3. Red Wine, White Shirt, Blue Language
3
RED WINE, WHITE SHIRT, BLUE LANGUAGE
ROSALIND
An hour later, the January rain has turned to sleet as we approach the Four Seasons’ back door.
A warning to all: If you're going to crash your ex-husband's engagement party to your cousin, make sure you account for weather. It’s probably best not to wear four-inch Louboutins in wet slush. Infiltration requires stealth—something notably absent when your shoes announce your arrival like a squishing alarm bell.
“Hey, you think you can walk any softer,” Dani hisses as we hurry through the Four Seasons' back service corridor, her ginger-blonde curls bouncing. “I can hear you sloshing from a mile away.”
“Hey! This wasn’t even my plan, remember?” I whisper back, softening my steps. The kitchen noise masks most of it anyway. “I came to network. Not snuck in through the service entrance like cat burglars.”
"Very well-dressed cat burglars," Olivia chimes in through our shared AirPod. She’s stationed in the lobby, providing surveillance. "Heads up—Joel’s mom just arrived. She’s wearing red."
"Of course she is," I mutter. "Probably announcing her engagement to her tennis instructor."
The ballroom noise spills into the hallway. Through the service door, I catch glimpses of Seattle’s elite circulating with champagne flutes that likely cost more than my last client payment. The floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the January night, doubling the sparkle of chandeliers and designer jewelry.
"Roz?" Dani tugs my arm. "You’re redecorating in your head again."
"I am not." I totally am. The floral arrangements are wrong for January—who approved those colors? "I’m strategizing."
"Target acquired," Olivia cuts in. "Samantha just downed her third champagne and is heading to the restroom. Five minutes tops before?—"
"Before what? I told you, we’re not here for drama."
"Right. Networking. Professionally," Dani deadpans. "Which is why you’re wearing a revenge dress and Joel’s mother’s bracelet."
"It’s called making a statement."
"Statement being ‘I’m hot and successful and totally unbothered’?"
"Statement being ‘Heart & Soul Connections need money and I intend to get some.’” I adjust the Valentino neckline. "What’s our strategy?"
"Same as planned. You hit the VCs on the west side. I’ll take the east—startups trying to look important. Meet at the bar in thirty."
"And I’ve got the lobby," Olivia adds. "By the way, some guy just walked in looking like James Bond’s hotter, grumpier brother. "
"Focus," I remind them. "We need five solid leads or payroll’s going to get…interesting." I take a breath. "Ready?"
"Born ready," Dani says, snagging two wine glass from a passing tray. "Remember: you’re meant to be here."
We step into the ballroom just as?—
"Roz?"
Joel’s mother. Of course. Because the universe couldn’t just give me sloshy shoes.
It has to send me the mother-in-law who hates me.
I turn my spine to steel as I prepare to face her.
But moving around in soaked-through Louboutins is apparently a recipe for disaster.
Because my heel catches on the polished floor.
Everything happens in slow motion: my wine glass tipping, my ankle turning, my hand reaching out to grab something, anything?—
And finding the crisp white dress shirt of the most gorgeous man I've ever seen.
Time snaps back into normal speed as about four hundred dollars worth of Cabernet creates a burgundy pattern across what is definitely a Tom Ford shirt.
Whiskey-brown eyes meet mine – the kind of eyes that probably make venture capitalists hand over millions without questioning the terms. The stranger’s black hair, silvered perfectly at the temples, and the kind of bone structure that belongs in a museum only make it worse.
I hear the splash, hear the glass crash against the floor, but I barely register both.
"I'm so—" I start.
"What the—" he begins.
"Roz?" Joel's mother calls again, closer now.
I try again. “I—I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking. I mean, I spun, and then I tripped and then whoosh! ”
The stranger looks at me, looks at the crowd before his eyes take on a hard edge, shifting from shocked to calculating so fast it gives me whiplash.
A few agonizing seconds pass with us staring at each other before he leans in, his cologne short-circuiting what's left of my mental processors. He whispers, “Doesn’t matter. You owe me now."
"I... what?"
“I need a moment of your time. Play along," he murmurs, then louder: "Darling, I thought we agreed to keep us quiet for another week?"
