THE ALGORITHM OF ATTRACTION
Maya's POV
My insomnia had reached critical mass by day eighty-seven of the countdown, the laptop screen casting blue ghosts across my penthouse walls at 2:47 AM while Seattle slept peacefully outside my windows.
I'd been staring at my email inbox for the past three hours, refreshing it every few minutes like a slot machine that might finally pay out. Victoria had promised results within forty-eight hours, and that deadline was approaching with the same relentless inevitability as my thirtieth birthday. My eyes burned from the screen's glare, my coffee had gone cold again, and my rational mind kept insisting that no legitimate matchmaking service worked this quickly.
But desperation had a way of making the impossible seem merely improbable.
The email notification chimed at exactly 2:47 AM, the sound sharp as breaking glass in the silence. My pulse jumped as I saw the sender: Elite Connections - Your Match Profile. My hands trembled as I clicked open the message, and suddenly I couldn't breathe.
Ethan Cross stared back from my laptop screen like he'd been designed specifically to short-circuit my nervous system. Dark hair that looked like it would feel soft under my fingers, blue eyes that seemed to see straight through the camera into my soul, a smile that was confident without being arrogant. He was beautiful in a way that made my chest tight, the kind of man I'd stopped believing actually existed outside of movies and romance novels.
Stanford MBA, tech entrepreneur focused on sustainable energy solutions. Thirty-one years old, recently relocated to Seattle. Looking for genuine partnership with an intelligent, ambitious woman who understands that the best relationships are built on mutual respect and shared values.
His message was attached, personally written rather than templated:
Maya - Victoria mentioned you work in corporate law with a focus on environmental regulations. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the legal frameworks we'll need to support the clean energy transition. I've been developing some technologies that could revolutionize how we think about carbon capture, but the regulatory landscape is... challenging. It would be refreshing to discuss these issues with someone who understands both the environmental necessity and the legal complexity. If you're interested in coffee and conversation about changing the world, I'd be honored to meet you. - Ethan
I read his message three times, my pulse racing faster with each pass. He was perfect. Too perfect. Stanford-educated, environmentally conscious, intellectually curious, and somehow interested in the intersection of law and technology that had fascinated me since law school. Either Victoria Sterling was a genuine miracle worker, or this was the most elaborate setup in the history of matchmaking.
My lawyer's instincts screamed warnings, but they were drowning beneath a tide of something I hadn't felt in years—hope mixed with attraction so sharp it felt like physical hunger.
I opened another browser window and began researching Ethan Cross with the same obsessive thoroughness I'd use to investigate opposing counsel. LinkedIn showed a trajectory that read like a fantasy: Harvard undergraduate, Stanford MBA, founding partner of Cross Technologies focused on sustainable energy patents. His company's website featured articles about innovative carbon capture methods, solar efficiency breakthroughs, and clean energy infrastructure that could actually work at scale.
Everything checked out. Everything was perfect. Everything made sense except for the timing.
I found myself scrolling through his social media like a stalker, studying photos of him at tech conferences, hiking in the Cascades, reading in coffee shops that looked artfully curated for someone who wanted to appear intellectual without trying too hard. His Instagram was sparse but meaningful—sunset photos, book recommendations, pictures of innovative technology that suggested genuine passion for his work rather than superficial interests designed to impress potential dates.
By 3:30 AM, I'd crafted and deleted seventeen different responses to his message. Too eager. Too professional. Too flirty. Too formal. Nothing captured the way his words had made my chest flutter, the first genuine excitement I'd felt since reading my grandmother's trust documents.
My eighteenth attempt was simpler: Ethan - Your carbon capture work sounds fascinating. I'd love to discuss the regulatory challenges over coffee. When are you free? - Maya
I hit send before I could second-guess myself again, then immediately regretted the decision. Too brief? Too business-focused? Did I sound interested in him or just his work?
My phone rang before I could spiral deeper into post-send anxiety. Sarah Kim's name appeared on the screen, and I answered with relief. My best friend's psychology training made her the perfect antidote to my current state of romantic delusion.
"Please tell me you're not still awake researching investment strategies," Sarah said without preamble.
"Worse. I'm researching my potential future husband."
"Maya." Her voice carried the weight of professional concern mixed with personal loyalty. "It's been two days since your matchmaking consultation. When has anything in your life ever been this easy?"
I curled up in my desk chair, pulling my knees to my chest like armor against Sarah's uncomfortable questions. "Maybe some things are supposed to be easy. Maybe I've been making relationships too complicated."
