Page 3 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"You haven't even heard it?—"

"If it involves flash mobs or skywriting, no," I cut him off. "Stick to dinner at La Famiglia, private room, Mackenzie’s family there?—"

"Her family can't keep a secret," Alex groans.

"Which is why you’re doing it tonight," Connor reminds him.

My phone pings again:‘EXCLUSIVE: Inside Jessica Gordon's Whirlwind Romance—Grayson Never Understood Passion Over Profit’.

Another ping. This time it's my AI assistant CORA:Sir, you have 7 new press inquiries regarding Ms. Gordon's engagement. Would you like me to compile a statistical analysis of media sentiment?

"That's it," I grab my jacket. "I'm going to the gym."

"You have four hours until the party," Connor points out.

"Plenty of time to work out, shower, and find a date who isn't running a Ponzi scheme."

Alex pauses his pacing. "What about Mac's sister, Lucia?"

"Absolutely not."

"She's smart, successful, runs her own restaurant?—"

"The same restaurant where you're proposing tonight? That's not complicated at all."

Connor snorts. "Better than my theater company idea."

"Everything is better than your theater company idea," I mutter. "I'll figure something out."

"You have four hours," Alex reminds me.

"Three hours and forty-seven minutes," I correct. "And speaking of time, don't you have a ring to pick up?"

Alex goes pale again. "Right. The ring."

"In my office safe," I remind him. "The safe code is your Stanford student ID number, which, yes, I remember, because unlike you, I actually maintain my mental databases."

The second he’s gone—leaving a trail of half-muttered curses, Connor turns to me.

"This is why you're stil single at the ripe age of forty-five,” he stage-whispers. "You just said ‘mental databases’ out loud. In real life. Like in person."

My phone buzzes again. A message from my sister Natasha.

Have you seen the headlines?? Also, Anna says your app needs better emojis.

"Tell my 13-year-old niece SecureMatch isn’t that kind of app,” I mutter.

"Maybe that's your problem," Connor muses. "Wrong demographic. Forget sophisticated professionals—go after the emoji generation."

Alex returns, ring box in hand. "Okay, plan confirmed. Dinner at La Famiglia, ring secured, family pre-positioned?—"

"This isn't a military operation," Connor interrupts.

"Have you met the Gallos? Everything is a military operation." Alex checks his watch. "Meet you at 10?"

"Can't," Connor says. "Grandma’s dragging me to Joel Franklin's engagement party."

"Your grandmother," I repeat, "is going to Joel Franklin's party?"

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