Page 25 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"Some of us wouldn't have soulmates if a certain matchmaker hadn't pushed me to give the cute barista my number." She perches on my desk. "You know, back when you believed in taking chances."

"I still believe in taking chances." At her look, I amend, “Just better ones.”

"Right. Which is why you're wearing this sweater instead ofany of the gorgeous new clothes your billionaire boyfriend bought you."

"He's not my?—"

“Sure he isn’t. All I’m saying is that fifteen years ago, you saw two people who might work together and took a chance. No algorithms. No compatibility metrics. No faking. Just instinct."

"Ah, and we see how well my instinct turned out in my marriage,” I mutter. At that, Olivia opens her mouth to say something, but Derek chooses that moment to poke his head back in.

"Babe? The girls are teaching the lobby about Korean honorifics. I think Aunt Dani's taking notes."

"Coming!" Olivia slides off my desk, then pauses. "Just... think about it, okay? Not everyone needs to have their whole life plotted out in a spreadsheet."

"I'll have you know my spreadsheets are very sophisticated," I call after her, but she's already gone, leaving me with scattered client files and too many thoughts.

My phone buzzes. I take a second before I answer.

Speaking of spreadsheets...

I recognize the deep voice on the other end immediately.

"The photos are everywhere," Grayson says without preamble. His voice carries that particular strain of someone who's probably been up since 5 AM optimizing crisis management strategies.

"Good morning to you too." I resist the urge to touch my cardigan defensively. "I assume you've created an algorithm to calculate the statistical impact on our respective brands?"

"Three, actually. But that's not—" He breaks off, and I hear what sounds like his AI assistant in the background announcing new social media metrics. "We need to coordinate our story. Emily Hanning keeps calling my PR team."

My stomach tightens, thinking of the TechCast reporter's real interest in Jessica's match. "What does she want?"

"Details about our relationship. The press is digging, and if they find any holes in our story..." He doesn't finish, but I hear the unspoken concern. Douglas Franklin's investment depends on our convincing performance.

"Look," I say, "we should probably discuss this in person."

"My thoughts exactly. My place, seven o'clock?"

"Your place?"

"My AI can run interference if any reporters try to track us, and I have a detailed presentation prepared about potential media strategies?—"

"Of course you do."

"—including a comprehensive analysis of optimal relationship narrative structures based on successful celebrity couples?—"

"Grayson."

"Yes?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you might be slightly over-planning this?"

A pause. "I believe Connor mentioned something similar this morning. Right before he sent me a link to a WikiHow article on 'How to Fake a Relationship Without Looking Like a Robot.'"

Despite everything, I find myself smiling. "Your friends sound wise."

"They're menaces." But there's something in his voice—something almost human. "Seven o'clock?"

"Fine. But I'm not staying late. Some of us don't have AI assistants to run our lives."

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