Page 59 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"Backup generators should—" Grayson starts, just as emergency power kicks in, bathing everything in soft light.

"Very efficient," I tease.

"I try." But he's already building a fire, the kind of practical competence that shouldn't be attractive but absolutely is.

Warm light fills the space as flames catch, creating shadows that dance across Grayson's aristocratic features. He's rolled up his sweater sleeves, revealing forearms that could have been designed by a committee of efficiency experts.

"So," he says once the fire's crackling steadily, "since we're stuck here..."

"Very professionally," I add, sitting on the great room’s oversized couch.

"Of course." But his smile suggests otherwise as he settles beside me on the obscenely comfortable sofa. "Want to tell me the real story about Joel?"

I blink. "What makes you think there's more story?"

"The way you flinch every time someone mentions the Four Seasons ballroom." His thigh presses against mine, warmthrough layers of wool and cashmere. "The same way I probably flinch when people bring up Jessica."

Maybe it's the fire's warmth, or the snow creating the illusion of privacy, or just the way he's looking at me – like he actually wants to know, not just gather data.

"He proposed there," I hear myself say. "Big romantic gesture, exactly like I'd helped plan for dozens of clients. I actually thought it meant he finally understood what I was trying to build with Heart & Soul – this idea that real connection matters more than surface compatibility."

"What happened?" Grayson's hand finds mine, fingers intertwining naturally.

"I gave Samantha a job. My own cousin, fresh off her divorce, needed help getting back on her feet. So I brought her into Heart & Soul, taught her everything I knew about connecting people." I laugh, but the sound comes out choked. "Turns out she was more interested in connecting with my husband."

"The probability of that level of betrayal..."

"Can't be calculated? The worst part wasn't even the affair. It was watching her become exactly what Joel wanted – this perfect, agreeable venture capital wife with no opinions of her own. Everything I wasn't."

"Everything you wouldn't lower yourself to become," he corrects softly.

"Maybe." I stare into the fire. "You know what Joel said when I found out? That Samantha 'fit better into his world.' Like love is just another merger and acquisition deal."

"Sounds familiar." His thumb traces patterns on my palm. “Like father, like son.”

“Pretty much.” I squeeze his hand. "Your turn. Jessica?"

He's quiet for a moment, his thumb still absentmindedly moving.

"We were the perfect match on paper," he says finally. "Samebackground, same goals, complementary skill sets... I actually created an algorithm to prove it."

"Of course you did."

“It’s my thing.” But he's smiling slightly. "Anyway, turns out some variables can't be measured. Like the fact that she fell in love with her startup co-founder while we were still engaged."

I swallow hard. “Is that why you created SecureMatch? To make love logical?"

"To make it make sense," he corrects softly. "Though lately I'm starting to think some things aren't meant to be systematic."

The fire pops, sending sparks up the chimney as snow continues to fall outside. Between the storm and the generators, we're in our own little world – one where professional distance and careful calculations seem less important than the way Grayson's watching me.

"We should probably get some sleep," I say eventually, though I don't move. “Probably a good idea to be well-rested for tomorrow's prep work."

“It would be a great idea,” he agrees, but his voice has that rough edge that makes my pulse jump.

He walks me to my room because of course he does – all that programming apparently included gentleman subroutines. We pause at the threshold, and suddenly all those romance novel clichés about charged moments and crackling tension make perfect sense.

"Well," I start. "This was very..."

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