My Viral Valentine: Holiday Hat Trick, #1

By Melanie Ting

Abby's big break-up just went viral.

 

When Abby Boyko agrees to go on a morning TV show as part of a Valentine's Day special, she's in for a big surprise. 

Instead of promoting their new phone app, her business partner—and boyfriend—breaks up with her on live TV. Then the video goes viral. Now Abby's lost her relationship, her fledgling business, and her self-esteem.

 

Determined to develop a competing app, she arranges a meeting with tech genius, Mason Harrington. Mason is awkward with women, but his first meeting with Abby sets a Guinness World Record when he accidentally makes her cry, insults her business idea, and harasses her.

 

What Mason lacks in suaveness, he makes up for in determination. Can he be the knight in wrinkled Dockers who helps Abby heal her broken heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Ting
• Release date: Feb 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781999192600

Book preview

Introduction

Abby’s big break-up just went viral.

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When Abby Boyko agreed to go on a morning TV show as part of a Valentine’s Day special, she didn’t know that humiliation would be on the menu. 

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Instead of promoting their new phone app, her business partner—and boyfriend—breaks up with her on live TV. Then, the video goes viral. Now Abby’s lost her relationship, her fledgling business, and her self-esteem.

---

Determined to develop a competing app, she arranges a meeting with tech genius, Mason Harrington. Mason is awkward with women, but his first meeting with Abby sets a Guinness World Record when he accidentally makes her cry, insults her business idea, and harasses her.

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What Mason lacks in suaveness, he makes up for in determination. Can he be the knight in wrinkled Dockers who helps Abby heal her broken heart?

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1

Going Viral

Abby Boyko

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This television appearance is going to be huge for our new app.

I nudged Rem aside so I could pin a pink silk peony to my red sheath dress. Both of us were primping in front of the brightly lit mirror of the green room. He ran a comb through the smooth ridge of his gelled black hair.

Thank you for reminding me for the hundredth time. Rem’s lip curled as he looked at my flower. Maybe it was a bit flamboyant but looking memorable was a marketing tool.

Someone’s not a morning person, I muttered. This wasn’t breaking news. Rem was at his best in the evenings, which was when we normally worked. Getting up at 6:30 must have been agony for him.

I felt calm and alert. No need to be nervous. After all, this was only a guest spot on the morning show of a local television station. It wasn’t like we were going on Ellen or the Today Show. Maybe someday though, if our business blew up. I allowed myself a moment to fantasize about becoming a successful tech entrepreneur. Mmmm, if I were rich, what would I do? The only things that came to mind were paying off my debts and having a walk-in closet. My fantasies were not about money, but about succeeding at something.

Okay, back to the present.

Rem dabbed sweat off his temples. He hated publicity events. You can be the face of this thing, he always said as he pushed me out to the meetings with investors, marketers, and clients. I didn’t mind. I loved people, and I loved selling. Hey, my first job was selling shoes, and closing a tech deal was nothing compared to getting a pensioner to pay full price for a pair of orthopaedic pumps.

Besides, our new app had everything: sex appeal, easy functionality, and great design. Hype was all Scrubs needed to sell, and this interview would be the first step.

Penny, the show’s assistant producer, poked her head around the door. You’re on in two minutes.

Rem took one last look in the mirror. I watched his Adam’s apple ripple as he took a big swallow. Poor baby. I slipped my hand into his warm one and squeezed hard.

You look gorgeous. We’re definitely going to win over the female audience. I kissed his cheek. With my red patent stilettos, I was nearly as tall as Rem. His unsmiling face was fiercely handsome. 

Sure, business lesson number one was not dating people you work with, but after all our evenings together, we had given in to our insane attraction. It certainly simplified our love lives since we were spending all our free time together anyway. Rem had a full-time job at his family’s construction firm, and I had an even more complicated work schedule. So for once, mixing business and pleasure worked.

I smoothed out my red sheath dress—a score from the St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop when some eighties working woman cleaned out her closet. I was a walking, talking Valentine—perfect for our segment.

At the commercial break, Penny hustled us out to the guest couch and miked us up. I exchanged smiles with the two hosts of Wake Up Ottawa, and the cameras started rolling.

