Part 17:
He should be terrified. Instead, he was just excited to see her again. Wednesday arrived with the inevitability of a deadline Ethan couldn’t postpone. He spent the morning at the shop working through a backlog of oil changes and trying not to think about the evening ahead. Sophie had convinced Sarah to let her stay over so she could help him get ready, which meant his apartment was currently occupied by an 8-year-old fashion consultant with strong opinions.
“The tie is crooked,” Sophie announced from where she sat on his bed, watching him struggle with the knot for the third time. “I know it’s crooked. I’m trying to fix it. You’re making it worse. Let me help.” “You’re eight. You don’t know how to tie a tie. YouTube does.” She held up Sarah’s phone, displaying a tutorial video.
See? Over, under, through the loop. Ethan gave up and let his daughter talk him through the steps, following the video’s instructions while Sophie provided commentary. By the fourth attempt, the tie actually looked presentable. There, Sophie said with satisfaction. Now you look fancy. He examined himself in the bathroom mirror.
The charcoal suit fit perfectly. The white shirt was crisp and the tie, thanks to YouTube and Sophie, looked almost professional. But the face staring back at him still looked like a mechanic playing dress up. I don’t know if I can do this, Sofh. Yes, you can. You’re brave. I’m really not. You are. You fix broken things even when they’re scary.
You helped that lady in the rain even though you were late. You’re the bravest person I know. Ethan pulled his daughter into a hug, breathing in her strawberry shampoo and wondering what he’d done to deserve a kid this perceptive. When did you get so wise? I’ve always been wise. You just never listen. Sarah appeared in the doorway, phone in hand.
Okay, I need photos before Vivian gets here. Stand by the window. Sarah, non-negotiable. Sophie wants pictures, and what Sophie wants, Sophie gets. They spent 10 minutes taking photos that would probably never see the light of day. Sarah directing him like a professional photographer while Sophie critiqued his poses. By the time the doorbell rang at 6:50, Ethan was equal parts relieved and terrified.
He opened the door and forgot how to breathe. Vivien stood in the hallway wearing a floorlength black dress that somehow managed to be elegant and devastating at the same time. Her hair was pulled back, revealing a neck that Ethan suddenly wanted to kiss, and her makeup was subtle but perfect. Wow. He managed. Yeah.
She smiled a bit uncertain. It’s not too much. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. You clean up pretty well yourself. She stepped inside and Sophie immediately launched herself forward. You look like a princess. A CEO princess. Viven laughed. 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.
