Page 15 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

At forty-five, I thought I was past the kind of kisses that make your knees weak. Shows what algorithms know about love at any age.

The rain is still falling, the party is still swirling behind us, but for one moment, I forget about investors and apps and engagement rings.

Then Joel clears his throat from the doorway. "I'll... ah... never mind.”

His footsteps retreat. The kiss should end. That would be the logical thing.

Instead, it softens, shifts, becomes something that definitely isn't in any business strategy I've ever created.

When we finally part, we're both half-panting, chests rising and falling hard.

My date-of-the-moment’s skin is flushed—slightly pink. A drop of rain slides down her cheek, and I have to fight the urge to catch it with my thumb.

"I'll have my lawyer draw up the paperwork," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "We can meet tomorrow to discuss terms."

She nods, taking a step back. "Terms. Right. Very... professional."

"Completely professional."

We stare at each other for another moment before my phone buzzes again. Alex's crisis. Right.

"Tomorrow, then," I say.

"Tomorrow." She smooths down her dress, though it does nothing to hide how the rain has made it cling to every curve. "Good luck with the ring hunt."

I turn to go, then pause. “Do you?—“

“Have a ride? I do. My newest employee—who I’ll throttle later—is waiting for me.”

"Of course. Just checking. Have a good night…Roz.”

“You, too.”

I turn, already texting my car.

I leave her on the balcony there, alone—my brain already planning tomorrow's contract negotiations and definitely not thinking about the woman I tricked into fake-dating me tastes like wine.

And rain. And too many damn complications to count.

5

THE DEVIL WEARS PATAGONIA

ROSALIND

There are certain universal truths about Seattle in January…

It will rain. Coffee will be necessary for survival. And when you kiss a tech billionaire to avoid awkward questions, he will show up at your office the next morning wearing a jacket that probably costs more than your car.

"He's here," Olivia announces, bursting into my office at precisely 9:07 AM. Her dark hair is still damp from the morning drizzle, and she's clutching her coffee like it contains the secrets of the universe. "And he brought reinforcements."

I look up from the bank statement I've been staring at for the past hour, hoping the numbers might magically rearrange themselves into something less terrifying. "Who's here?"

"Your future fake boyfriend. The one whose shirt you ruined right in front of your ex-husband’s family.”

Oh. That’s right. That actually happened.

Last night feels like a fever dream – the kind induced by too much of Nonna Flora's grappa and poor life choices. But the headlines this morning confirm it was very real:"TECH'SMOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR OFF THE MARKET? SecureMatch CEO Spotted with Mystery Woman at Franklin Engagement Party."

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