Faking with Three

1. OLIVIA

CHAPTER 1

OLIVIA

War rooms are supposed to smell like strategy, maybe a hint of triumph—not stale coffee and yesterday’s takeout.

But here I am, staring at the remnants of my team’s last-ditch brainstorming session, listening to yet another rival pitch as they try to sweet-talk me into selling out my company.

Death Crunch Media, my baby, is six years old this week. Six years of blood, caffeine, and fireproofing myself against the industry’s relentless attempts to make me disappear.

I walk into the war room and brace myself. This room was designed to intimidate. Full glass walls, slate gray everywhere, and a table that looks like it could double as a launch pad. My team’s here, lined up like soldiers, and across from them—our “guests,” the rival company reps who want a piece of what I’ve built.

Their leader, a tall, narrow-eyed man in an even narrower suit, glances at his watch as I take my seat at the head of the table.

“Olivia Chase,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us today.

His voice oozes professionalism, the kind that would sound good on a podcast about corporate strategy, but only that. He doesn’t have to introduce himself. I know exactly who he is, and what he is. His name is Gavin Doyle, and he’s here to buy out my entire company before I can get it on the public market.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I say, steepling my fingers.

Gavin smiles—a thin, precise line that says, “This won’t take long.” He pushes a folder toward me. “We understand you’re preparing to take Death Crunch public. Impressive, considering how quickly you’ve built your brand.”

I raise an eyebrow, letting the compliment pass without comment. He’s here to butter me up before slicing the company to pieces and slapping his logo on it.

“We have an offer,” Gavin continues, flicking a quick glance at his associate, a junior exec with too much gel in his hair who nods vigorously. Gavin flips open the folder, showing a number with a nice, shiny row of zeros. “Take it or leave it, and save yourself the struggle of an IPO.”

I look down at the number. It’s high—higher than I expected. For a second, I wonder if maybe…maybe this would be easier. Just take the cash, cash out, and go hide somewhere on a beach.

No. I didn’t build this company from my basement to hand it over to some suit in a boardroom.

I take my seat and smile back, keeping it just as fake as his. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, Gavin, that I’m not interested in selling.”

Gavin lets out a little laugh, like he’s heard this from every business owner he’s ever tried to buy out. “I understand, Olivia, I really do. But when I hope you can see the numbers we’re prepared to offer, I think you might change your mind. You’ve created something remarkable here.”

One of his people—a woman in a crisp white blazer—leans forward, her eyes narrowed as if studying me for a crack. “Let’s just say it outright. Death Crunch Media has serious potential, but it’s at a critical juncture. Going public could go either way.”

I raise an eyebrow, suppressing an eye roll. “Death Crunch Media is going public on my terms. The gaming world knows us, our users are loyal, and we’ve doubled growth each quarter for the past year.”

“Yes,” Gavin says, “but this is more than just growth. It’s about security, scalability. And about…” he trails off, glancing at the woman beside him, “…helping you maximize the real value of your company.”

My fingers tighten around my pen. “You mean buying me out for pennies on the dollar and stripping my company down to assets. Don’t sugarcoat it.”

The woman shifts in her seat, expression blank. “To be fair, Ms. Chase, we’re not suggesting a buyout so much as offering an enhancement. A merger of sorts.”

“Uh-huh. And which part of that ‘merger’ gives me control?” I ask, letting the words slide out slowly.

Gavin leans back, smiling again. “It would be more of a collaboration. A partnership of… equals.”

“Equals,” I repeat, deadpan. “Which is why you’re sitting in my office, at my table, telling me to step back while you ‘collaborate’ on gutting my company.”

Across the table, Gavin’s team shifts uncomfortably, and I almost feel bad for them. They probably had a pep talk this morning about how this would be a quick in-and-out deal with the “little gaming company.”

“We’re simply here to help you find the best path forward, Olivia,” Gavin says, adopting the tone of a man explaining finances to his elderly grandmother.

