Part 18:
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.
I’ll keep it in mind. You do that. Marcus straightened his cufflinks. And when she inevitable moves on, don’t say I didn’t warn you. He walked away, disappearing into the crowd. And Ethan stood alone by the melted metal sculpture, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach. Because what if Marcus was right? What if this whole thing, the dates, the contract, the suit, was just Viven trying to fix something broken? What if he was exactly what Marcus said, a charity case that made her feel better about her wealth?
There you are. Ethan turned to find Viven approaching, looking relieved. I thought I’d lost you. Helen talks forever about absolutely nothing. Are you okay? You look pale. I’m fine, just not used to this crowd. Yeah, there are a lot. She took his hand, her fingers warm against his. Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.
The director of the children’s hospital we’re supporting tonight. She’s actually interesting, unlike most people here. But Ethan couldn’t shake Marcus’ words as Vivien led him through the crowd. Charity case project distraction. They spent the next hour circulating, Viven introducing him to what felt like hundreds of people whose names he immediately forgot.
Most were polite but distant, clearly unsure what to make of the mechanic on Vivien Hart’s arm. A few were openly curious, asking about his shop like it was some kind of exotic specimen they’d never encountered before. Dinner was served in the museum’s Grand Hall, a five course meal that Ethan picked at. While conversations about market trends and political donations swirled around him, Vivien sat beside him, occasionally squeezing his hand under the table when she sensed him tensing.
“You’re doing great,” she whispered during a lull. “I’m sitting here nodding while people talk about things I don’t understand. That’s 90% of these events. Nobody actually knows what they’re talking about. They’re just better at pretending.” After dinner, there were speeches. the museum director, the hospital director, someone from the mayor’s office.
