Chapter 10
After Gavin fooledeveryone around us with his romantic declaration, one of the bocce courts opened up. We played three rounds while I learned all the perks of being his fake girlfriend.
People can think what they want, but dating Ian never got me closer to socializing with our CEO. The only exec I ever saw outside of work was Davide. He and Ian are decent friends and liked to double date. I really hated all the nights we spent with him and his wife considering how much Davide flaunts his infidelity.
Daanesh on the other hand is a joy to be around. I had no idea he was so funny. It’s a quiet, kind of dry sense of humor, but my cheeks hurt from the little time we’ve spent together. He even offered to be my bocce partner because Gavin and Gabby are too competitive to be on opposing teams.
I know playing bocce with Daanesh has no effect on my job, but that was never the point. I’m not fake-dating Gavin to get chummy with the CEO, just like I was never using Ian, but it felt nice to be part of this inner circle for a little while.
Now, Andie and I are sitting by the fire pit having another round of pretty orange cocktails while Gavin stays back to play with another group.
“I just have to say it. You and Gavin are hella cute together.” I bite my lip in an attempt not to smile. “I mean, the matching motorcycle helmets? You look like you both just came from some edgy photoshoot.”
“He does look good on the bike,” I admit, nibbling my cheek.
She eyes me. “So do you.” She takes a long sip of her cocktail, looking around the patio. “Well, how’s it been seeing Ian?” she asks.
“Weird, but not that bad. He’s kept his mouth shut, so that’s a plus.”
Andie bites her lip, making a face that tells me I’m so very wrong.
“Shit. What’s he been saying?”
“Nothing too bad. Just, you know, the usual stuff.”
I pin her with a stare. “Andie.”
“There you are,” Mitch’s voice sounds from above. “I need to borrow Livy for a minute,” he says to Andie before turning around. What’s it like to have that kind of power? To not even have to wait and see if people will do what you ask.
I look at her half apologetically and half scared as I stand up. She mouths big tit energy before I jog after Mitch.
I follow him to the other side of the patio where there’s more privacy. The further we get away from the group, the brighter my anxiety burns. Why do I have a feeling he’s about to fire me?
We sit down at a small table and Mitch takes a long pull of his drink.
“Just wanted to let you know I’m gonna be out next week. Ellen wants me up in Portland.” Oh god. He wants to talk about his ex-wife? This is getting so annoying. Mitch never treats me like his friend, not like he does with the rest of our team. The only exception is when he wants to vent or needs advice about his ex. Like because I’m the only one with ovaries that I’m more qualified for the topic. I’m not a fucking couple’s therapist.
“Okay, well, I’m glad she’s talking to you again,” I reply, trying to nip this conversation in the bud. Half the time he’s upset she won’t talk to him or see him. Then he complains because she wants him to come back to Portland—where they have a home and a child—instead of her coming down here.
“Yeah, we’ll see. Anyway, I won’t be able to oversee your product demo, so you’ll need someone else to join.”
Oh.
“I’m sure Gavin will sit in if he’s free, but I’m prepared to run the demo myself,” I offer.
“I’m sure he will.” His words have an edge that I don’t quite understand. “You can cut the shit with Gavin, by the way. Ian might have offered some protection, but if you were hoping to keep that job insurance, you should’ve aimed a little higher.”
From the way he’s raising his brows and tilting his head I’m wondering if he’s actually referring to himself. Gross.
I picture Andie’s face as best I can. Big tit energy.
“I like Gavin. He’s kind and thoughtful, and I’m not using him for job insurance.” Well, the first two were true. But I’m not using him, am I? I don’t want to be. He’s just helping me out with a tough situation. And now I realize the whole ordeal is going to be even worse than I thought when we come clean. Will Mitch think I ended it because he called me out?
“Look, you wanna throw Gavin a bone so he’ll be your little helper? Be my guest. All I give a shit about are results. You chose to alienate the CMO at the company you’re selling to. So show me some progress with the deal, and soon, or it’ll be clear this job isn’t for you.”
