Page 46 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

"To charm tech billionaires while pretending we didn't get married by Elvis?" She takes it, her touch sending electricity through my sleeve. "Absolutely."

"Connor!" A familiar voice rings out just as we reach the entrance. "There you are, darling!"

I close my eyes briefly. "Incoming."

"What—"

“RYLAND CONNOR REEVES!" My Grandmother sweeps toward us, resplendent in designer purple and enough diamonds to fund a small country. "You're late! And who is this vision you're trying to sneak past me?"

"Grams—"

"Mrs. Reeves," Ariana extends her hand, "I'm Ariana Bristol, Clearwater's new?—"

"Head of PR, yes, yes." Grams waves away the introduction, pulling Ariana into a hug instead. "But more importantly, you're the one who finally got my Grandson to stop bringing his phone to dinner as his plus one."

"I never?—"

"Last Christmas," Grams tells Ariana, "he tried to convince me his smartwatch counted as a date."

Ariana's lips quirk. "Did it have a good personality?"

"Terrible." Grams links arms with her. "Though its time management skills were impressive."

"If you're quite finished," I try to cut in, but they're already moving toward the ballroom, heads together like old friends.

"Is it true," I hear Grams ask, "that he once tried to expense his friend Grayson’s dating app as 'market research'?"

For fuck’s sake.

"Connor." My father materializes at my elbow, his disapproval a tangible thing. "The Morrison group is waiting."

“Dad.” I straighten my jacket. "Lovely to see you too."

His jaw tightens. "This isn't a game. The IPO?—"

"Is fine." I scan the crowd, spotting Ariana and Grams by the bar. "Everything's under control."

"Like your brother would have had it under control?"

The words make my teeth grind together. Twenty-plus years, and he still can't resist the comparison.

"James isn't here." My voice turns arctic. "And neither of us is him."

I stride away before he can respond, making my way to where Ariana and Grams appear to be critiquing the appetizer selection.

“And did you know,” Grams is saying, "that he once wrote a ten-page PowerPoint presentation to ask a girl to prom?"

Ariana stops in her tracks, eyes wide with delight. "Oh, please tell me that’s true."

"Grams," I grit out, but she’s already nodding.

"Complete with data analysis and pie charts. He even had a Q&A slide." She pats my arm. "Such a romantic, my Connor."

Ariana is visibly struggling to hold back laughter. "And? Did she say yes?"

Grams sighs. "Poor dear was so flustered, she panicked and ran in the opposite direction."

"She fled?"

---