Dani, bless her opportunistic soul, immediately jumps in, as if waiting for her theater entrance. It’s clear she catches on. "Oh my God, is this him? The secret boyfriend you've been refusing to tell us about?"
I’m going to kill her. After I figure out what’s happening. And stop staring at this guy’s ridiculously broad shoulders.
"Rosalind?" Joel’s mother steps up, her Botoxed expression unreadable. Her eyes dart between me and the man. "I didn’t know you were invited..."
"Beatrice," I manage. "How... lovely to see you."
"We were trying to keep this quiet," the stranger smoothly interjects, his arm sliding around my waist with practiced ease. His hand is warm through the vintage Valentino, and I absolutely do not lean into it. Much. "But since my shirt's already ruined..."
Through my earpiece, Olivia whispers, “What the holy hell…”
"I don't understand," Beatrice frowns—or tries to, rather. “You and... I'm sorry, you are?"
"Having a wardrobe crisis," he deflects. "If you'll excuse us..."
Mr. Mystery steers me toward what I assume is the closest exit, but Dani steps into our path.
Her eyes are giving me that looks that usually ends with me diving face-first into a plate of tiramisu .
“Disappearing so soon? she asks. "I thought you two might stick around. Chat.”
"Yes," Beatrice adds, recovering her society manners. “I’m awfully curious. How did you two meet?”
"We met at—" I start.
"The gym," he finishes.
"Coffee shop," I blurt at the same time.
Whiskey-brown eyes flash to mine. "The gym's coffee shop."
"Right. Where else would you meet someone at..." I realize I don't know his name.
"Six AM," he supplies. "She was ordering a triple espresso. I was impressed by her caffeine tolerance."
"How... modern.” Her eyes fix on the bracelet at my wrist – her bracelet.
Through my earpiece, Olivia mutters, "Incoming. Samantha just spotted you."
"We really should deal with this shirt," my mystery man says, his thumb tracing a small circle against my hip that's definitely not helping my ability to think straight. "Before it sets."
"Club soda," Dani pipes up. "I'll go find some. Don't move. Either of you."
She disappears into the crowd with the speed of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. Traitor.
"Roz?" Samantha's voice carries across the marble floor. "Is that you?"
My fake boyfriend (temporary savior? fashion victim?) tenses slightly against me.
"I didn't know you were coming!" She air-kisses somewhere near my cheek, her new engagement ring catching the light like a disco ball of betrayal. "Though of course you're always welcome. We're family."
"Are we?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
My mystery man's hand tightens slightly on my waist. "Darling, the shirt? "
"Right! The shirt. We should definitely..."
"But you just got here," Samantha protests with wide-eyed innocence that hasn't fooled me since we were twelve and she blamed me for breaking Aunt Maria's vintage Murano glass vase. "And you haven't even met?—"
"Grayson!" Douglas Franklin's booming voice cuts through the tension like a well-timed lightning bolt. "There you are, my boy. I see you've brought?—“
"My girlfriend," Mystery Man – apparently Grayson – says, not missing a beat.
Wait.
Grayson.
As in Grayson Dixon?
As in the CEO of SecureMatch?
As in the guy whose dating app is literally putting me out of business?
"Your girlfriend?" Douglas Franklin looks like all his venture capital Christmases have come at once. "The one you've been keeping quiet about? Well, this explains everything!"
"It does?" Grayson and I ask simultaneously.
"Of course! The media's been having a field day about your ex's engagement, but here you are, proving them all wrong. And with such a lovely..." He trails off when he looks at me closer.
“Hi, Mr. Franklin,” I greet my ex father-in-law, because apparently this is my life now. “Nice to see you again.”
“Roz? Rosalind Carpenter?” Douglas Franklin's expression freezes before landing on something between shock and alarm. "Joel's Roz?"
Grayson's thumb stops its maddening circles on my hip. I feel him go completely still against me.
“I know! I was thrown, too!” Samantha bubbles. "I didn't even recognize her at first in that dress!” She turns to me. “Remember when you used to keep one just like it in your office for emergency client meetings?" She turns to the group at large. "Roz gave me my first job after my divorce. She's literally the best at fixing people's love lives. Well, other people's love lives." She giggles, then stage-whispers to Grayson, "Though obviously she's figured out her own now!"
Douglas Franklin looks like he swallowed a toad. "You and... Grayson? But how...?"