“Mitch—”
He stands up and throws back the rest of his beer. “Gotta get to the airport, Livy. Text me any updates with Surf and Stream.”
And apparently, another lovely conversation with Mitch is over.
I slump down on the bench, not wanting anyone to see me. I’ve mastered the art of holding in tears, but my anxiety always makes me fidgety.
Have I somehow made this situation worse? Mitch wanted me to use a man’s attraction to me to close a deal. Now he’s threatening me because he thinks I’m using a man to keep my job? How does he not see the hypocrisy here? I’m so sick of all these double standards. It feels like any decision I make is wrong, like just being a woman is wrong.
All I want is to be taken seriously, to prove myself in the business world. I want to play by the same rules as the men.
I never asked Gavin for an assist and now I’m wondering if I should be pissed at him for playing white knight. But I know he was only trying to help. And without him stepping in, my promotion was already on the line. I was never going to go to HR to complain about Mitch. I don’t want to be another Silicon Valley story that people use as anecdotes at happy hour. I don’t want my career to become the memoir I’m forced to write to stay relevant.
How did everything get so twisted?
Looking down at my hands, I realize I’ve dug my nails into my palm so hard that little crescent moons mar my skin.
I dig through my bag to find my AirPods, grateful I made the last-minute decision to bring them. As soon as I turn on my “chill out” playlist, I can feel my heartbeat slow down. I will not have a panic attack out here.
Closing my eyes, I let the French lyrics and slow beat drown out the thoughts in my head, and do a few breathing exercises my therapist taught me.
And then I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Sparkles? You okay?” I crack open my lids to find a very concerned Gavin peering down at me. Before I can respond he points to my ear. “Can I?”
I nod and he pulls the tiny headphone out of my ear. I thought he just wanted to talk, but instead he sits down on the bench next to me—so close our arms and thighs are touching—and pops the bud in.
The song I’m listening to is my favorite. I have no idea what it’s about, but the melody feels like that first sip of rosé, like walking barefoot in soft grass or sliding into bed under freshly laundered crisp sheets. It’s not sensual exactly but it’s the kind of song I’d want to cuddle to. It’s one that immediately relaxes me, which is why it’s the first on the playlist.
Gavin presses a little harder against my side and I realize he’s swaying to the beat.
I relax my shoulders and let him guide me side to side until a smile breaks free from my lips.
“Better?” he asks, turning to face me.
“Yeah. Thanks.” A new song starts, and I turn it off, placing my AirPods back in their case after Gavin hands me his.
“I liked the song.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” I admit.
“What’s it called?”
“Tableau. I think it might mean desk, but I try to pretend it’s something more romantic.”
“You’ve never looked up the translation? Not even for a favorite song?” He looks incredulous. I wonder if the patience and the curiosity has worn off, if he just thinks it’s weird now. He pulls out his phone and starts typing vigorously. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. It means painting.”
The emphasis he places on the word makes it seem like I should understand. Is there a joke I’m not getting?
“Okay?”
“Liv. You say you’re not an artist, yet your favorite French song means painting. You’ve got to see the irony here.”
He laughs a bit, and the sound rings through me. I’ve always loved his laugh. It’s never mocking, never at anyone else’s expense. He rarely cracks a smile most days at work, but when it does happen, he laughs for joy and joy alone.
“Maybe you’re right. I tried the sales thing, but I can always fall back on painting murals with Mom.”
“Nope. I’d miss you too much.” His words feel genuine, no matter how well I know he’s joking. “I saw you talking to Mitch over here. What happened?”
“Oh, just my career imploding. He thinks I’m using you as leverage so he can’t fire me.”
“What? Since when is your job at risk?”
“No idea,” I respond. Because I can’t even keep track of the mess I’m in. “I don’t think he actually wants to fire me, but he likes to screw with my head. Let’s just come clean soon, because as soon as we do it’s gonna be such a shit storm for me.” I huff out a long breath and try my best not to imagine what those rumors will look like.
“So let’s not.”
