5. The Devil Wears Patagonia
5
THE DEVIL WEARS PATAGONIA
ROSALIND
There are certain universal truths about Seattle in January…
It will rain. Coffee will be necessary for survival. And when you kiss a tech billionaire to avoid awkward questions, he will show up at your office the next morning wearing a jacket that probably costs more than your car.
"He's here," Olivia announces, bursting into my office at precisely 9:07 AM. Her dark hair is still damp from the morning drizzle, and she's clutching her coffee like it contains the secrets of the universe. "And he brought reinforcements."
I look up from the bank statement I've been staring at for the past hour, hoping the numbers might magically rearrange themselves into something less terrifying. "Who's here?"
"Your future fake boyfriend. The one whose shirt you ruined right in front of your ex-husband’s family.”
Oh. That’s right. That actually happened.
Last night feels like a fever dream – the kind induced by too much of Nonna Flora's grappa and poor life choices. But the headlines this morning confirm it was very real: "TECH'S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR OFF THE MARKET? SecureMatch CEO Spotted with Mystery Woman at Franklin Engagement Party."
Though I’ve been thinking about the man for the past twelve hours, the reality that he exists didn’t seem to hit me until I’m faced with the fact that he’s in the front room of my office.
"He's wearing Patagonia," Olivia continues, peering through my office blinds. "Like, expensive Patagonia. The kind that says 'I could buy this whole building but I'm pretending to be casual about it.'"
"Of course he is." I smooth down my own outfit – a vintage-inspired green blouse and dark shirt that suddenly feel like armor. “And you said he had reinforcements?"
“Yup. Tall, blonde, looks like she eats contracts for breakfast. And—" Olivia's eyes widen. "Oh no."
"What?"
“I forgot. Dani invited her Sunday night date here.”
“So?”
“He’s a clown.”
“That’s a little harsh.”
Liv’s green eyes blink at me. “No, as in an actual clown. Pennywise get-up and everything.”
“You’re kidding.” I'm at the window before I can stop myself. Sure enough, our newly hired matchmaker and my best friend's sister is standing in the lobby, caught between an extremely expensive-looking lawyer in Louboutins and what appears to be Bozo the Business Professional - complete with red nose and briefcase.
"He's one of her SecureMatch dating matches," Olivia explains. "Apparently, he thinks surprising her at work with balloon animals will win her over."
"Why is he wearing a suit with the clown makeup? "
"According to Dani's texts, he's trying to show he can be professional and fun. You know, work-life balance?"
I'm about to respond when I spot Grayson Dixon walking towards my office door. Even in just a button-down shirt and slacks, the man looks like he just walked off a photoshoot for men’s cologne.
The events of last night flash through my mind – the wine stain, the rain, that kiss that was definitely just for show but somehow felt like...
"Oh God," I mutter. “What the hell am I doing?”
"The smart thing.” Olivia's grinning now. "Though you might want to rescue him from?—"
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dani's clown announces to our entire lobby. "Watch as I transform these ordinary balloons into a symbol of true love!"
Through the glass walls of my office, I watch in horror as my new path to matchmaking success finds himself caught between a determined street performer and his power-suited lawyer.
"Should we..." Olivia starts.
"Hide? Yes."
"I was going to say help, but?—"
A knock on my office door makes us both jump.
"Rosalind," Grayson calls out, and just like last night, the way he says my name does something to my pulse rate. “Morning. I believe we have some terms to discuss."
Behind him, his lawyer navigates around a half-formed balloon giraffe.
Through the window, I can see Dani attempting to explain to her clown suitor that workplace performances weren't exactly what she meant by "showing initiative."
"Terms," I manage. “Of course. Come on in.”
“Much obliged.” He and his lawyer step in, as Liv steps out. Somehow, he seems even taller than he did last night. "Though I have to admit, your lobby entertainment is more creative than most corporate meetings I attend."
“We do our best.” I clear my throat. “So…did the ring hunt go okay? After you left last night?"
He steps closer, his broad shoulders settling beneath his shirt. "Let's just say Alex needs to check his pockets more thoroughly before panicking next time."
“Indeed.”
The lawyer – Ms. Rogers, according to her business card which she somehow produces without disturbing a single perfect blonde hair – clears her throat. "Perhaps we should focus on the matter at hand?"
"Of course." Grayson takes one of the vintage leather chairs across from my desk while Ms. Rogers perches on the other like she's afraid it might infect her with whimsy. "We've drafted a preliminary agreement."
She produces a document that's approximately the thickness of a small novel.
"All that for six weeks of fake dating?" I ask, just as a balloon pops in the lobby, followed by what sounds suspiciously like a honking nose.
"Consider it a merger of personal brands," Ms. Rogers says crisply, though her eye twitches at the honking. "Mr. Dixon's reputation needs to show growth beyond algorithms, while your company needs to demonstrate adaptability to modern markets."
"Plus," Grayson adds, "it explains why I was seen fleeing an engagement party with a woman in a very memorable dress."
"I wasn't fleeing. I was moving briskly away.”
"In four-inch heels."
Olivia, still hovering by the door, makes a sound that might be a laugh disguised as a cough.
"Don't you have work to do?" I ask her.
“I just wanted to be around in case any more accidents went down.” But she backs away at my glare, closing the door just as another balloon meets its demise in the lobby.
Ms. Rogers flips open the contract. "Shall we begin with the parameters of public appearances?"
"Just a moment." I reach for the bank statement still on my desk. Grayson reaches to help, his hand brushing against mine, sending a jolt through my skin.
