Everyone wanted a moment with Vivien Hart, and she navigated the conversations with practiced ease. Ethan got his beer, a local IPA that tasted infinitely better than the champagne, and stood slightly behind Viven, trying to be invisible while she conducted business disguised as small talk. Vivien, darling, a woman in her 60s approached, dripping in diamonds. I haven't seen you since the Grayson acquisition. How did that turn out?
Exactly as projected, Helen. We finalized last month. Brilliant. And who's this? Helen's gaze landed on Ethan with the kind of assessment that made him feel like livestock at auction.
This is Ethan Cole. Like a Ethan Helen Bradshaw. She sits on our board. Nice to meet you. Ethan shook her hand, very aware of his callous palms against her soft skin.
Cole, Helen repeated like she was filing it away for later research. What do you do, Ethan? I'm a mechanic. I own a repair shop in Georgetown. Helen's eyebrows rose slightly.
How industrious. Viven, I need to steal you for a moment. There's someone from the Times who wants to discuss the expansion. I'll be right there. Viven turned to Ethan.
Will you be okay for a few minutes? Yeah, go do your thing. She kissed his cheek and disappeared into the crowd with Helen, leaving Ethan standing alone with his beer, surrounded by people who probably own vacation homes worth more than his entire existence. He found a spot near one of the art installations, some abstract sculpture that looked like melted metal, and tried to look busy examining it. Around him, conversations flowed about stock prices and vacation homes in Tuscanyany and children at boarding schools in Switzerland.
Interesting piece, isn't it? Ethan turned to find a man about his age, tall and polished in a tuxedo that probably costs more than the Jaguar. He had the kind of confident stance that came from never being told no. Sure, Ethan said non-committally. Marcus Wellington, the man extended his hand.
I don't think we've met. Ethan Cole. Ah, the mechanic. Marcus's smile didn't reach his eyes. Vivien mentioned you.
Something in his tone made Ethan's shoulders tense. Did she? We used to date, you know, Viven and I before she decided she preferred her work to actual relationships. Marcus took a sip of his drink. How long have you two been seeing each other?
Not long. Let me guess. She swooped in like some kind of corporate fairy godmother. Offered to save your failing business. And now here you are in a rented suit pretending you belong.
Ethan's grip tightened on his beer bottle. It's not rented. My apologies. Bought then. With her money, I'm assuming.
With money, I borrowed and will pay back. Of course. Marcus' smile widened. That's what she does. You know, finds broken things and tries to fix them.