinking through my word choice. Colette was a former client, but I can’t tell him that. “She was someone I used to know a long time ago,” I share. There. Truthful and vague.
A flash of surprise crosses Bennett’s face. “She? So it wasn’t your ex-boyfriend, like you said?”
Great. My past lies have come back to haunt me. “No. It wasn’t. She was my best friend growing up. But we’re not friends anymore,” I admit.
Bennett nods in understanding. “Well, anytime you need an out, I’m your guy.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. This place is…sterile,” I quickly add, using the change of topics as an opportunity to take another good look at the place. It’s a plain, undecorated room strictly intended for business. No personality on the walls or desks, except one matte black electric kettle in the corner of the beverage nook.
“Yeah, it’s a bit gloomy, but hopefully we’ll be out of here soon. We’re participating in Pitch IRL to attract interested investors.”
Perfect. This is my opening. “Aren’t those highly competitive? How are you feeling about your chances?” I ask. “I thought you’d already have the ins.” Maybe he’s not as seasoned of an entrepreneur as the media claims him to be.
“It’s not how I’d normally go about it, but a local college is hosting the event so business students can watch and learn how to pitch. They asked if we wanted to be involved, and it was hard to turn down. I would’ve loved to attend something like that when I was in school. I even got some of my investor buddies and former business partners to be involved for the Q and A at the end.”
Why does Bennett have to be such a good guy? It’s making my life very difficult.
“What happens if no one invests?” I continue.
“Then we keep trying. I’ve poured my savings into this business, so we’ll be able to keep going for a few months. Ultimately, failure isn’t an option.”
“It’s better optics for us to launch on or before Lunar New Year,” Elmer adds. “After all, it’s, you know, the holiday that ushers in the next year’s zodiac animal.”
“It’s a great time to launch,” I acknowledge reluctantly. “So, what’s everyone working on?” I step closer to the engineers’ desks, hoping to see something that might provide some clues. There’s just a bunch of code against dark screens.
“We’re gearing up to ship a big feature for the beta. If users like it, we’ll improve upon it for the app’s official launch,” Bennett shares.
“Ooh, what is it?” I ask, making sure to sound overeager.
“I can’t share the details just yet, but I’m hoping you’ll like it. Though we did recently implement an algorithm that connects users based on the good feedback other users give after dates.” Bennett sounds excited. “If a user is looking for a particular trait, let’s say good manners as an example, and another user writes that their date had good manners in the feedback, we can use that information to better connect them if the first match doesn’t work out.”
I nod, soaking up every last word. Inside, I shrink. How can we possibly keep up with an algorithm? We are the algorithm. I am the algorithm.
Suddenly, Elmer sits up in his seat and shouts, “Yes!” His red glasses sitting on top of his head fall in front of his forehead.
“What’ve we got?” Bennett asks, walking over to Elmer’s desk. I edge closer so I can see his screen. On his monitors are colorful graphs moving in a mostly upward direction, high numbers, and well-portioned pie charts.
“We just hit match three thousand!” Elmer says, grinning.
“That number will be a lot higher when we launch nationwide. How can we get that number even higher before the next press release?” Bennett asks as he hurriedly reviews the data analytics charts on Elmer’s screen.
If we sacrificed quality and could work as fast as an algorithm, we’d have that many matches, too. It’s quality over quantity, I repeat to myself.
Bennett pumps his fist in the air. “And sixty users deleted their accounts with feedback saying they matched and no longer need the service.”
Oof. I bet he won’t be happy about that. I can’t imagine quitting clients fits into his future investors’ business plan. “That fast?” I mumble. I don’t try to contain my surprised look.
Bennett somehow hears me. “You look shocked by that number, but quitting clients is a good thing usually. It means they’ve successfully matched. We’ll be able to use this data for the pitch. We want these metrics for our marketing to attract more users.”
I can practically see the money signs in his eyes.
“When you lose people—users, sorry—how much do you anticipate that affecting your bottom line?” I ask, cringing at my own use of corporate-speak. “Do you try to win them back?”
Bennett looks at me curiously. He leans back and crosses his arms.
“We have hundreds of people signing up to be in the beta every day. It’s hard to keep track of them individually. And when we launch, we anticipate there being way more users. Eighty-seven percent of surveyed beta users have expressed interest in upgrading to the paid service to get more of our benefits once we have it ready,” he explains. “We’re doing well, but of course there’s always room for improvement.”