Well, Brian, with Valentine’s Day coming up tomorrow, love is in the air. But for those who’ve recently broken up, Valentine’s is a grim reminder of what they’re missing, said Sarah Leblanc, a flawless blonde in a silver pantsuit.

But we’ve got good news for the broken-hearted, replied Brian Evans. He was blandly handsome with an unmoving helmet of hair. We have the creators of Scrubs, a brand-new app created right here in Ottawa: Rem Gill and Abigail Boyko. Welcome to the show.

Thank you, Brian. It’s great to be here, I replied.

So, tell us about this new app, Sarah asked.

I trotted out my sales pitch. Sure. Scrubs is an easy way to clean up your digital past by removing photos and posts. It can be used by anyone: newly-elected politicians, junior hockey players, and... the broken-hearted. If you break up with someone and you no longer want to be reminded of that relationship, Scrubs cleans out your feed.

Brian shook his head and chuckled. Sounds to me like those crazy women who cut out the faces of their exes from the family photo album.

I smiled and contained my mental eye roll. In my personal experience, it was men who do more insane things after a breakup: drunk dialling, sending unwelcome flowers or gifts, or going full-stalker. Our app is a lot easier than getting out the cuticle scissors.

Sarah was more interested. A woman that beautiful probably had a few disgruntled exes. But isn’t this something you can do easily by yourself—just by going through your feed? She addressed the question to Rem, but he flushed and looked down.

Sure, I replied. But that’s a lot of work at a painful time in your life. Also, deleting photos with one stroke makes people feel less bitter or petty. It’s easier than having to relive every happy moment of your trip to Cabo.

I understand you’ve tested this with a few celebrities, Brian said.

Yes, Chantal Lefevre-Montgomery gave it a trial run for us. I name-dropped a local socialite whose last boyfriend turned out to have criminal ties. At the risk of sounding ghoulish, we do reach out to people who have had very public breakups to see if they want to try Scrubs.

Sarah laughed. So, Rem, I understand that the two of you are more than just business partners?

I blinked. We weren’t hiding our relationship, but it wasn’t a subject that came up in the pre-interview I did with Penny. They must have done some background research.

Rem seemed taken aback by the question as well. He merely nodded, which didn’t make for great TV.

Working long hours means we spend a lot of time together. I managed a big smile to hide my discomfort. Being part of a couple diminished my already meagre business credentials.

Was it my imagination or was Sarah’s smile a little triumphant? Maybe she liked to stir up controversy to generate better live TV. Well, good luck, lady. There were no other skeletons in our closet.

Would you to see a demonstration? I asked.

Sure, Sarah replied. Brian’s blank smile indicated that he had zoned out long ago. Perhaps he was too old to have social media accounts or breakups.

I pulled out the dummy phone that I’d preprogrammed with a fake Instagram account. Penny had explained how to hook up the phone to a projected screen, but as I leaned forward, Rem interrupted.

I'll do it. He pulled up his own personal Instagram account, which had rather too many photos of his brother’s stag to be breakfast viewing.

Rem, I squeaked. I’ve already done up a dummy account.

"I said, I’ve got this, Abby."

Rem leaned towards Sarah. All I do is program my ex’s name into the Scrubs app. He then typed in Abby&Tabby—my private Insta account. And hit the scrub button. There was a swirl on the screen, as the photos on his account rearranged themselves. Now all our photos were gone. The two of us skating on the Rideau Canal, dancing at a wedding, and kissing at a New Year’s party, poof, they disappeared into the ether.

My eyes went wide. Was this some kind of joke? A dramatic prank?

But the way that Rem avoided meeting my gaze made me think that something else was going on. And now we were so off script that I could only emit a nervous ha-ha-ha.

So, you can reverse that, right? asked Sarah.

Rem scowled. Actually, not yet. That’s a feature I’m still working on.

I turned to Rem and in a faltering voice asked, But what about all our photos?

He gave me his shoulder and faced Sarah. Scrubs is for people who are at a certain stage in their relationships. They want it to be over and have no reminders. Frankly, I’m tired of Abby taking credit for this app when I’ve done all the work. He finally acknowledged me, his dark eyes and broad features creased with anger. We’re done—professionally and personally.

Both Sarah and I stared at Rem with open mouths. My uncertainty turned into a sharp stab of chest pain. My boyfriend had just dumped me on live television—with zero warning.

