Page 11 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"Of course! The media's been having a field day about your ex's engagement, but here you are, proving them all wrong. And with such a lovely..." He trails off when he looks at me closer.

“Hi, Mr. Franklin,” I greet my ex father-in-law, because apparently this is my life now. “Nice to see you again.”

“Roz? Rosalind Carpenter?” Douglas Franklin's expression freezes before landing on something between shock and alarm. "Joel's Roz?"

Grayson's thumb stops its maddening circles on my hip. I feel him go completely still against me.

“I know! I was thrown, too!” Samantha bubbles. "I didn't even recognize her at first in that dress!” She turns to me. “Remember when you used to keep one just like it in youroffice for emergency client meetings?" She turns to the group at large. "Roz gave me my first job after my divorce. She's literally the best at fixing people's love lives. Well, other people's love lives." She giggles, then stage-whispers to Grayson, "Though obviously she's figured out her own now!"

Douglas Franklin looks like he swallowed a toad. "You and... Grayson? But how...?"

"The gym's coffee shop," Grayson replies. "Six AM."

“Your girlfriend,” Douglas repeats slowly. "The CEO of SecureMatch and the owner of Heart & Soul matchmaking firm. Dating. In secret."

Beatrice sniffs. "Well, I suppose that explains why you weren't invited tonight, dear. Though showing up anyway is very...you."

"Actually," Grayson's voice has taken on an interesting edge, "I invited her as my plus one. We were trying to be discreet, but..." He glances down at his ruined shirt. "Clearly that's not working out."

Through my earpiece, Olivia mutters, "Joel incoming. Nine o'clock. With photographers."

"Samantha!" Joel's voice carries across the marble floor. "The Times wants a few more... Roz?"

He stops short, his perfectly tailored suit making him look like every tech executive's headshot come to life. The photographers trailing him immediately start raising their cameras, probably sensing the kind of drama that makes careers.

"Joel." I manage a smile that only feels slightly manic. "Congratulations."

"I didn't know you were..." His eyes catch on Grayson's arm around my waist, then track to his father's face, then back to the wine stain. "What's going on?"

"Darling," Grayson says, and the warmth in his voice almost convinces even me, "would you like to get some air? I believe I spotted a balcony that offers an excellent view of the city."

"The same balcony where you proposed to Roz?” Samantha asks Joel brightly, then immediately covers her mouth. "Oops! Sorry. Was that…weird?”

I'm saved from responding by Douglas Franklin clearing his throat. "Grayson, before you disappear to... handle that shirt situation, we should discuss the latest SecureMatch numbers. The board is particularly interested in the user retention statistics after this morning's... press."

"Numbers?" Samantha perks up. "Oh my God, you have to tell Roz about your algorithm! It's amazing – it basically makes traditional matchmaking obsolete. No offense, cousin."

Joel at least has the decency to wince.

"The statistics can wait," Grayson says. His fingers press slightly harder into my hip. "Right now, I'd like to?—"

"But the investors are very interested in your response to this morning's TechCast article," Douglas persists. "Especially given your ex-fiancée's engagement announcement..."

My head snaps up. Ex-fiancée? Oh, this is just getting better.

"Speaking of engagements," Beatrice interjects, eyeing my bracelet again, "I believe that's a family heirloom you're wearing, dear."

The photographers inch closer, probably sensing blood in the water.

"You know what would make a great photo?" Samantha suggests, wobbling slightly on her designer heels. Three glasses of champagne in and she's still going strong. "All of us together! The happy couple, and the... other happy couple!"

Through my earpiece, Olivia hisses, "Abort mission. Abort mission NOW."

"Actually," Grayson says, his voice dropping to a deep rumble, "I believe I promised my girlfriend a dance. It was great to see you all. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

"Dance?" I squeak, as Mr. Incognito maneuvers us toward the far side of the ballroom. "There's no music playing."

“Nevermind that,” he murmurs, sidestepping a waiter carrying a hobbling tray of wine glasses. "Just keep moving."

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