Page 90 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"I'm fine."

"Right." Connor takes a pointed sip of his drink. "That's why CORA's been DMing my grandmother about emotional processing protocols."

“I should have never given her access.”

"And you need to tell us what happened," Alex cuts in. "Because Mac's been low-key stressing out all day, and if this party turns into another Franklin family drama?—"

“Roz matched Jessica." The words come out sharp as knives. "With James. While we were still engaged."

Silence falls, broken only by the distant sound of what appears to be William teaching party guests about sourdough's spiritual properties.

"Well," Connor says finally. "That's... unexpected."

"Is it?" I gesture toward where Rosalind stands with Mac, her vintage-inspired dress making her look like she stepped out of another era entirely. "She's been playing all of us. The whole time."

"Has she?" Alex's voice carries that particular tone that seems to say I'm missing something obvious. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like she's been exactly who she is – someone who believes in real connection over calculation."

"She kept it quiet for business advantage?—"

"Or maybe," Connor interrupts, "she kept it quiet because she was falling for you,” he leans in, “like we all know you’ve been falling for her, and maybe she didn't know how to handle it."

Before I can process that, my phone buzzes with an unknown number. Probably Douglas Franklin calling about more damage control?—

"Mr. Dixon?" A female voice I don't immediately recognizecarries through the line. "Emily Hanning from TechCast. I've been trying to reach you about?—"

Something in me snaps.

"About what?" I cut in, my voice carrying an edge that makes both my friends step back. "About how you turned my personal life into clickbait? About how you used my relationship—my fake relationship—to drive engagement metrics?"

“I-“

"Or maybe about how you waited until Valentine's Day to publish, because nothing says 'journalistic integrity' like maximizing emotional impact for page views?"

"Mr. Dixon…”

"You want a story?" I'm practically vibrating with suppressed fury now. "Here's one: Tech CEO Realizes Everything He Built Is Based on Lies. Man Who Thought He Could Calculate Love Discovers He Can't Even Predict His Own Heart. How's that for your feature?"

The line goes silent for a moment. Then: "That's... actually better than what I had."

I end the call, suddenly aware of what I've just done. Of all the precise planning, the cultivated façade, not to mention the reputation that I’ve shattered in one minute of pure stupidity.

"Well," Connor says after a moment. "That was..."

“Certifiably fucking insane?” Alex suggests.

"I was going to say 'exactly what he needed to do,' but sure, let's go with that."

I look across the room to where Rosalind stands with Mac, her auburn hair catching the firelight in a way that makes focusing difficult. Something must show on my face because Connor sighs loudly.

"You're going to do something else stupid, aren't you?"

"I prefer 'strategically sound.’”

"You prefer opting out,” Alex corrects. "Like you did with Jessica. Like you're about to do now."

"I'm not?—"

"What's your AI's favorite saying?" Connor remarks. "'Past behavior predicts future outcomes'?"

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