Tuned-out Brian took the silence to be his cue.

Well, thank you both for coming in and showing us the app. Coming up after the break, we'll taste the best artisan chocolates the capital has to offer. No Valentine’s Day is complete without chocolates right, Sarah?

2

Cold as Ice

Mason Harrington

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What I loved about playing hockey was the sameness. Every rink worldwide has moist, cold air, the whir of the Zamboni, the red face-off circles. I felt the same exhilaration as my skates floated onto the ice or accelerated after the puck. And the talk was always the same: shouted guidance, calls for action, or elated celebration. I never had to worry about saying the wrong thing because the options were so few.

Sometimes the language changed, but the basics remained the same. Teams even had the same characters: the intense guy, the organizing guy, the superstar, the joker, and the horny guy.

Tonight’s beer league game was surprisingly close, still tied with only ten minutes left. I wiped the sweat from my face with a stinky hand towel and tried hard not to think about viruses that remain viable in moist environments.

Didn’t we demolish these guys last time? I asked my best friend and linemate, Ian Reid.

Yeah. They’ve got a new goalie tonight though. Ian noticed every detail of our games. He could recite exact plays months afterwards. He was a hockey savant, which was only one reason why he’d been such a good hockey player. He had even been drafted by Vancouver. Sure, he was a late round and he’d never made the NHL, but still. Most guys never got closer to the NHL than attending a Sens game. Naturally, he was the team superstar.

Our centreman, Lucas Yan, leaned forward. On this team, he was both the organizing guy and the competitive guy. I’m gonna double-shift our line. We need this win to stay on top of the league standings.

I shook my head. That wasn’t right. Everyone should play equally. It’s beer league. Who cares?

We want to win every game. Where’s your competitive spirit? Lucas demanded and spoke louder. Does anyone mind if Harry and Reeder play a little more?

No one said a word. Hockey players put the team first. But nobody liked feeling that they weren’t good enough.

Then Ian piped up. How ’bout next shift we sub in Zack for you, Commish? Zack was a younger guy with a ton of speed.

Lucas flushed, then nodded. If that’s what you want. But it messes up my lines.

Boo fucking hoo, Ian replied, and Lucas pretended not to hear.

Next change, Ian, Zack, and I jumped over the boards. As we skated out, Ian took charge. Mase, win the face-off and send it back to me. Zack, go straight to the net and mix it up there.

The play spooled out as Ian had directed. With Zack in front of the net, battling a big defenceman, Ian’s fancy puck-handling drew two players to him. I was wide open, and I kept my stick was on the ice. That was all I had to do when I played with Ian. When the puck arrived magically on my stick, I was ready to one-time it into the net.

Ian and Zack skated over to congratulate me. We skated back to the bench, and Ian called out, Okay, boys, let’s shut ’em down now. No need to double-shift our line anymore. Really, Ian Reid—who rarely told anyone what to do—would make a much better coach than the micromanaging Lucas.

The mood in the dressing room after the game was a jovial one. Guys always felt better after a win. And this was our bonding time: sitting around, drinking beer, and shooting the breeze.

I got in so much shit for forgetting Valentine’s last year, so this year I covered my ass. Devin, one of our defenceman, bragged about the flowers, jewellery, and restaurant reservations he had made for tomorrow.

I shook my head. I’m lucky I don’t have to worry about crap like that. But I didn’t feel lucky; I felt like a freak. I wasn’t even going to calculate how long it had been since I’d had a girlfriend.

Beside me, Ian snorted. Wouldn’t catch me spending five bills for pussy. These fuckin' yuppies.

When I moved back to Ottawa, Ian suggested we join a beer league together. Ian found the Raiders—a team that agreed to let us play on a line together. And when Lucas saw how good we were—well, how good Ian was—he’d started planning the championship parade route. But Ian privately complained that he was the only working guy on a team of urban professionals. Although Ian used more colourful descriptors. 

Easy for you to say, you’re a chick magnet, I replied. Ian never had trouble finding girlfriends. He had confidence and an edginess that women were drawn to. Whereas my nervous tics and awkward conversation skills sent them fleeing for the nearest exit.

Hey, it could be worse, said Pete, who was sitting on my other side. Did you see that ‘V-day Dump’ video?

