Page 81 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"Mac wouldn't want diamonds," I say automatically, then catch myself.

"But you've thought about it." Connor's voice gentles. "About jewelry. About permanence. Even while you're freaking out about blog posts and information security."

"I—"

My phone buzzes. A news alert that makes my blood run cold:

"TECH TRUTH: Corporate Trust is a Myth - Why Every CEO is Just Another Wolf in Versace"

The post is brutal. Scathing. A complete departure fromMac's recent balanced critiques. This is an attack on tech leadership that feels personal, desperate.

Like someone trying very hard to prove they're not an insider. Less than twenty-four hours after our conversation about information security.

"Alex?" Grayson's voice seems far away. "You okay?"

"Fine." I shove my phone away, but the words keep echoing.

Every CEO just another wolf. Even ones who trust you. Even ones who love you.

"Okay, that's it." Connor steers me toward the mall's high-end bar. "We're doing this the old-fashioned way. With scotch."

"It's two PM."

"It's five o'clock in our stock options."

The nearby St. Cardigan bar is quiet, all dark wood and discrete service. Perfect for three tech billionaires having a crisis over Christmas shopping and corporate trust issues.

"Talk," Connor orders once we're settled with drinks that have more zeroes than they should. "What happened last night? And don't say nothing – you've been off since Mac left this morning."

I stare into my scotch, remembering how she'd tensed when I mentioned the blog's detailed numbers. How her kiss goodbye had tasted like guilt.

"Have you ever..." I start, then stop. "What if someone you trust completely is hiding something?"

"Ah." Grayson sits back. "The famous Drake trust issues emerge."

"I don't have?—"

"Please." Connor snorts. "You've had trust issues since Jessica Martin. Then your parents' divorce, then Drake Technologies' collapse. Now Mac's blog has you speed-dialing your emotional walls."

"This isn't about Jessica or my parents." I take a larger sip than strictly necessary. "This is about... information security."

"Right." Connor's voice drips skepticism. "Because nothing says 'Christmas spirit' like corporate espionage concerns twelve hours after having your girlfriend over for dinner."

"The blog posts?—"

"Are changing the industry," Grayson cuts in. "Making it better. Like someone else I know used to talk about, back before he built walls thicker than his bank account."

I think about Mac's latest post. About the anger beneath the words, the desperate edge to her criticism. About how it went live just hours after our conversation about trust.

"What if change comes at too high a cost?"

"What if fear of being hurt makes you miss something amazing?" Connor counters. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've got bigger trust issues than my last software update."

My phone buzzes again – Emma, with PR's analysis of Mac's post. Words like "concerning" and "aggressive shift in tone" jump out.

"Buy her the emerald ring," Connor says quietly.

I look up sharply. "What?"

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