Page 23 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"Oh no." I pull out my phone to find six missed texts from Dani:

Angus found out about the event at the museum, probably following the pickle fumes

Says must warn you about potential chemical reaction

Duncan also following with neutralizing agents

Currently in loading dock

Security involved

HELP

"Everything okay?" Grayson's question is interrupted by a crash from the direction of the service entrance, followed by what sounds suspiciously like someone yelling about kimchi.

"We should probably—" I start.

"Move to the balcony?" He’s already steering me toward the nearest exit. "Absolutely."

We make it outside just as chaos erupts behind us. Through the glass doors, I catch glimpses of security chasing what appears to be a man in full Highland dress, while someone else waves jars of fermented vegetables and shouts about pH levels.

"Friends of yours?" Grayson asks as we watch Duncan attempt to explain the scientific properties of lacto-fermentation to a very confused museum guard.

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

"Statistically speaking?—"

"Don't you dare."

His laugh—his actual laugh, not that deep CEO, contained chuckle—catches us both by surprise. For a moment, we're just two people hiding from chaos on a rainy balcony, and the warmth in his eyes has nothing to do with business strategies.

Then Emily Hanning's voice carries through the doors: "Rosalind! Just a quick question about the feature…”

Grayson's expression shutters. “Feature?”

Before I can explain, Angus strikes up another tune, this one apparently aimed at driving out evil pickle spirits.

“It’s p-probably best that we-“ I stutter out.

"Handle damage control?” His face shows no expression. “Absolutely."

As we head back inside to face the music (literally), I can't help wondering which will be harder to explain: the bagpipe-pickle incident or the fact that I might have accidentally matched his ex-fiancée with her current fiancé.

Either way, I have a feeling neither situation is covered in our contract's carefully quantified PDA guidelines.

"Just so you know," I tell him as we approach the security team now attempting to confiscate both musical instruments and fermented goods, "this is still less complicated than trying to calculate love with algorithms."

His only response is to squeeze my hand—exactly 2.3 seconds longer than specified in section twelve, paragraph four of our agreement.

I'm definitely not counting.

Much.

7

THE ALGORITHM OF ATTRACTION

Heart& Soul Connections, Seattle, WA

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