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“With engineers, there's often no difference,” I point out. “Bennett spent twenty minutes explaining market penetration theory, and I genuinely couldn't tell if he was flirting or giving me a business lesson.”
“Was he?” Serena asks.
“Both, apparently.” I grin. “Turns out corporate sharks are surprisingly good at multitasking.”
“Gross. Adorable, but gross.” Serena raises her glass. “To my friends, who apparently have a type: brilliant workaholics who speak in acronyms and charts.”
“What's your type again?” Audrey asks innocently. “Emotionally unavailable pretty boys who ghost after three dates?”
“Hey!” Serena protests. “That's a completely different category of terrible decision-making.”
“At least our guys are consistent,” I point out. “Your last three dates couldn't even remember your name.”
“The last guy remembered my name!”
“He called you Sierra,” Audrey reminds her.
“Close enough.” Serena waves dismissively. “Besides, I'm taking a break from dating to focus on my career.”
“Since when?” I ask.
“Since you two just made me realize how low my standards have been.” She grins. “Do either of your billionaire boyfriends have any single friends...”
“Logan's not my boyfriend,” Audrey protests.
“Yet,” I add helpfully. “Give him time. Eventually his operating system will glitch and he won't be able to control himself.”
“Yeah right,” she scoffs, before adding, “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind the glitch.”
“Trust me,” Serena chimes in, “nerdy guys are like slow-burning fuses. They seem all controlled and logical until BAM—total meltdown over the right woman.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And you, my dear, are definitely the right kind of chaos for Mr. Robot.”
“His name is Logan,” Audrey mumbles, but she's fighting a smile.
“Speaking of chaos,” I say, checking my phone again—still nothing from Bennett. “I should probably head home. Early meeting tomorrow and all that.”
“Aw, you're worried about Bennett,” Serena coos. “Look at you being all supportive girlfriend-y.”
“I don’t know if I’d label myself his girlfriend,” I protest automatically, then pause. “Am I his girlfriend?” The word feels too small and too big at the same time.
“Honey, you've been living at his place for four days and he defended your honor like a medieval knight,” Audrey points out gently. “If it walks like a girlfriend duck...”
“Quacks like a girlfriend duck,” Serena adds with a grin.
“You're both terrible.” But I'm smiling as I gather my purse.
“Terrible, but right,” Serena declares. “It's our greatest strength and most annoying quality.”
I hug them both goodbye, Audrey whispering “Text me if you need to talk,” and Serena adding, “Text me if you need dating advice or bail money.”
“Why would I need bail money?”
“You never know with billionaires. They're unpredictable.”
The ride home is quiet, just me and my stubborn phone refusing to light up. My apartment feels even emptier now, the silence pressing in from all sides. I go through my nighttime routine mechanically—wash face, brush teeth, moisturize—all while listening for that blasted beep.
By the time I crawl into bed at one a.m, I've checked it approximately forty-seven times. Each time feeling more pathetic than the last.
He's handling a crisis, I remind myself. This is what dating a CEO means.