Page 20 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

After hanging up, I stare at the contract on my desk. Section 47.3: "All press interactions must be coordinated and approved by both parties..."

I don’t finish before a wide-eyed, wild-haired Dani bursts in. “Okay, the clown finally left, but he's coming back tomorrow with his one-man show about—" She stops. "Are you okay? You look like you swallowed one of Mr. Giggle’s balloons.”

"I'm fine." I stand up. "Just... processing."

"Processing what?"

I look at my bank statement one more time.

"That I'm about to go shopping," I say finally. "Apparently, I need something 'on brand' for tonight."

6

LINKEDIN FOR LOVE

Seattle Museum of Innovation,WA

ROSALIND

"Your dress makes you look like a sexy Excel spreadsheet," Dani announces through my earpiece as I hurry up the museum's steps, dodging January raindrops that seem determined to ruin my newly corporate-approved hair. "I mean that as a compliment."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I tug at the hem of my new designer dress—a sleek, metallic number that costs a small fortune. The clothing allowance Grayson's lawyer insisted on burns a hole in my conscience, even as the dress hugs curves that didn’t develop until I was at least 38.

"I'm just saying, if Microsoft Word had a hot sister, she'd wear that dress."

"You're supposed to be helping." I pause under the museum's modernist overhang, checking my reflection in the rain-streaked glass. The woman staring back looks like she could run a Fortune 500 company or maybe steal classified documents. Neither seems like me. "Why aren't you here again?"

"Because someone has to handle the pickle crisis."

"The what now?"

"Duncan—the artisanal pickle maker I'm maybe dating?—just showed up at the office with three gallons of his latest experimental batch. But then Angus?—"

“Who’s Angus?”

"The bagpipe player I also might be dating. Well, he also showed up. With his pipes. They're having some kind of fermentation-versus-Celtic-heritage standoff in the lobby."

I close my eyes, counting to ten. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope. Duncan's trying to prove his kimchi-habanero blend pairs perfectly with traditional Scottish music, but Angus keeps drowning him out with 'Scotland the Brave.'" A cacophony of bagpipes and what sounds like jars clinking carries through the line. "On the bright side, the bread maker I also met from SecureMatch William says the acoustics are doing wonders for his sourdough fermentation."

"Dani—"

"Don't worry! I've got this covered. You focus on convincing Seattle's tech elite that you and Mr. Algorithms-Are-Sexy are madly in love."

"We're not supposed to be madly in love," I remind her, though my body still remembers that kiss from last night. "We're supposed to be professionally, mutually beneficial-ly dating."

"Is that even a word?"

"You know what I mean." I spot Grayson's Aston Martin—as promised—pulling up to the valet. "He's here. I have to go."

"Wait! One last thing—Emily Hanning from TechCast just called again. She really wants that interview about Jessica's match..."

I end the call before she can finish. That's tomorrow's problem. Tonight's goal: convince Douglas Franklin our relationshipis real enough to keep funding SecureMatch, which will somehow save both our businesses. Simple.

I straighten my spine as Grayson approaches, looking exceptionally tall and unfairly broad in a tailored suit. His hair is slightly damp from the rain, and something about the way it curls at his temples makes my fingers itch to?—

No. Focus.

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