New Year, New Me
A FEW DAYS LATER
Downtown Seattle, WA
GRAYSON
The thing about algorithms is they can predict almost anything---market trends, weather patterns, consumer behavior. What they can't predict? The exact moment your ex-fiancée announces her engagement to her startup co-founder during your dating app's launch week.
At forty-five, I thought I was past caring about such announcements.
Apparently not.
"Statistically speaking—" I begin.
"I swear to God, Gray, if you say 'statistically speaking' one more time, I'm uninviting you from my engagement party," my best friend Alex interrupts, pacing holes into his office's Italian marble floor.
The Seattle skyline behind him is a wash of grays and whites, the early January afternoon already fading into the perpetual twilight of Pacific Northwest winter .
"You haven't even proposed yet," my other best friend Connor points out from the couch, not looking up from his phone. "Can't un-invite him from a party that doesn't exist."
“Can’t I, though?” Alex runs his hands through his dark hair for approximately the fortieth time in the past hour. I know because I've been counting. It's what I do—collect data points, analyze patterns, predict outcomes. Right now, all data points to my best friend having a nervous breakdown before he can propose to his girlfriend Mac.
My phone buzzes. Another TechCast notification.
"Stop checking it," Connor and Alex say in unison.
"I'm not?—"
"'SecureMatch CEO Can't Match Himself: Dixon's Ex-Fiancée Announces Engagement While His Dating App Struggles,'" Connor reads. "Ouch."
"They used a decent photo of you," Alex offers. "Unlike that one from the tech conference where you look like you're choking on kombucha."
I pull up the article, ignoring them. The chosen photo juxtaposes me in a Tom Ford suit with Jessica beaming at her fiancé—her startup co-founder. The article helpfully mentions that they met while we were still engaged.
"You know what your problem is?" Connor sits up, clawing fingers through his own dirty-blond mane.
"Please, enlighten me." I minimize the browser window showing SecureMatch's latest user statistics. They're not terrible, but they're not great either. Especially not for an app promising to revolutionize modern dating through advanced AI algorithms.
"You're too... robotic."
“Or statistically focused?" Alex adds.
"How about ‘done with this conversation’?" I counter, standing to stretch. "Aren't we here to help you propose? "
Alex's face pales. "Right. The proposal. Tonight. To Mac. Who I love. Who might say no."
"She's not going to say no," Connor and I chorus.
"But what if?—"
"The woman reorganized your company for you," Connor points out.
"And moved in with you," I add.
"And hasn't murdered you for habit of leaving wet towels on the bed.”
Alex's phone rings. "It's the Board. Two minutes."
He steps out onto his private terrace, leaving Connor and me in sudden silence. Well, relative silence. Seattle's constant rain provides a steady backdrop of white noise against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"So how bad are the numbers really?" Connor asks.
"They're fine." This is the problem with having other tech billionaires as friends. At Connor’s look, I sigh. “Okay, so they’re not optimal. Downloads are good, but retention is lower than projected. People don't appreciate being told their romantic choices are statistically unsound."
"Shocking."
My own phone lights up. Douglas Franklin. My biggest investor and the man whose faith in SecureMatch helped convince half of Silicon Valley to back a dating app designed by someone whose own engagement imploded.
"Franklin?" Connor asks, noticing my expression.
I nod, then tap accept. "Douglas, how are?—"
"Tell me you're coming tonight." His voice has the particular strain of someone organizing a high-society event while trying to herd cats. Or in this case, probably his son Joel.
"Of course, I?—"
"Good. The press will be there. We need to show a united front, especially after this morning's... articles. "
I catch Connor miming a whipping motion out of the corner of my eye and turn my back on him.
"Douglas, SecureMatch's numbers are actually?—"
"Numbers don't matter if the press thinks you can't practice what you preach, Grayson." There's shuffling in the background, followed by muffled shouting about flower arrangements. "Your app promises to make finding love logical, systematic, foolproof. But if Seattle's most eligible bachelor can't find a match while his ex-fiancée is planning her wedding..."
"I understand, but?—"
"Just... bring a date tonight. Someone impressive. Someone who makes Jessica's engagement look like old news." More background chaos. "The party starts at eight. Four Seasons Penthouse Ballroom. Don't be late. And Grayson?"
"Yes?"
"Make sure she's real this time. No more hiring actresses from your sister's theater company."
The call ends before I can remind him that was Connor's idea. And it was one time. At a Christmas party. Two years ago.
"Problem?" Connor asks.
"Nothing major. Just need to find a captivating, intelligent, successful woman willing to pose as my date to my investor's son's engagement party. In—" I check my watch, "—four hours."