And that’s when I feel it—a dull, pulsing ache creeping up behind my eyes. Oh, great. A migraine. Right on schedule.

“Look,” I say, pressing my fingers against my temples. “I’ve read your proposal. I know how you guys operate. You break it down, piece by piece, until nothing’s left. And let’s be real: that ‘enhancement’ you’re talking about? That’s you controlling my assets, my tech, my brand.”

Gavin clears his throat. “Olivia, I don’t think you fully understand what we’re offering here.”

My patience is thinning, and the throbbing behind my eyes is now an insistent drumbeat. I’m done. “I think I do. I’ve been in this game far longer than you think.”

Gavin’s smile stays fixed. “Then I think you’re smart enough to know a good deal when you see one.”

I let out a small laugh. “So, you think the smart move is to walk away from the market and just hand everything over to you?”

He shrugs, smooth as oil. “That’s one way to put it.”

The junior exec nods again, probably still trying to impress Gavin. “It’s a great deal, Ms. Chase. No reason to add more risk than you need to,” he says, voice a little too eager.

Gavin gives me a measured look, finally breaking that icy politeness with a twitch of irritation. “You realize you’re taking a considerable gamble here,” he says, leaning forward. “Once you go public, the market isn’t going to be kind if you stumble.”

“Then I’ll walk carefully,” I say, standing up before the hammer in my head explodes completely. “It’s been a pleasure. Thanks for the... offer.”

Gavin stares, and for once he seems off balance. I gather up my laptop and my notes, hoping they won’t notice me swaying as I make my way out of the room.

In the hallway, I lean against the wall, rubbing my temples as the migraine sets in for a long, agonizing stay. I press my eyes shut, counting down from ten. It’s only me out here, only me against them. And if I don’t pull this off, everything I’ve built will be gone.

The hall buzzes with the sound of people running to meetings and the clinking of coffee cups, all so typical for a day in my office.

And yet, nothing is the same. But they’re not taking Death Crunch. Not today.

“Did we…” one of my employees Rachel asks me as I walk past her.

I shake my head. “Not yet. We’ll get a better offer.” Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

I push off the wall, forcing myself down the hallway, and head toward my office. It’s only three doors down, but every step sends fresh pulses through my temples, like someone’s drilling inside my skull. By the time I reach my desk, the room feels like it’s spinning.

I sink into my chair and grab the bottle of migraine meds I keep stashed in the top drawer, popping a couple and washing them down with the last dregs of cold coffee. The bitterness does nothing to chase away the headache, but at least it’s something.

The phone buzzes sometime later, and it’s Heather. I answer, sinking a little deeper into my chair as I debate picking it up. Sooner or later, I know exactly what she’s going to ask of me.

“Liv! Tell me you’re out of that ridiculous meeting,” she says, voice already full of anticipation.

“I am,” I reply, “and yes, it was as thrilling as you’d imagine.”

“So… does that mean I finally get to say, ‘Come home’? You know my place is empty, I’m out of town all week, and I’ve been pestering you about this for ages now.”

I smile despite myself. “Heather, you know I’d love to, but I’m swamped. I’ve got more meetings lined up, and the IPO is breathing down my neck. It’s just… not the right time.”

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, and I can picture her rolling her eyes. “So come for a few days! I mean, when was the last time you took a break, Liv? I’m worried you’re going to burn out, and I’ll be seeing you on the news for dismantling some corporate boardroom.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’ll come visit… this summer, maybe. But right now, it’s just not possible.”

She pauses, and I hear the disappointment in her silence. “Alright,” she says finally. “I just worry about you, you know?”

“I know,” I say, swallowing a wave of guilt. “Thanks, Heather. Really. It means a lot.”

She hesitates, like she wants to say more, but instead, she just says, “Take care of yourself, Liv. Call me if you change your mind.”

“Promise,” I reply.

