Nicholas began pacing, running a hand through his hair. “No. No, that’s not—” He stopped and took a breath. “You’re right. I screwed this up.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You did.”
He pulled out his phone, and I felt my heart sink even further. Of course. Back to the data. Back to the spreadsheet that had started this whole mess.
But instead of looking at it, he opened an app. Tapped a few times. Then turned the screen toward me.
“Look,” he said quietly.
It was his spreadsheet app. The dating spreadsheet. And as I watched, he selected it and hit delete.
“Are you sure you want to permanently delete this file?” the screen asked.
He didn’t hesitate. He tapped “Delete.”
“You were right about everything,” he said, pocketing the phone. “Some things can’t be measured. And you’re not only useful to me, Danika—you’re essential. Not because of what you can do for my company, but because of who you are.”
My throat went tight.
“I love you.” The words were simple, raw. “Not your brain—though it’s incredible. Not your skills—though they saved my company. I loveyou. The woman who makes algorithmic cookies and argues about vegetables in curry and makes me want to stop trying to control everything and just…feel.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I offered you a job because I’m an idiot who defaults to data when I’m scared,” he continued. “But what I meant to say is thatI want you in my life. Every day. In whatever way you’ll have me. As your boyfriend, your partner, your—whatever you want.”
Sutton made a sound that might have been a sob.
“Say something,” Nicholas said, his voice cracking slightly. “Please.”
I closed the distance between us in two steps, grabbed his face, and kissed him. Behind us, my roommates erupted into cheers and what sounded like genuine crying from Gabriella.
When we broke apart, I was smiling so hard, my face hurt. “You deleted the spreadsheet.”
“It was fundamentally flawed,” he said, grinning back. “The algorithm was shit.”
“The worst.”
“So…” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “Does this mean you forgive me for the world’s most poorly executed romantic gesture?”
“I’m thinking about it.” I kissed him again, softer this time. “But you’re taking me on a proper date first. Multiple dates. With no talk of employment contracts.”
“Deal.”
“And maybe—eventually—we can talk about me consulting for Nicholas Analytics. As an independent contractor. With a very generous rate.”
He laughed. “Whatever you want. Though I should warn you, I’m very difficult to work with.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“And I have terrible ideas about office romance policies.”
“Also noticed.”
“And I’m probably going to fall more in love with you every single day, which is going to make professional boundaries very complicated.”
My heart did that stupid flutter thing again. “I think I can live with that.”
“Good.” He pulled me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “Because you’re the only variable I never want to solve for.”