A breeze rolls by and a loose lock of hair escapes my braid, brushing against my lips. Gavin is right there, ready to tuck it behind my ear. He’s so tactile with me and I find myself enjoying it more each day.
But it’s messing with my head. Is he like this with everyone?
“Why?” I ask. “Why would you want to keep this up indefinitely?”
“Why not?”
“Gavin,” I say with a bit more force than intended. I can’t handle his laissez faire attitude about this anymore.
“Olivia,” he mocks. I give him a pleading look. “Just tell me what you want to do, and I’ll back you up one hundred percent.”
“But I’m in over my head here. I have no idea what I should do.” I stop to take a breath because I can feel the spiral coming. “If we come clean, Mitch will think he was right. And if I can’t close Surf and Stream, and at record speed apparently, I’ll never get promoted and I’ll have to find a new job and start all over.”
“That’s not going to ha?—”
“Gavin.”
“Olivia.”
“Oh my god, stop. You know I’m right. You know how Mitch treats me, how he sees me. I don’t get to play by the same rules as you do.”
“Fine,” he concedes, his jaw clenched. “Then I repeat, let’s not come clean.”
“Gavin—” I start.
“I really prefer Scottie. Every time you say Gavin, I feel like you’re about to scold me.”
“Fine, Scottie. We can’t just pretend to be dating forever.”
I stare down at my empty drink, wishing we weren’t having this conversation, wishing I had a simple way out of this whole situation, wishing I could enjoy my first company off-site without Ian by my side critiquing every interaction with my colleagues.
“Not forever,” he muses. “How about for a few months? Or how about just until you close this deal, and he can finally see how amazing you are.”
Fake, fake, fake.How many times is he going to do something or say something like that to me? Something that makes this relationship feel way too real.
“Seriously, Scottie. Why would you do that for me? You’re getting nothing out of this.”
He turns to me and flexes his jaw.
“I’m starting to realize that me trying to help the other night only made things worse for you. I got you into this mess.” He wraps an arm around me, pulling me in close. “Let me get you out.”
Dad:
Thanks for filling in tonight. You know Deacon hates public speaking
Me:
Of course. I’m happy to help
Happy?Definitely not. I had one day to come up with a welcome speech for tonight’s gala. It’s true that I’m the only one of my siblings who doesn’t get total stage fright, but I’d still like to be prepared.
The plus side? I’ve been too busy prepping for the charity event that I haven’t had a moment to think about Gavin. Well except for the moments I did think about him. Is it cute or creepy to dream about your co-worker slash fake boyfriend braiding your hair? Asking for a friend.
After he drove me home from Sausalito he asked if I wanted to hang out, which of course I’m still reading into, but then I saw the family group text asking me to take over the welcome speech at tonight’s event and told him I had to work on something.
So that’s what I’ve been doing for the last twenty-four hours. Writing the speech, practicing the speech, recording myself practicing the speech, scrutinizing the recording of myself practicing the speech. It’s been a fun day.
At least I’m finally at the good part, where I get to play with makeup and put together my outfit. Deacon—the oldest of the Diamond siblings—called a few days ago to ask me not to wear anything “too girly.” He specifically requested no glitter or bows. My family has never appreciated my style, but I’m following orders and wearing the black silk dress Gavin had his hands all over yesterday morning. And I’m definitely not going to read into that.
Deacon never mentioned gemstones, so to go with the simple black slip, I’m wearing my favorite bejeweled pumps. They’re completely encrusted with gems of every color, and while difficult to walk in, they aren’t impossible.
I finish the look with loose waves and a nude lip before I take a selfie to send to Andie. I would normally ask her to come over and help me decide on my look, but she’s in Santa Barbara with the mystery man she’s been keeping hidden for months. I’m positive he’s a celebrity who made her sign an NDA, but I can’t for the life of me come up with a guess as to who.
Andie Oh:
HOT HOT HOT
Is Gavin going with you?
