Thank you, Sophie. That's the look I was going for. Sarah emerged from the kitchen, took one look at them together, and grinned. Okay, I need a picture of both of you for the record books. Sarah, we're going to be late.
30 seconds. Stand together. They posed awkwardly by the door while Sarah snapped photos and Sophie provided direction. When they finally escaped to the hallway, Ethan felt like he'd just survived a red carpet premiere. "Your family is intense," Vivian said as they walked to the elevator.
"They mean well. Sophie's been planning my outfit since Monday. She did a good job. That tie is perfect. YouTube helped.
The Jaguar was waiting in the parking lot, and Ethan held the passenger door open for Vivien before walking around to the driver's side. She'd already offered him the keys without asking, like she knew he'd need something familiar to hold on to tonight. The fundraiser was being held at the Seattle Art Museum, which meant downtown traffic and valet parking, and the kind of entrance that made Ethan's palm sweat. He handed the keys to a valet who looked about 19 and probably made more in tips than Ethan made in a week. Ready? " Vivien asked, linking her arm through his.
"Not even a little bit. " "Good. Honesty is refreshing. " She squeezed his arm. "Just stay close to me and smile when people talk. You'll be fine. " They walked through the museum's grand entrance into a space that had been transformed into something out of a magazine spread. Crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, servers circulating with champagne, and appetizers that probably had French names Ethan couldn't pronounce.
Everyone was dressed in formal wear that made his Nordstrom suit look budget. "This is insane," he murmured. "This is normal. " Viven grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing server. "For them, anyway. Drink.
It helps. " He took a sip and immediately regretted it. The champagne was dry and expensive and tasted like regret. You hate it, Viven observed. It's very bubbly. There's a bar in the corner.
They have beer if you want something less pretentious. Yes, please. They made their way through the crowd. Viven stopping every few feet to greet people Ethan didn't recognize. Board members, investors, CEOs of companies he'd seen advertised during football games.
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.
Last year it was a nonprofit in Tacoma. Year before that, some artist in Portland. She gets bored eventually and moves on to the next project. I'm not a project, aren't you? Think about it.
Struggling mechanic, single father, shop on the verge of foreclosure. You're exactly the type of charity case that makes her feel better about having more money than cents. Heat crawled up Ethan's neck, but he kept his voice level. You sound like someone who got dumped and never got over it. Marcus's expression went cold.
I broke up with her. Sure you did, because she's incapable of caring about anything except her company. You think you're special? You think she actually sees you as anything other than a distraction from quarterly reports? Marcus leaned in slightly.
She'll get tired of playing mechanic's girlfriend, and when she does, you'll be exactly where you were before, except now you'll have debt to her on top of everything else. Ethan wanted to throw his beer in Marcus' smug face. Wanted to defend Viven, defend himself, defend whatever fragile thing they were building together. But part of him, the scared, practical part that had been whispering doubt since the beginning, wondered if Marcus was right. Thanks for the advice, he said tightly.