"What about that model from the launch party?"
"Engaged."
"The VC from San Francisco?"
"Dating my cousin."
"The blockchain CEO?"
"Turned out to be running a Ponzi scheme."
"Damn." Connor smirks. "Your dating life is a statistical disaster."
"Says the guy whose ex dumped him for trying to optimize their relationship with a Google calendar. "
Alex strides back in. "Proposal plan version 12.0?—"
"No," Connor and I say in unison.
"You haven't even heard it?—"
"If it involves flash mobs or skywriting, no," I cut him off. "Stick to dinner at La Famiglia, private room, Mackenzie’s family there?—"
"Her family can't keep a secret," Alex groans.
"Which is why you’re doing it tonight," Connor reminds him.
My phone pings again: ‘EXCLUSIVE: Inside Jessica Gordon's Whirlwind Romance—Grayson Never Understood Passion Over Profit’.
Another ping. This time it's my AI assistant CORA: Sir, you have 7 new press inquiries regarding Ms. Gordon's engagement. Would you like me to compile a statistical analysis of media sentiment?
"That's it," I grab my jacket. "I'm going to the gym."
"You have four hours until the party," Connor points out.
"Plenty of time to work out, shower, and find a date who isn't running a Ponzi scheme."
Alex pauses his pacing. "What about Mac's sister, Lucia?"
"Absolutely not."
"She's smart, successful, runs her own restaurant?—"
"The same restaurant where you're proposing tonight? That's not complicated at all."
Connor snorts. "Better than my theater company idea."
"Everything is better than your theater company idea," I mutter. "I'll figure something out."
"You have four hours," Alex reminds me.
"Three hours and forty-seven minutes," I correct. "And speaking of time, don't you have a ring to pick up?"
Alex goes pale again. "Right. The ring."
"In my office safe," I remind him. "The safe code is your Stanford student ID number, which, yes, I remember, because unlike you, I actually maintain my mental databases."
The second he’s gone—leaving a trail of half-muttered curses, Connor turns to me.
"This is why you're stil single at the ripe age of forty-five,” he stage-whispers. "You just said ‘mental databases’ out loud. In real life. Like in person."
My phone buzzes again. A message from my sister Natasha.
Have you seen the headlines?? Also, Anna says your app needs better emojis.
"Tell my 13-year-old niece SecureMatch isn’t that kind of app,” I mutter.
"Maybe that's your problem," Connor muses. "Wrong demographic. Forget sophisticated professionals—go after the emoji generation."
Alex returns, ring box in hand. "Okay, plan confirmed. Dinner at La Famiglia, ring secured, family pre-positioned?—"
"This isn't a military operation," Connor interrupts.
"Have you met the Gallos? Everything is a military operation." Alex checks his watch. "Meet you at 10?"
"Can't," Connor says. "Grandma’s dragging me to Joel Franklin's engagement party."
"Your grandmother," I repeat, "is going to Joel Franklin's party?"
"Hospital board. She says engagement parties are better than Lifetime movies for drama."
"Your whole family is a Lifetime movie," I mutter, turning to Alex. "And I'll have to miss your proposal too. Douglas made it clear my attendance tonight is non-negotiable."
"You know what your other problem is?" Connor says as I grab my jacket.
"I wasn't aware we were still cataloging them."
"You're trying to solve an emotional problem with logic. Love doesn't work that way. "
"Which is why I created SecureMatch—to take emotion out of the equation."
"How's that working out for you?"
Before I can answer, Alex raises a hand, the other gripping the ring box like it might explode.
"Okay, we’re good. Proposal plan is a go. See y’all at La Famiglia later.”
"Don't propose with emojis," I warn him on my way out.
“I promise I’ll only use about three—tops,’" Alex calls after me. “The ring, the heart, and-“
I let the heavy oak door cut off the rest of that terrible idea and head for the elevator. I’ve had forty-five years to find a romantic partner, and we see how well that turned out.
And now, I have exactly three hours and twenty-two minutes to work out, shower, dress, and somehow find a date impressive enough to convince Douglas Franklin that SecureMatch's CEO hasn't lost his touch.
My phone buzzes again:
“brEAKING: Tech's Most Eligible Bachelor Still Single: What's Wrong With Seattle's Dating App King?"
I press the elevator button harder than necessary. Clearly, tonight’s workout plan just changed to include anger management.
OOPS! I just ruined Seattle's hottest tech billionaire’s $1000 shirt at my ex-husband's engagement party... to my cousin! Instead of suing me, Grayson Dixon whispered two dangerous words: "Play along." Now, I’m the infamous eligible CEO’s fake girlfriend until Valentine’s Day.