Page 1 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

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THREE BILLIONAIRES AND A MAYBE

Downtown Seattle,WA

GRAYSON

The thing about algorithms is they can predict almost anything---market trends, weather patterns, consumer behavior. What they can't predict? The exact moment your ex-fiancée announces her engagement to her startup co-founder during your dating app's launch week.

At forty-five, I thought I was past caring about such announcements.

Apparently not.

"Statistically speaking—" I begin.

"I swear to God, Gray, if you say 'statistically speaking' one more time, I'm uninviting you from my engagement party," my best friend Alex interrupts, pacing holes into his office's Italian marble floor.

The Seattle skyline behind him is a wash of grays and whites, the early January afternoon already fading into the perpetual twilight of Pacific Northwest winter.

"You haven't even proposed yet," my other best friendConnor points out from the couch, not looking up from his phone. "Can't un-invite him from a party that doesn't exist."

“Can’t I, though?” Alex runs his hands through his dark hair for approximately the fortieth time in the past hour. I know because I've been counting. It's what I do—collect data points, analyze patterns, predict outcomes. Right now, all data points to my best friend having a nervous breakdown before he can propose to his girlfriend Mac.

My phone buzzes. Another TechCast notification.

"Stop checking it," Connor and Alex say in unison.

"I'm not?—"

"'SecureMatch CEO Can't Match Himself: Dixon's Ex-Fiancée Announces Engagement While His Dating App Struggles,'" Connor reads. "Ouch."

"They used a decent photo of you," Alex offers. "Unlike that one from the tech conference where you look like you're choking on kombucha."

I pull up the article, ignoring them. The chosen photo juxtaposes me in a Tom Ford suit with Jessica beaming at her fiancé—her startup co-founder. The article helpfully mentions that they met while we were still engaged.

"You know what your problem is?" Connor sits up, clawing fingers through his own dirty-blond mane.

"Please, enlighten me." I minimize the browser window showing SecureMatch's latest user statistics. They're not terrible, but they're not great either. Especially not for an app promising to revolutionize modern dating through advanced AI algorithms.

"You're too... robotic."

“Or statistically focused?" Alex adds.

"How about ‘done with this conversation’?" I counter, standing to stretch. "Aren't we here to help you propose?"

Alex's face pales. "Right. The proposal. Tonight. To Mac. Who I love. Who might say no."

"She's not going to say no," Connor and I chorus.

"But what if?—"

"The woman reorganized your company for you," Connor points out.

"And moved in with you," I add.

"And hasn't murdered you for your habit of leaving wet towels on the bed.”

Alex's phone rings. "It's the Board. Two minutes."

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