Page 55 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"It was Connor's idea," I repeat. "And it was one time."

"Very efficient of you."

"Says the woman who crashed her ex's engagement party."

"Technically, I was invited. Eventually."

Her smile suggests she's not really angry, but something in her eyes makes me want to explain anyway.

"It was right after Jessica's first interview about the startupshe founded with, um…him,” I find myself saying. "The press was... persistent."

Understanding crosses her face. "Ah. Like they are now?"

As if on cue, my phone lights up with another message from Emily Hanning:Interesting correlation between SecureMatch's user growth and your public appearances with Ms. Carpenter...

"Gray's always been goal-oriented," Natasha observes, watching our exchange with too-knowing eyes. "Though lately he seems more interested in actual connections than statistical outcomes."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I say, just as Rosalind shifts closer to reach for the bread basket, her thigh pressing against mine in a way that makes basic cognitive functions statistically unlikely.

"Really?" My sister's grin grow wider. "Because you haven't checked SecureMatch's metrics once during dinner. Usually you're monitoring user engagement patterns between courses."

"I monitor lots of things," I protest, but Rosalind's doing that thing with her thumb again, and suddenly engagement patterns seem far less interesting than the way her perfume mingles with my mother's pot roast.

“Uncle Gray's being mushy," Anna stage-whispers to Mark. "It's weird."

"It's nice," my mother corrects, returning with what appears to be my entire childhood in photograph form. "Much better than that time he tried to optimize Thanksgiving dinner with a spreadsheet."

"The spreadsheet was perfectly?—"

"You priority-tagged the serving preferences, dear."

"It was an efficient system for?—"

"You created a statistical model for gravy distribution!"

"Which worked perfectly until?—"

"Until Aunt Sarah's dog ate the printed schedule," Natashafinishes. "Poor thing had algorithm-induced indigestion for days."

My phone buzzes yet again. Douglas Franklin:Also, got a meeting with my board tomorrow. Need to discuss capitalizing on your relationship's public appeal. Time to take things to the next level?

I start to respond, but Rosalind chooses that moment to laugh at something Anna's saying, her whole face lighting up in a way that make my mouth go dry.

"You're staring," Natasha murmurs from the seat next to mine.

"I'm observing. Professionally."

"Uh-huh." She glances at where Rosalind's hand still rests on my knee. "Very professional."

"It's just for show," I whisper. "Part of the agreement."

"Really?" She raises one eyebrow in a way that reminds me uncomfortably of our mother. "Because you haven't looked at your phone once since she started asking about your robotics club days."

"I—"

"And you haven't created a single algorithm all evening."

"That's not?—"

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