Page 2 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

He steps out onto his private terrace, leaving Connor and me in sudden silence. Well, relative silence. Seattle's constant rain provides a steady backdrop of white noise against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"So how bad are the numbers really?" Connor asks.

"They're fine." This is the problem with having other tech billionaires as friends. At Connor’s look, I sigh. “Okay, so they’re not optimal. Downloads are good, but retention is lower than projected. People don't appreciate being told their romantic choices are statistically unsound."

"Shocking."

My own phone lights up. Douglas Franklin. My biggest investor and the man whose faith in SecureMatch helped convince half of Silicon Valley to back a dating app designed by someone whose own engagement imploded.

"Franklin?" Connor asks, noticing my expression.

I nod, then tap accept. "Douglas, how are?—"

"Tell me you're coming tonight." His voice has the particular strain of someone organizing a high-society event while trying to herd cats. Or in this case, probably his son Joel.

"Of course, I?—"

"Good. The press will be there. We need to show a united front, especially after this morning's... articles."

I catch Connor miming a whipping motion out of the corner of my eye and turn my back on him.

"Douglas, SecureMatch's numbers are actually?—"

"Numbers don't matter if the press thinks you can't practice what you preach, Grayson." There's shuffling in the background, followed by muffled shouting about flower arrangements. "Your app promises to make finding love logical, systematic, foolproof. But if Seattle's most eligible bachelor can't find a match while his ex-fiancée is planning her wedding..."

"I understand, but?—"

"Just... bring a date tonight. Someone impressive. Someone who makes Jessica's engagement look like old news." More background chaos. "The party starts at eight. Four Seasons Penthouse Ballroom. Don't be late. And Grayson?"

"Yes?"

"Make sure she's real this time. No more hiring actresses from your sister's theater company."

The call ends before I can remind him that was Connor's idea. And it was one time. At a Christmas party. Two years ago.

"Problem?" Connor asks.

"Nothing major. Just need to find a captivating, intelligent, successful woman willing to pose as my date to my investor's son's engagement party. In—" I check my watch, "—four hours."

"What about that model from the launch party?"

"Engaged."

"The VC from San Francisco?"

"Dating my cousin."

"The blockchain CEO?"

"Turned out to be running a Ponzi scheme."

"Damn." Connor smirks. "Your dating life is a statistical disaster."

"Says the guy whose ex dumped him for trying to optimize their relationship with a Google calendar."

Alex strides back in. "Proposal plan version 12.0?—"

"No," Connor and I say in unison.

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