“No.” Roberto sighs, folding his hands together. “I think he knows he can’t have you. He just doesn’t want to lose you to someone else. Me, in particular.”

The spinning world slows down and a cold blue sort of feeling mixes in with the red heat of anger.

A sort of sickness. That I could be seen as such an object. A prize to be won. Or for a sore loser to break in half.

A sort of sadness. That Braden could really feel that way about another person. Do that to me. To Robbie.

“There’s more...” Robbie says. “He told me if I don’t leave, he would never sell. And he gave me this card.”

He holds out a business card. I take it.

“What.?”

“It’s for an immigration lawyer.” He rubs the back of his neck. “He knows about my mom. Heard me talking to her on the phone at Berkeley. The implication is—if I want to help with my mom’s legal fees, this is the only way.”

The words hit me like a truck. “He’s trying to hold your mom’s case over your head?”

Robbie nods.

My heart beats against my chest, panic rising. Going after someone’s family, their ability to reunite, and using that to leverage ownership in a start-up. That is not just college douche bag behavior. That is like real evil. “Well fuck that,” I say.

Robbie cracks half a smile at my swearing, but his eyes remain sad.

“If you are being pushed out then I am going too,” I say. “Then his no-contact clause only applies to him.”

“But he won’t buy you out,” Robbie says. “And if you leave for nothing, what kind of justice is that? He gets to win because he’s a bully?” He pushes a hand through his hair. “What we really need is a way to kick him out. But I don’t see how we can. He seems content to keep doing this forever.”

It sounds terrible. Forever. Meeting with Braden almost daily, refreshing my in-box to make sure he hasn’t emailed me, fighting with him round after round about what to do about the company.

A company that appeals to the Braden in people. We can pitch Perfect10 however we want, but the truth is, we don’t sell people a way to find love; we sell them vanity. Real love—it’s not about being the hottest, or smartest or coolest or whatever. It’s not a goddamn competition, and people aren’t a prize to be won. Real love is about two people fitting. Like how Robbie and I do. I’d rather help people find that.

Of course, Braden would never transition to the sort of app Robbie and I have been toying with. Even if Professor Thomas thought a different approach could be viable.