“I see,” I say, smiling wanly. Quality over quantity. Quality over quantity. “Sounds like everything’s working out.”
“It’s…working. Either way, we try to celebrate milestones both big and small. Yesterday we celebrated putting a new verification system into effect to validate animal signs. We had some data indicating that users weren’t being truthful about who they were on the site. Now we confirm birthdays to prevent any funny business. You know what I mean?”
“Can’t trust anyone,” I say, looking him straight in the eye. They have to verify because they never meet people face-to-face and get to know them. “Do you think asking for proof of identity will scare people away?”
“If it does, good,” he says. “Ultimately, we want our users to choose us because they want to find love in an honest and safe way, even if this limits sign-ups or leads to drop-offs. It might sound obvious, but these are the lessons we’re learning as we go.”
“Super,” I say. “That’s just super.”
“We want users to be into the Chinese zodiac, but not too into it,” Elmer chimes in from across the room. “If users try to get all introspective about which of the four zodiac elements they are, then they’ll probably be disappointed.”
“Five,” I murmur.
“What?” Elmer asks. He pushes his glasses back on top of his head.
“Never mind,” I say. It’s not worth the energy.
Instead, Bennett speaks up. “There are actually five elements. Metal, Water, Wood, Fire, and Earth.”
“Exactly,” I say. I can’t tell if I feel good that he knows more than I thought about the zodiac, or worse.
“Uh, yeah. Right,” Elmer says, his face matching the color of his glasses.
Delight sparkles in Bennett’s eyes. “You’re learning! Looks like the zodiac bug is contagious! The point is, we want users to trust us. We’re trying to make connections, after all,” he says, looking at me expectantly.
“Oh, man. You’ve gotta see this,” Elmer says, his tone more serious than before. He starts reading off his screen. “ZodiaCupid is a gimmicky take on a centuries-old horoscope system…”
Bennett and I take a few steps back over to Elmer’s desk and crouch to read along with him. I feel my face burning as I scan down the list. It’s my WhizDash article. But it’s the version I deleted. How is that possible? That draft was never meant to be seen by other human eyes. When Alisha sent the email, it was obviously my Vent Draft—not the Lunar Love article—attached.
Alisha’s contact at WhizDash didn’t waste any time getting this article up. Riding the wave of ZodiaCupid press, probably. Tunnel vision takes over as I read my words written in a moment of passion.
Ten Ways ZodiaCupid Will Destroy Your Love Life
ZodiaCupid is a gimmicky take on a centuries-old horoscope system that is believed to be the oldest in the world. The only thing the app gets right about the Chinese zodiac are the twelve animal signs. Other than that, it’s a generic brushstroke analysis of its users.
What stops users from manipulating the system and pretending to be different signs? Careful users. That Rabbit you’re flirting with might actually be a Rat.
If you think winking is bad, try being hissed at. Are you a Snake or a human? People don’t like to be catcalled at, so why would they want to be barked at?
Don’t count on users to know too much about the Chinese zodiac. If you’re a true believer, this is not the right platform for you.
Users are matched based on the words in their profile more than the actual traits of their animal signs. What’s new?
Get ready to ask, “Excuse me? Are you so-and-so?” because users have to uncomfortably guess who their dates are. Give or take a few profile prompts that are supposed to capture people’s personalities, the awkwardness of meeting in person is heightened by the fact that due to the no-photos-allowed policy, we have no idea who we’re actually looking for.
Personalities aren’t one-size-fits-all. They’re a combination of the temperament we have from the beginning and the character that we build for ourselves through our choices and behaviors. ZodiaCupid doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.
Full Moons, New Moons…this is just a replacement for the anxiety- and judgment-inducing swiping. Won’t people just be biased toward their preferred animals?
To Bennett O’Brien, real people become users, line items in an Excel spreadsheet, and money in his pocket.
ZodiaCupid is a digital identity crisis. It doesn’t know who it is or what it wants to be.
“A digital identity crisis,” Bennett says, the brightness in his face dulled. “Ouch.”
“Brutal,” Elmer says. The rest of the team shake their heads. “This person didn’t even have the nerve to use her first name. CakeGirl. What are we, in fifth grade?”
Long gone are the days of AIM screen names, yet here we are.