Me:
Of course not. This isn’t a work event so it’s not like we need to be fooling anyone
Andie Oh:
Well I imagine looking like that you’ll have a date by the end of the night anyway ;)
I’m heading back tonight so let me know if you get bored and wanna bail
Tonight’s event is at the Fairmont Hotel, one of my favorite venues. I have to Uber there since it’s at the top of Nob Hill. Also, these heels could take me about two blocks max.
As soon as I enter the main ballroom I find Deacon, who looks calm as a cucumber as he bosses around multiple event coordinators. For some reason I’m the only one in my family who isn’t perfectly comfortable in their own skin.
“Hey, Deac. Where can I help?”
“Ollie!” He wraps me in a bear hug before squeezing my shoulders and inspecting my outfit. “Good to see you, Sis. You look great.”
“Thanks.”
“No idea where Mom and Dad are. Owen and Phil are still unloading the truck, but they’ll be dealing with the auction all night. Guests are starting to arrive so why don’t you hang by the entrance and help greet, show people how to find their tables. You know the drill.”
My family, along with Sonoma County Animal Rescue started Pawsability when I was in elementary school. And this will be our fifth wine auction gala in support of the cause. I definitely “know the drill.” But it’ll also be the first time I give the welcome speech.
I perform my duty as greeter while I run through the order of events tonight in my head. We start with a cocktail reception, though I’m not sure why we insist on calling it that when we’re serving 90 percent wine. Then I’ll give my welcome speech as dinner starts, followed by a video that will be sure to leave zero dry eyes in the audience. The band will start playing during dessert and the silent auction—after my announcement—will end promptly at ten.
“What are we serving tonight?” I ask the bartender, anxious to sip my liquid courage.
“We have a few options,” he replies, presenting a laminated drink list. My parents really pulled out all the stops for this one.
We specialize in pinot noir and have around seven different wines from the grape each harvest. Though I do see we’re not serving my favorite. The Vega isn’t our bestseller, but that would be impossible considering its price tag and batch size. It comes from the smallest block in our vineyard and produces the richest pinot I’ve ever tasted.
But tonight, the selections are three of our more moderately priced pinots—Orion, Polaris and Rigel—along with our rosé and the Capella chardonnay that isn’t nearly buttery enough for my liking. I always wonder if people find the names of our wines to be strange. My family really leaned into the Diamond Sky name.
“I’ll do the Lyra, please,” I say excitedly. I take a healthy sip of my favorite rosé and scan the room for Deacon again. I figure if I stay by his side there’s no way I’ll miss my cue to start the speech.
“There you are,” Deacon says, finding me first. “There’s someone I want you to meet. One of our newest donors.”
He guides me through the maze of the crowd as my senses are attacked by heavy-handed perfume and cologne. And finally we reach a table filled with a group of extremely attractive people and one of the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen.
That’s my favorite part of these galas. There are always at least a few dogs in attendance.
“Hello, my fluffy boy,” I say, kneeling as low as I can in this dress. “Is it okay if I pet him?” I ask the blonde holding his leash.
“Of course.” She smiles back at me, and I wonder if I’ve met her before. She looks familiar but in that super distant way that makes it impossible to know why.
“Aren’t you just the sweetest?” I continue with the dog as he gives my fingers a lick. He’s gray and white with the softest fluff that makes him look like a toy I had as a kid. “What’s your name, pal?”
“This is Rowan,” the woman continues.
“Ollie, stand up,” Deacon orders, using his infamous brotherly whisper-yell. “Remember I wanted to introduce you to the new donors?” I grab his hand for balance since my shoes aren’t really intended for deep squats. Once I’m standing, he turns back to the guests. “This is my sister, Olivia. Olivia, I’d like you to meet Lucy and Henry Turner.”
“It’s Gold, actually, “Lucy says with a shy smile. “I kept my last name.” She does a little shrug and shoots a conspiratorial grin to the man next to her. Henry, I presume.
I shake both of their hands, but Henry never says a word, and then I realize where I know her.
“You’re Lucy Gold? Like, Beautiful Beasts, Lucy Gold?” My voice pitches a little higher than intended, but I can’t help myself.
“Ollie!” Deacon scolds at my less than gala-level behavior.
“Guilty,” Lucy chirps.