The line goes dead, and, for a moment, I stare at my phone. A small part of me wants to drop everything, just go back home, and take her up on the offer. But with everything on my plate, it feels impossible.

At least I have tonight to look forward to. My friend, Jess, set me up on a blind date, raving about how he’s just the type I need right now. “Trust me,” she’d said, “he’s everything you’re missing.”

We’ve texted a little already, and he’s been surprisingly charming. A nutritionist, she said, with his own practice and apparently a ton of clients who worship him. We talked about favorite restaurants, and he even suggested a few places I haven’t tried yet, which is impressive in a city I practically live in. I don’t know why, but I’m hopeful—like this might actually be a decent night out. I could use one of those.

Maybe he’ll surprise me.

I put my phone down, letting my mind drift to the thought of a night that doesn’t involve boardrooms and financial projections. The idea feels strange, but a little spark of excitement flickers in my chest. Maybe I’ll actually enjoy myself.

I check the time. I’ve got about an hour to get ready, which gives me just enough time to get out of my business armor—sensible heels, blazer, and all—and put on something a bit more... hopeful. Casual, but with a hint of effort.

I take one last glance at my laptop screen, scrolling through the dozens of unread emails from my investors, advisors, and accountants, each marked “urgent,” each wanting something only I can provide.

In my bathroom mirror, I dab a little concealer under my eyes, feeling a pang of guilt as I spot the dark circles that have taken up permanent residence there. I sweep on a touch of mascara, add a bit of gloss, and step back. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten dressed up for anyone but a board member.

With one last look in the mirror, I decide tonight’s going to be a reset, even if it’s only for a few hours.

By the time I slip out of my office, the building’s nearly empty, the hum of the cleaning crew’s vacuums and the soft clatter of someone’s abandoned coffee cup being cleared away filling the hall. Outside, the air is crisp, and the city lights give everything a soft, golden glow. I take a deep breath and head toward the restaurant where I’m meeting my date.

He suggested this place, a trendy but laid-back spot a few blocks from my office. As I get closer, I check my phone again, scrolling through our texts from earlier.

Him: Looking forward to tonight. Hope you’re ready to try the best veggie platter in the city.

Me: I’ll be the judge of that. :)

I spot him at a table in the back, checking his watch. He’s put-together, in that overly groomed way, his hair perfectly in place, not a wrinkle in his shirt. I take a breath, square my shoulders, and head over.

When he catches sight of me, his expression flickers—something I’ve seen before, a flash of disappointment that’s quickly masked by a polite smile. I’m used to it by now, the split second it takes for people to process my size.

Still, I keep my own smile easy, crossing the room to greet him.

“Olivia, right?” He extends a hand, his grip firm but a touch too brief, like he’s already mentally readjusting.

“That’s me,” I say, meeting his smile with one of my own. “Nice to meet you, Chris.”

He gestures for me to sit, and as I settle into the chair, he gives me a once-over, and then, just barely, a slight clearing of his throat. “You’re not... exactly what I expected,” he says, trying for a light tone, though it’s clear he means something else.

I smile, letting the comment hang in the air, unbothered. “Oh?” I reply smoothly. “What did you expect?”

He laughs, a little too forced, scratching the back of his neck. “No, I just mean… Jess told me you were... very accomplished, high-energy, a video game developer. I didn’t picture someone, uh, with your look.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I know exactly what he means, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of making me feel small.

“Sorry to surprise you,” I say coolly, folding my hands on the table. “I guess I do bring my own kind of energy.”

He chuckles awkwardly, clearly not expecting me to meet his comment head-on. “Right, well, it’s good to meet you in person,” he says, trying to recover as he reaches for the water pitcher. “I went ahead and ordered us some sparkling water to start.”

“Sparkling water—fancy.”

“Best choice to keep you hydrated,” he says with a knowing grin, as if he’s imparting some sage advice. “I like to keep things balanced. Hydration, macros, nutrients—every little bit counts, right?”

