Desired By The Boss. Catherine MannЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Hugh sat at his desk, typing a message to an old friend from university.

      Ryan had completed the same computer science qualification that Hugh had, although he’d made his money in a completely different field—internet dating. Ryan’s innovative compatibility matching algorithm had been game-changing at the time. But his friend had long since sold the empire he’d built, and now ran an extremely discreet, exclusive online dating agency, using a new—Ryan said better—matching algorithm.

      This had come in handy for Hugh.

      Ryan’s system was cutting-edge, and Hugh honestly couldn’t fault it. He’d liked every woman he’d met through Ryan’s system—even if he hadn’t been attracted to them all. Or them to him.

      After all—there still wasn’t an app that could guarantee that.

      He didn’t date often, but when he did he was very specific. He liked to meet at quiet, private restaurants where it was easy to converse without distraction. He’d go to the movies, or to a show. He didn’t go to bars or pubs—there was too little order and too many people talking. He couldn’t think.

      If things went well, after a few dates he might sleep over at his date’s place. But he never lingered long the morning after. Or stayed for breakfast.

      Usually, at some point later, he’d be invited to a party, or to a family event.

      He always said no.

      At such events he would become ‘the boyfriend’. And he didn’t want that.

      Understandably, usually things ended then.

      A couple of times he’d met women equally happy to avoid a relationship. Those arrangements had lasted longer, until eventually they’d run their course too.

      Of course he was always clear that he wasn’t after a relationship, and he was never matched with anybody who specifically wanted to settle down. However, it would seem that the ‘wanting a relationship’ and ‘not wanting a relationship’ continuum was not linear. And everyone’s definition of where they stood along that line varied. Wildly.

      So a woman who started off not wanting a relationship might actually want a bit of clarity around her relationship with Hugh. Or an agreement of exclusivity.

      And exclusivity, to Hugh, was an indicator of a relationship—not that he had ever dated more than one woman at once, however casually.

      So at that point he was out.

      He got it that he was weird when it came to relationships. Women always eventually asked him about his stance. But it wasn’t easy for him to define.

      He knew, intellectually, that it originated from his mother’s serial dating. She had been quite openly on a quest to find her Mr Right after the disappearance of his deadbeat father. He’d become used to the cycle of hope and despair that each new boyfriend would bring, and he’d decided he had no wish to experience that for himself.

      But—and this had been his original theory—the risk of a relationship ending in despair was surely reduced if you approached dating with comprehensive data on your side. If you were matched appropriately—your values, your interests, your goals—then surely you minimised risk.

      And this, in his experience, was true. He had never experienced the euphoric highs or the devastating lows of his mother’s relationships. When he dated it was...uncomplicated.

      But that was where his stance on relationships became much more about him. Because, despite all this data-matching and uncomplicated dating, he still didn’t want a relationship.

      It was a visceral thing. When he woke up in a woman’s bed—he never invited them to his place—his urge to leave was not dissimilar from the way the bloody boxes that filled his mother’s house made him feel.

      Trapped.

      It all came back to the same thing: to Hugh, relationships were clutter.

      Ryan: I’ll send you the link to our latest questionnaire—we’ve tweaked things a little so you’ll need to answer a few more compatibility questions.

      Hugh: No problem.

      Ryan: Then the system will automatically send you a shortlist. Same as always—if the women you say yes for also say yes then you’re set.

      Hugh: Great. Thanks.

      But it was weird... He’d been keen to talk to Ryan, but now he was losing enthusiasm. He’d been so sure that it was the six or more months since his last date that had triggered his interest in April. And today he’d almost kissed her.

      Hugh: What’s your current success rate with your matching algorithm?

      Ryan wouldn’t need time to look this up—he knew his company inside out.

      Ryan: Almost one hundred per cent. We rarely have a customer receive no matches.

      That wasn’t what Hugh had meant.

      Hugh: So one hundred per cent go on at least one date?

      Ryan: Yes. And over ninety per cent of users rate their first date experience with a score of eight or above. We’re very proud of that stat.

      Hugh: Second date?

      Ryan: We don’t track activity beyond the first date.

      Hugh: Long-term relationships? Engagements? Marriages?

      Ryan: Lots. There are many testimonials available.

      He pasted a link, but Hugh didn’t click on it.

      Hugh: Percentages?

      Ryan: We don’t have that data.

      Hugh: Could you guess?

      He could just imagine Ryan sighing at his laptop screen.

      Ryan: Low. Easily under ten per cent. Under five per cent, probably. Which makes sense when you consider that each user gets matched with multiple people. But anyway our job is the introduction. The rest is up to the couple. But, mate, why the interest? Do we need to update your profile to ‘Seeking a long-term relationship’?

      Hugh: No. Just—

      He stopped typing.

      Just what?

      Why was he suddenly questioning the method he’d been following for ten years? Especially when he’d contacted Ryan today to follow that exact method again. Nothing different. No changes.

      He finished the sentence:

      Hugh: No. Just wondering.

      If Ryan had been a close friend—the kind of mate who knew when you were talking out of your backside—he would’ve questioned that. But he wasn’t a close friend. Hugh didn’t have close friends. The habits of his childhood—of keeping people at a distance, and certainly away from his home—had never abated.

      Hugh asked Ryan a few more questions—just being social now. About his new house, his new baby...

      After several baby photos, Ryan wrote: We should catch up for a beer. Somewhere quiet, of course.

      Hugh: Sure.

      And maybe they would organise it. But, in reality, ninety-five per cent of their friendship was conducted via video-conference or instant