Ignoring Deacon, I refuse not to enjoy my fan-girl moment. “I stayed up until like, four in the morning reading that. It was amazing. I’ve read all your books, actually.”
Deacon is shaking his head, horrified that I’ve embarrassed him, so I try to salvage what I can.
“Lucy,” I say. “On behalf of my family, we’re so grateful for your donation, and personally I’m just really excited to have my favorite author here.”
“I love this organization. When I read about what your family has done to help people match with service dogs….well, having Rowan changed my life. Anything we can do to help more people get that kind of support.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Deacon mumbles, “But, it’s time for you to get up there.”
“It was so nice meeting you,” I say to Lucy and Henry. “Let’s have a drink together after dinner.”
Deacon rushes me to the stage area. I’m happy to see that it’s not actually elevated, just a mic set up on the dance floor.
“Break a leg, Ollie,” Deacon whispers with a quick pat to my back. He rushes to the side of the ballroom and suddenly I realize that all eyes are on me.
My anxiety can get the best of me sometimes. There may not seem like a good reason for it, like the most random thing can set it off. But one thing that’s never been an issue is this. It’s like I feed off of it, being the person commanding the room. I love stealing everyone’s attention, knowing they’re all about to listen to what I have to say.
“Hello, everyone,” I begin. “I’m Olivia Diamond, and I’m thrilled to welcome you to our fifth annual Sips for Service gala.” I pause for a few moments of applause.
“My family founded Pawsability almost seventeen years ago. Our mission was simple: make it easier to train and place service animals. My parents, brothers and I have personally trained over fifty animals that have gone on to help people live a more fulfilling life. And our goal is that anyone who could benefit from a service dog, or other animal, will have the ability to be matched with one.
“Since we started this organization, with the help of the Sonoma County Animal Rescue,”—I pause again for a quick applause—“we have facilitated the training and placement of over nine hundred animals. These furry superheroes support numerous disabilities and come in all shapes and sizes. If you’re lucky, you can even spot a few tonight.
“If you’ve been blessed to experience the love of an animal, you’ll know that it’s priceless. But tonight, we ask that you do put a price on it, and that you be as generous as you can. Remember, not only are you changing someone’s life for the better, you are giving these animals an extremely fulfilling life as well.
“Plus, I have it on good authority that the wine we’re auctioning is pretty tasty.” This elicits a few laughs. So far so good. Just need a strong finish.
“I’d like to thank all the incredible wineries and vineyards who are here and donated tonight. Your contribution to this event means the world to me and my family. And with that, let’s start the auction.”
I ring the little cowbell that my mom insists we use, then I exit the stage and find my table. My parents are usually so busy at these events I barely see them, so I’m surprised to find them at the table when I sit down for dinner.
“You were amazing, sweetie,” Dad says, giving me a quick hug.
“Thanks. I hope it was the right length. I couldn’t really remember what Deacon did last year.”
“It was perfect. Wasn’t it, Sandra?” Dad poses the question to my mom on his other side.
“Oh, yes, lovely. Olivia, those shoes are ridiculous,” she says, right before she stands up to go greet another guest. Dad follows almost immediately. Par for the course.
My parents are great people. They have always felt fortunate to achieve such success in winemaking and make a huge effort to give back when they can. Sometimes I think this charity is more important to them than their own business.
But for some reason, we’ve just never really connected. My brothers have always been close with them, and I’ve always been…somewhere else.
The only family member that’s ever seemed to get me is my brother, Owen. We were really close throughout childhood and even college, but he’s become more and more distant the longer I’ve lived in the city.
I enjoy my dinner in solitude while my family schmoozes and gives their little wine tasting lessons table to table.
And after my third glass of rosé, I make an announcement to get in final bids as the auction ends abruptly at ten o’clock.
Alone again at the table, I’m thoroughly enjoying my white chocolate raspberry mousse when I sense someone come up behind my chair. The scent hits me first, that heady cologne that must cost a fortune. And then I hear his voice.
“Olivia Diamond. It appears you’re free after all.”