“You know you’re doing it right when people have strong reactions,” Bennett says in a forced upbeat tone. There’s a smile on his face but it’s obvious he’s not happy. “Eighty-two percent of our surveyed users have been happy with the service overall, and that’s what matters. Not this personal attack on us.”
“This CakeGirl is just trying to get attention,” Elmer says with a genuine look of empathy. “This is just the first of many who will try to tear us down. Don’t take it personally, man.”
“It’s personal to me,” Bennett says quietly, his mood deflated.
The article worked. It worked better than I thought it would. I was successful.
Shit.
I shouldn’t feel upset. I should be thrilled that my little plan is working. But the look on Bennett’s face makes me feel otherwise. He has his hands stuffed into his pockets and is slouching gloomily, and I wish I could take it back. Control+Z. Unsend. Delete. Something I did hurt this man, and for some baffling reason, that hurts me. I suppress a sick feeling in my stomach working its way up my chest and look away.
“That’s just one person,” I finally say, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject. “You said people are happy with the service. That’s good.”
“Bad press comes with the good. I should be used to this. It was only a matter of time,” Bennett says, pulling his attention from Elmer’s screen. “And yes. Happy users are always a good thing. Are you happy with the service? When you use ZodiaCupid, or apps in general, what do you like to see?”
Right. Back to business.
I think for a moment. “I want to see lots of pop-up ads. Ask me for reviews as often as you can. The more cookies the better. Give me lots of push notifications. Multistep login? Yes, please!” I say, listing the worst things I can think of off the top of my head.
A genuine smile appears on Bennett’s face, accompanied by a small laugh. I’m relieved by the sound. I feel too powerful being able to make him both sad and happy. He raises one of his eyebrows. “Cookies, got it. I’ll make sure we add all that in,” he says in the warm tone he had before reading my soul-crushing listicle.
“Well, thanks for the tour. I should get going,” I say, waving to everyone. “Nice to meet you all.”
“Don’t want any trouble with the boss,” Bennett says.
“She’s not too bad,” I start to say, forgetting for a moment that the boss is in fact me and not Auntie. “Actually, she’s tough and has high standards and expectations. So I really should get back to it.”
Bennett walks me out to the front of the building. Midday traffic speeds past us as we stand facing each other on the sidewalk, lingering.
“Before you go, I know our first date was a bit…unexpected. Normally, I’d just let it go and forget about it, but ever since first meeting you at Lucky Monkey, I haven’t been able to make myself forget. About you.” Three shades of pink bloom across Bennett’s upper cheeks. “I had a great time with you, but I was hoping we could have a redo?”
I bite my lip hesitantly. “I don’t know about that…”
“I don’t like making bad first impressions. I felt completely off guard and unprepared. I know I can do better.” Bennett runs his hand through his hair, the strands landing in all the right places despite the breeze from the passing cars. “Of course, it’s your call. I could take you to the place where I get my best ideas. Or is that weird?”
For the life of me, I can’t think of anywhere this could possibly be. Maybe it’s in his car, where he drives around looking for other fifty-year-old small business ideas to steal. “I’ll admit I’m intrigued, but…”
“It’s up to you,” Bennett says. He shyly grins, and my heart rises in my chest like a soufflé.
I debate this. I’m trying to learn more about his company, not date him. But today’s impromptu office visit was actually fruitful. Now I know there’s a big feature coming. That’s something the press releases didn’t share. After this article debacle though, it feels wrong to keep seeing him. Unless I can use that time to tell him who I am. A guilt weed has started growing roots within me, and I need to rip them out. I just hope the damage isn’t irreparable.
“Okay. Sure. Let’s do it,” I say apprehensively.
My agreement wins me a dimpled smile from Bennett, and my choice feels like the right one. “Really? Okay! How about I pick you up tonight, let’s say at Lucky Monkey? Seven thirty p.m.?”
“Tonight?” I ask. “I didn’t realize it would be tonight.”
“We could do tomorrow night if that works better?” Bennett suggests.
I’ll be exhausted after tomorrow’s podcast interview. If we do it tonight, I can use what I learn to craft better talking points and explain to him who I am before my identity is revealed on the podcast.
“Tonight’s fine,” I say.
Bennett exhales and smiles. “That’s really great! See you later.”
I wave goodbye, my breath catching in my chest. Saving Lunar Love is going to be like trying to grow peonies in the winter. And I’m no gardener.