I shook my head, and Pete shoved his phone in my face. As the clip played, a promo for some dumb app turned into a big South Asian guy breaking up with his girlfriend in real time. As the camera zoomed in on her face, her expression moved from bewilderment to shock.

Jesus, why did he do that? I wondered.

Pete muttered something about how hot she was, but as we watched the video again, all I could see was the brief, truthful moment of pain. Her dark eyes looked out at me, liquid and full of unshed tears.

I felt a rush of empathy. I wanted to gallop in like a white knight and scoop her up. But I couldn’t even ride a horse.

Ian turned away. Karma’s gonna bite his ass. That jerk isn’t going to get another date once chicks see the shit he pulls. Ottawa’s tight that way.

She lives here? I asked. She was utterly out of my league, of course. It didn’t matter if she lived in Ottawa or Osaka.

Pete nodded. "Yeah, it’s from Wake Up Ottawa. This morning’s show."

Yo, stop showing that video, called Lucas from across the room. That’s my girlfriend’s best friend.

Ian snorted. Relax, Commish. There’s over a million views. Everyone in Ottawa has already seen it.

You know her? She’s pretty smoking hot, said Pete. Not surprisingly, he was the horny guy on this team. Why would he do that? Is she a bitch or something?

Lucas shook his head. She’s really nice. I don’t understand it.

Maybe it’s a publicity stunt, Ian suggested. To promote their stupid app.

No way. It’s real, Lucas replied. Abby’s been at our place crying her head off.

All my life, I’d been sensitive—overly sensitive many said. This Abby woman had kept it together on camera, but I could tell how much she was hurting. There had been a flash of resignation on her face, as if she was unsurprised that her life would turn to crap.

I wonder what the Commish’s girlfriend is like? Ian asked as he drove along the Queensway on our way home. Probably some ice queen.

She never comes to games, I remarked. I hadn’t noticed any girlfriends at our games, which were both at weird times and way out in Kanata.

Ian sniffed. Then he can tell her after how great he played.

Once you were in Ian’s bad books, that was it. Of course, Lucas wasn’t helping his case by telling the more skillful Ian how to play.

Didn’t you feel sorry for that woman in the video? I asked.

For a moment, I worried that Ian was going to slough off her pain, but he nodded. This was one of many reasons why we were such good friends. We were both sensitive. Ian put on a shield of toughness, so nobody knew how he really felt. Whereas I was too transparent and got teased when I was younger. But in private, we got each other. Ian was someone I could tell all my crap to.

Ian shook his head. Screw assholes like that. Be a fucking man and break up with her for real. And not in a G.D. text either. I don’t get why one million people want to watch that shit either.

"It’s schadenfreude," I replied.

Gotta spell that one out for me, Mr. University Grad-U-Ate.

It’s the feeling that no matter how shitty your life is, at least nobody has broken up with you in a viral video. That’s why people like seeing celebrities mess up.

Once again, I saw Abby—her self-possession shattering like the thin ice when you stepped on a frozen puddle. Underneath she was a real person, who felt things as deeply as I did. I felt a kinship with someone who expected the worst and was unsurprised by it. That was how I’d lived my whole life.

Ian looked over at me. Hey, don’t go getting all upset about someone you don’t even know.

It’s not just her. I don’t want to go back to Toronto, I confessed.

I’d moved to Ottawa for a special project. My company was installing the first automated facial recognition kiosks at the airport here. I’d jumped at the chance to live in my hometown again. But in three to four months, I’d be finished.

Being back in Ottawa felt like home. Not only did I have old friends like Ian, but the lifestyle here was much less stressful: easier commutes, shorter working hours, and relaxed colleagues.

Why don’t you get a job here then? Ian asked.

It’s not that easy. I’m specialized. And I don’t want to do work that’s not challenging. I had a combined degree in electrical engineering and computer science, and my current work was in artificial intelligence.

Lucky I’m not a brainiac like you, bud.

Ian worked as a carpenter. It must be satisfying to see what you’d accomplished at the end of every day. My undergrad work in robotics was as close

Reviews for My Viral Valentine

[kipryda · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Enjoyable read. Believable characters. Backstory could be more developed or maybe revealed in a more subtle way, but the story moved along and got me interested in other books in the series.