"Or maybe someone is making this relationship artificially simple." Sarah's voice sharpened. "You're telling me this matchmaking service found you a perfect match in forty-eight hours? Someone who just happens to share your professional interests and personal values and looks like he stepped out of a magazine?"
"His name is Ethan Cross, and he's—"
"Too good to be true?"
I stared at Ethan's photo still glowing on my laptop screen, his smile somehow more compelling now that Sarah was questioning it. "He's exactly what I would have ordered from a catalog if perfect men came with specifications."
"Maya, that's exactly what's wrong with this picture." Papers rustled in the background as Sarah presumably pulled up her own laptop. "Give me five minutes to run a background check."
"Sarah—"
"Five minutes. If he's legitimate, you have nothing to worry about. If he's not..." She trailed off, but I heard the implication. If Ethan Cross was too perfect to be real, then Elite Connections was running a more sophisticated con than I'd imagined.
My email chimed again. Ethan's response had arrived in less than thirty minutes, which either indicated flattering eagerness or the kind of immediate availability that suggested he'd been waiting for my message.
Maya - I'm impressed by your efficiency. Most people take days to respond to introductory messages. I have meetings tomorrow morning, but I'm free for coffee around 2 PM. There's a wonderful place in Pike Place Market that serves excellent Ethiopian blends - Victoria mentioned you appreciate complex coffee. Would that work for you? - Ethan
My breath caught. Victoria had mentioned my coffee preferences to him? During our consultation, I'd assumed her knowledge of my favorite Ethiopian blend was coincidence or research. But she'd apparently shared that information with Ethan before we'd even been introduced, which suggested a level of coordination that made this feel less like matchmaking and more like orchestration.
"Maya?" Sarah's voice pulled me back to the phone call. "I'm looking at Ethan Cross's background, and everything appears legitimate. Stanford MBA, successful startup, recent move to Seattle. But..."
"But what?"
"The timing is convenient. He relocated to Seattle exactly three weeks ago, which coincidentally lines up with when you would have started panicking about your inheritance deadline."
My laptop screen blurred as exhaustion and anxiety combined to make my eyes water. "That could be coincidence."
"Could be. Or it could be someone very carefully positioning the right person in the right place at the right time." Sarah's voice gentled. "Maya, I love you, but you're not thinking clearly. You're so desperate to solve this inheritance problem that you're ignoring obvious red flags."
But I was thinking clearly. Clearly enough to see that Ethan Cross was offering exactly what I needed: intelligence, attraction, shared values, and apparent willingness to move quickly. Whether he was coincidence or conspiracy didn't matter if the end result was marriage within my deadline.
"I'm meeting him for coffee tomorrow," I said, typing my acceptance before I could change my mind.
"Maya—"
"I know what you're thinking, and you're probably right. But I don't have time for organic relationship development or six months of casual dating. I need someone willing to marry me in eighty-six days, and Ethan Cross just volunteered."
Sarah was quiet for a long moment. "If you're determined to do this, at least let me do a deeper background check. Full financial history, employment verification, personal references. If he's legitimate, you'll have peace of mind. If he's not..."
"Then I'll figure out why someone went to so much trouble to manufacture my perfect match."
I hung up before Sarah could voice any more concerns, then sent Ethan my confirmation: 2 PM at Pike Place Market sounds perfect. Looking forward to it.
His response arrived within minutes: Excellent. I have a feeling this is going to be the beginning of something special.
The confidence in his words made my pulse race and my lawyer's instincts scream simultaneously. No one was that certain about a first date unless they knew something I didn't.
I fell asleep with my laptop open, Ethan's photo glowing on the screen like a beacon in the darkness. His smile seemed to follow me into dreams filled with coffee shops and conversation that flowed like we'd known each other for years instead of hours.
When I woke at dawn, the laptop battery was dead and morning light was streaming through my windows. I padded toward the kitchen for coffee, but movement on my balcony caught my eye.
A single white rose lay against the glass door, perfect and impossible thirty floors above street level. The balcony had no external access except by helicopter or specialized climbing equipment. Building security was airtight—cameras, card readers, guards who knew every delivery person and service worker.
My hands shook as I slid open the door and picked up the rose. A note was attached, written in handwriting I didn't recognize: Looking forward to coffee. -E
I stared at the note until the letters blurred, my pulse hammering so hard I could hear it in the silence. Ethan Cross knew where I lived, had somehow accessed a secured balcony thirty floors above Seattle's streets, and had left me a gift that was either impossibly romantic or terrifyingly invasive.
The rose smelled like promises and threats in equal measure, its thorns sharp enough to draw blood if I held it too tightly.