Page 93 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

Before I can defend CORA's increasingly concerning communication habits, my phone buzzes with another message. This time from Emily Hanning herself:Sources say Heart & Soul's client numbers have doubled since the article. Care to comment on the impact of emotional authenticity in modern matchmaking?

By the way, you were right last night. I made some edits to the feature, if you haven’t noticed.

Good luck.

"You know," Douglas says, reading over my shoulder with impressive stealth, “the article was actually really good. Shows that maybe there’s more to SecureMatch’s matches than number or statistics. In fact…there's a tech investor soirée tonight at The Metropolitan. Perfect opportunity to show everyone that SecureMatch's CEO hasn't completely lost his emotional processors.

“Douglas, I’m not sure?—“

"Seven o'clock." He heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and Grayson? Maybe try optimizing something besides your misery."

I stare after him for a moment, then pull out my phone.

Me:Tech investor thing tonight. Need backup.

Alex:Can't. Helping Mac prevent William from sage-cleansing the entire restaurant. Apparently your "aura of heartbreak" is affecting his starter's chi.

Connor:Only if I can bring Grams. She has OPINIONS about you and that article

Perfect. An evening of Seattle's tech elite plus Connor's grandmother's relationship advice.

My phone buzzes again. CORA:Sir, I've compiled acomprehensive analysis of rebound relationship success rates. Would you like me to cross-reference with current dating app metrics?

"No, CORA," I mutter, heading for the showers. "Just... no."

The Metropolitan'selegant space fills with Seattle's tech elite by the time I arrive, everyone dressed in the kind of understated wealth that suggests their startups have survived at least two funding rounds.

"There's my favorite emotional disaster!" Connor waves from near the bar, where his grandmother appears to be holding court with what looks like half the venture capital community. "We were just discussing your AI's weird ass playlist choices."

"Wonderful." I accept the drink he hands me. "Any other aspects of my personal life you'd like to broadcast?"

"Oh honey," his grandmother pats my arm. "Everyone's already reading about that in TechCast."

I resist the urge to groan out loud. The next hour passes in a blur of startup pitches and insufferable small talk. I'm nodding through what feels like my fortieth conversation about blockchain optimization when Connor appears at my elbow.

"Incoming," he mutters. "Douglas Franklin at two o'clock, looking suspiciously determined."

"Mr. Dixon." Douglas's voice carries over the space. "A moment?"

He guides me toward a quieter corner, though not before I catch Connor's grandmother brushing dark blond stands of hair from his forehead.

"Your numbers are up," Douglas starts, which is not what I expected. "Way up. Turns out, people love the idea that even tech's most logical bachelor can't quite optimize love."

"That's... good?"

"It's excellent." He studies me over his whiskey. "Though I have to admit, I'm curious about something."

"Just one thing?"

"Why did you really break it off with Rosalind?"

I swallow at the question. "To tell you the truth, Douglas, it was just... business. A publicity arrangement that got, um, complicated."

"Right." He takes another sip. "That's why you're destroying gym equipment at 5 AM while your AI plays Céline Dion."

Before I can defend my workout choices, the room's lighting dims. A spotlight hits the stage as the MC steps up to the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our next presenter, Samantha Carpenter, introducing this year's recipient of the 'Excellence in Tech Investment Strategy' award..."

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