Page 47 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"—and then one by one start falling like dominoes?—"

"I'm hanging up now."

"See you at seven!" he sing-songs. "Unless you're too busy creating algorithms about desk-related activities..."

I end the call, but not before catching his entirely too knowing laugh.

"Sir?" CORA pipes up. "Initial calculations suggest a 97.3% probability that your attempts to algorithmically explain your attraction to Ms. Carpenter are actually a defensive mechanism against?—"

"Mute. Again."

By 6:59 AM, I'm at my office reviewing vendor proposals when Alex bursts in, looking simultaneously panicked and smug.

"So," he starts, dropping into a chair. "I hear someone had an interesting night."

I don't look up from my tablet. "The vendors' insurance certificates all check out, if that's what you mean."

"That is definitely not what I mean." He props his feet on my desk. "Though I did hear something about desk activities..."

"Don't you have a fiancée to annoy?"

"Mac's dealing with a pasta crisis. Apparently, that Sir Galahad guy challenged their new supplier to a duel over ravioli authenticity." He grins. "But we're not talking about medieval pasta warfare. We're talking about you and?—"

"Morning!" Connor strides in, perfectly rumpled in what has to be yesterday's suit. "Are we discussing Gray's emotional crisis yet?"

"I'm not having an emotional crisis."

"CORA sent me your new algorithm attempts," he counters. "All four of them."

I glare at my ceiling again. "CORA, we really need to discuss your communication protocols."

"My protocols are operating at maximum efficiency, sir. Unlike your recent attempts to numerically quantify romantic attraction using variables such as 'desk stability metrics' and 'professional boundary elasticity.'"

Alex nearly falls out of his chair laughing.

"Can we focus?" I pull up the venue schematics. "The cabin's generator capacity?—"

"Forget the generator," Connor interrupts. "Let's talk about how you're the last man standing from our famous pact."

"We were drunk," I remind them. "And twenty-five."

"And convinced relationships were inefficient," Alex adds. "Which, coming from the guy who color-coded his one-night stands?—"

"It was a perfectly logical system.”

"You created a spreadsheet of archetypal dating radius variables!"

"Geographic efficiency is important for?—"

"And now?" Connor's grin turns wicked. "Now you're creating algorithms to explain why you can't stop thinking about?—"

"The engagement party," I cut in firmly. "Can we please focus on the engagement party?"

Both my supposed friends exchange looks.

"Fine," Alex sighs. "But only because I need to verify that you vetoed the ice sculpture pasta fountain."

"The what now?"

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