Page 43 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"Of course you have."

"—and I've identified several statistical anomalies in our interactions."

"Anomalies?" I start clearing space for the food, trying not to think about how close he's standing. "Like what?"

"Like the fact that my heart rate increases an average of 15.7% when you're nearby." He moves closer, helping me shift papers. "Or how I keep finding excuses to bring you dinner when I should be preparing for tomorrow's board meeting."

"Very unprofessional of you."

"Extremely inefficient," he agrees, but he's looking at me instead of the papers now. "Almost as inefficient as a certainmatchmaker working late alone instead of letting her fake boyfriend take her to dinner."

"Just finishing some emails," I say vaguely, already reaching for the containers of what smells like Nonna Flora's famous gnocchi. "Work never ends..."

"Ah, the famous Heart & Soul approach to matchmaking." He settles into the chair across from me with that grace that probably comes from having a posture-optimizing AI. "Still insisting you're more logical than my algorithms?"

"Better than your algorithm's success rate."

"My algorithm doesn't get distracted by coat closets."

"No, it just tries to quantify human connection into data points."

"Speaking of data points..." He leans forward, and suddenly the air feels thick, heavy in a way that has nothing to do with Seattle's winter storm. "I've been running some numbers."

"About?"

"The statistical probability of two people who are supposedly just pretending to date actually developing genuine?—"

A mechanical whirring sound interrupts him. Through my office windows, I spot a dark figure dangling from what appears to be climbing gear.

"Please tell me that's not?—"

"Dani's urban explorer date?" I sigh. "Probably. He mentioned something about 'surprise vertical romance' at lunch."

The figure waves enthusiastically, then starts to lose balance.

"Should we..."

"Help prevent another lawsuit? Probably a good idea.”

But neither of us moves. Maybe because the snow creates an illusion of privacy. Maybe because the gnocchi smells amazing. Or maybe because Grayson's looking at me like he'scalculating something much more interesting than compatibility metrics.

"You know what else I've been analyzing?" he asks, voice dropping to that register that makes thinking difficult.

“Prototypical pasta-to-sauce ratios?"

"The fact that you deflect with humor when you're nervous." He stands, moving around my desk with predatory grace. "Just like I hide behind statistics when I don't want to admit something."

"Admit what?"

Instead of answering, he pulls me up, and suddenly we're standing very close. My hands land on his chest automatically, feeling his heartbeat race beneath expensive fabric.

"See?" he murmurs. "Definitely above 15.7%."

"That's very..." I have to swallow as his fingers trace my spine. "Unprofessional."

"Extremely." His other hand cups my jaw. "Want to know another statistical anomaly?"

"What?"

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