"The gym's coffee shop," Grayson replies. "Six AM."
“Your girlfriend,” Douglas repeats slowly. "The CEO of SecureMatch and the owner of Heart & Soul matchmaking firm. Dating. In secret."
Beatrice sniffs. "Well, I suppose that explains why you weren't invited tonight, dear. Though showing up anyway is very...you."
"Actually," Grayson's voice has taken on an interesting edge, "I invited her as my plus one. We were trying to be discreet, but..." He glances down at his ruined shirt. "Clearly that's not working out."
Through my earpiece, Olivia mutters, "Joel incoming. Nine o'clock. With photographers."
"Samantha!" Joel's voice carries across the marble floor. "The Times wants a few more... Roz?"
He stops short, his perfectly tailored suit making him look like every tech executive's headshot come to life. The photographers trailing him immediately start raising their cameras, probably sensing the kind of drama that makes careers.
"Joel." I manage a smile that only feels slightly manic. "Congratulations."
"I didn't know you were..." His eyes catch on Grayson's arm around my waist, then track to his father's face, then back to the wine stain. "What's going on?"
"Darling," Grayson says, and the warmth in his voice almost convinces even me, "would you like to get some air? I believe I spotted a balcony that offers an excellent view of the city. "
"The same balcony where you proposed to Roz?” Samantha asks Joel brightly, then immediately covers her mouth. "Oops! Sorry. Was that…weird?”
I'm saved from responding by Douglas Franklin clearing his throat. "Grayson, before you disappear to... handle that shirt situation, we should discuss the latest SecureMatch numbers. The board is particularly interested in the user retention statistics after this morning's... press."
"Numbers?" Samantha perks up. "Oh my God, you have to tell Roz about your algorithm! It's amazing – it basically makes traditional matchmaking obsolete. No offense, cousin."
Joel at least has the decency to wince.
"The statistics can wait," Grayson says. His fingers press slightly harder into my hip. "Right now, I'd like to?—"
"But the investors are very interested in your response to this morning's TechCast article," Douglas persists. "Especially given your ex-fiancée's engagement announcement..."
My head snaps up. Ex-fiancée? Oh, this is just getting better.
"Speaking of engagements," Beatrice interjects, eyeing my bracelet again, "I believe that's a family heirloom you're wearing, dear."
The photographers inch closer, probably sensing blood in the water.
"You know what would make a great photo?" Samantha suggests, wobbling slightly on her designer heels. Three glasses of champagne in and she's still going strong. "All of us together! The happy couple, and the... other happy couple!"
Through my earpiece, Olivia hisses, "Abort mission. Abort mission NOW."
"Actually," Grayson says, his voice dropping to a deep rumble, "I believe I promised my girlfriend a dance. It was great to see you all. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
"Dance?" I squeak, as Mr. Incognito maneuvers us toward the far side of the ballroom. "There's no music playing. "
“Nevermind that,” he murmurs, sidestepping a waiter carrying a hobbling tray of wine glasses. "Just keep moving."
"The numbers, Grayson!" Douglas calls after us.
"The photos!" Samantha shouts.
"The bracelet!" Beatrice's voice carries with surprising force for someone so Botoxed.
Through my earpiece, I hear Olivia say, "Dani, cut them off at the west entrance. I'll create a distraction in the lobby."
"Way ahead of you," Dani replies, and suddenly there's a crash from the direction of the bar, followed by Samantha's distinctive squeal.
Grayson uses the moment of chaos to guide me through a set of French doors onto a deserted balcony. The January air hits like a splash of reality, and as his hand drops from my waist, the full weight of what just happened crashes over me.
I, Rosalind Carpenter, professional matchmaker and supposed expert in relationships, just:
1. Crashed my ex-husband's engagement party to my cousin
2. Spilled wine on Seattle's most eligible tech bachelor
3. Pretended to be said bachelor's secret girlfriend
4. In front of my ex’s father (who seems to be working with said bachelor), and at least three photographers
And not just any tech bachelor.
Grayson Dixon.
CEO of SecureMatch. The man whose dating app is systematically destroying my business with its promise of matchmaking perfection.
The same man who's now leaning against the balcony railing, looking disturbingly attractive as the Seattle skyline glitters behind him through the misty rain.
So much for networking at this party.