Page 10 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

Her eyes are giving me that looks that usually ends with me diving face-first into a plate of tiramisu.

“Disappearing so soon? she asks. "I thought you two might stick around. Chat.”

"Yes," Beatrice adds, recovering her society manners. “I’m awfully curious. How did you two meet?”

"We met at—" I start.

"The gym," he finishes.

"Coffee shop," I blurt at the same time.

Whiskey-brown eyes flash to mine. "The gym's coffee shop."

"Right. Where else would you meet someone at..." I realize I don't know his name.

"Six AM," he supplies. "She was ordering a triple espresso. I was impressed by her caffeine tolerance."

"How... modern.” Her eyes fix on the bracelet at my wrist – her bracelet.

Through my earpiece, Olivia mutters, "Incoming. Samantha just spotted you."

"We really should deal with this shirt," my mystery man says, his thumb tracing a small circle against my hip that's definitely not helping my ability to think straight. "Before it sets."

"Club soda," Dani pipes up. "I'll go find some. Don't move. Either of you."

She disappears into the crowd with the speed of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. Traitor.

"Roz?" Samantha's voice carries across the marble floor. "Is that you?"

My fake boyfriend (temporary savior? fashion victim?) tenses slightly against me.

"I didn't know you were coming!" She air-kisses somewhere near my cheek, her new engagement ring catching the light like a disco ball of betrayal. "Though of course you're always welcome. We're family."

"Are we?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

My mystery man's hand tightens slightly on my waist. "Darling, the shirt?"

"Right! The shirt. We should definitely..."

"But you just got here," Samantha protests with wide-eyed innocence that hasn't fooled me since we were twelve and she blamed me for breaking Aunt Maria's vintage Murano glass vase. "And you haven't even met?—"

"Grayson!" Douglas Franklin's booming voice cuts through the tension like a well-timed lightning bolt. "There you are, my boy. I see you've brought?—“

"My girlfriend," Mystery Man – apparently Grayson – says, not missing a beat.

Wait.

Grayson.

As in Grayson Dixon?

As in the CEO of SecureMatch?

As in the guy whose dating app is literally putting me out of business?

"Your girlfriend?" Douglas Franklin looks like all his venture capital Christmases have come at once. "The one you've been keeping quiet about? Well, this explains everything!"

"It does?" Grayson and I ask simultaneously.

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