I nod, feeling myself settle into the small performance I know well. “Absolutely,” I say, smiling. “Jess mentioned you’re a nutritionist?”

He perks up at that, and I can see him shifting into his comfort zone. “Yes! I run my own practice, helping people optimize their health through proper nutrition. It’s not just about what you eat—it’s about getting every aspect of your health in sync. A lot of people don’t realize how small adjustments can lead to massive results.”

His eyes drift over me for a second as he says “adjustments,” and my fingers itch to grab my phone, just to give myself something else to focus on. Instead, I nod, keeping my expression interested.

“So,” he continues, “I work with my clients on everything from meal prep to setting daily goals. You wouldn’t believe the transformations I’ve seen. You look like someone who could… benefit, too,” he says, smiling as if he’s just given me the biggest compliment of the evening.

“Oh, I’m sure,” I say, voice calm but pointed. “Though, I think I’m managing just fine as I am.”

He laughs, too loudly, like I’ve just said something utterly ridiculous. “Oh, of course, of course! But hey, who wouldn’t want a little extra energy, a little more... focus?”

The longer he talks, the more I feel my enthusiasm draining. I take a sip of the sparkling water, nodding at all the right moments, but my mind drifts to how Jess had raved about him, how he was “just my type” and “exactly what I needed.” I feel a small pang of frustration; sure, he’s handsome and driven, but every time he looks at me, it’s like he sees a potential client, not an actual person.

“And with the right kind of nutrition plan, you’d be amazed at what you could do,” he’s saying, leaning forward with a smile that’s a little too eager. “I could even set you up with something tonight. It’s like I always say, small changes make big results. Keto, especially, would really suit you. It’s a good thing I didn’t order before you arrived, but now I think I know what you need to have.”

“You do?” I say drily.

“Yep,” he says.

The migraine, which had started to fade, begins pounding again, and I try to find a polite way to wrap things up. “I think I’ll stick to my usual routine for now,” I say, flashing a tight-lipped smile. “But thanks for the offer.”

Chris glances at his watch for what must be the third time in ten minutes. “Is something up?” I ask.

It’s like he was waiting for an out. He nods. “Actually, I, uh, just remembered I’ve got a late client at the gym,” he says, already half-standing. “Didn’t mean to double-book myself, but you know how it is.”

I blink, trying to mask my surprise. Unbelievable . He’s practically darting toward the door. “Sure,” I say, keeping my tone even. “No problem.”

“Right,” he says, smiling like this is the most natural end to a date ever. “Well, take care, Olivia. It was… interesting to meet you.”

I don’t even manage to respond before he’s out the door. And just like that, he’s gone. I sit there for a second, feeling the throb of disappointment mix with a dull ache building at my temples. Seven dates, all of them dead ends. I feel foolish for letting myself get my hopes up, even a little.

A few deep breaths later, I reach into my bag and pull out my phone. I don’t even hesitate as I dial Heather’s number, lifting the phone to my ear.

“Liv?” she answers, sounding surprised. “What’s up?”

“About what you said earlier,” I say. “I think I might bring forward my plans, after all. Listen, you were right. I need to get out of here. I need a break from… all of this.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, and then she practically squeals. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

I smile, feeling a little of my tension release. “Yep. I’m coming home.”

“Oh my god, yes! Liv, this is the best news! I’ll get the spare key ready, and I’m calling my neighbor to set it all up. And don’t worry, my fish will love the company.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “Thanks, Heather. I just need a few days… away from everything here. I’ll text you my flight details.”

“Perfect! This is going to be amazing. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

As I hang up, a strange calm settles over me. I’m leaving the chaos, the pressure, the empty dating scene, even if it’s just for a little while.

I call my managing director, Ian. He sounds confused when he picks up. “What’s up?”

“I have an idea.”

“Are we selling?”

“No, we’re going to have to put a pause on that. I’m going back to my hometown tomorrow.”