I pull back my hand, and he does the same. Placing it back in my lap, I try to ignore the slight tingles running through my fingers.
"Page twelve," Ms. Rogers interrupts, "addresses physical displays of affection. We've created a comprehensive scale of appropriate actions based on venue and audience size."
I stare at her. "You quantified PDA?"
"With variable factors for lighting, camera presence, and social media potential," Grayson confirms. "I find data points help maintain professional boundaries."
"Right. Because spreadsheets are so romantic."
Before I can say more, my office door bursts open. Dani rushes in, slightly out of breath and trailing balloon strings.
"Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Giggles is insisting on performing his 'Love is Like a Three-Ring Circus' monologue, and I thought you should know that Emily Hanning from TechCast is on line one?—"
"Emily Hanning?” I frown. “Who’s that?”
Grayson manages to answer first. “Tech reporter. Pretty famous. Probably saw the phots from last night.”
"I see.” I nod at Dani. “I’ll call her back.”
Dani leaves, and Ms. Rogers starts taking notes.
“Uh huh,” she hums. “Actually, now would be good time to discuss media protocols. Page twenty-seven outlines approved publications and?—"
"I've got it!" Dani announces to someone in the lobby. "Just... please stop juggling the office plants! "
She disappears in a swirl of reddish-blonde curls and balloon strings, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
"Your HR must be interesting," Grayson comments.
"She's actually our newest matchmaker. And my best friend's sister." I glance at the contract. "I assume the agreement includes confidentiality clauses for our staff?"
"Pages forty through forty-seven." Ms. Rogers produces a stack of NDAs. "Speaking of staff, we should discuss dress code requirements."
"I'm sorry, dress code?"
"Your vintage aesthetic is..." Grayson pauses, "charming, but SecureMatch's brand requires a more traditional approach."
"You want to dictate what I wear?"
"We want to present a cohesive image," Ms. Rogers corrects. "Mr. Dixon's reputation as a tech innovator?—"
"Means I can't dress like a human being?"
"The agreement includes a clothing allowance," Ms. Rogers adds, as if throwing money at me makes it better.
I glance down at my vintage green dress – the one that usually makes me feel confident but suddenly feels like it's marking me as out of step with their sleek, modern world. "So not only do I have to pretend to date you, I have to pretend to be someone else while doing it?"
Something flickers in Grayson's expression. For a moment, I think he might actually argue against his lawyer's points, but then his CEO mask slides back into place. "Image is everything in tech. You understand business necessity, surely?"
The bank statement still in my hand seems to mock me. He's right – I do understand business necessity. It's why I'm even considering this insane arrangement.
"Fine." I reach for the contract. "What else?"
"Physical fitness requirements," Ms. Rogers continues, but she's interrupted by a commotion from the lobby .
"Is that... is that a balloon arch collapsing?" Grayson asks, peering through the windows of my office.
"Your secretary's quarterly reports!" Mr. Giggles wails. "I'm so sorry!"
I drop my head into my hands. "Please tell me the contract covers property damage by rogue performance artists."
Ms. Rogers clears her throat. "If we could return to page fifty-eight, regarding public appearances..."
I look at the contract, then at Grayson, then at my bank statement. Six weeks.
I can handle six weeks.
I think…
But it remains to be seen so far.
Because two hours, one collapsed balloon arch, and three sad mime performances later, I've signed what has to be the most elaborate fake dating contract in Seattle history.
"You realize this thing has more clauses than my actual divorce agreement?" I say, flexing my signing hand.
"Your divorce agreement didn't include protocols for social media engagement and coordinated workout schedules," Ms. Rogers points out, gathering the papers.
"Speaking of workouts," Grayson says, standing with that effortless grace that probably comes from whatever overpriced gym is specified in section twelve, "we should discuss our first public appearance."
"Already?"
"Tonight's charity gala at the Museum of Innovation. The press will be there.” He studies me for a moment, and I fight the urge to fidget under those whiskey-brown eyes. “You’ll have full access to your clothing allowance tonight. I'll send a car at seven.”He pauses. “Or is that going to be a problem?
I glue on a smile. “Nope. No problem.”
I stand, and he follows, reaching out a hand.
“Tonight, Ms. Carpenter? ”
I shake his offered hand. “Tonight, Mr. Dixon.”
He never smiles, but his eyes…They seem to say something his mouth won’t.
With his lawyer in tow, he leaves in a rustle of papers and expensive fabric, somehow managing to avoid all evidence of the balloon disaster in our lobby.
I wait exactly thirty seconds after the elevator doors close before grabbing my phone. "Olivia! Fashion emergency!"
But before I can hit dial, the phone rings. Emily Hanning. Again.
“What a goddamned control freak,” I mutter, staring at my phone as it rings. Emily Hanning's name feels like it's flashing in neon. "First my clothes, then my workout schedule—what's next, a spreadsheet for approved conversation topics?"
The phone stops ringing, then immediately starts again. Emily Hanning is nothing if not persistent.
With a sigh that's too tired to resist anymore, I answer the phone. "Heart & Soul Connections, this is?—"
"Rosalind Carpenter? Emily Hanning from TechCast.”
“Yes, I’ve heard. What can I do for you, Ms. Hanning?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to reach you about a feature I'm working on.”She snorts softly. “Well, two features now, given this morning's headlines about you and Grayson Dixon."
“This morning’s headlines?"
"'You didn’t see? It’s called ‘Seattle's Tech Bachelor Finds Love the Old-Fashioned Way.' That's my working title, anyway. But what I really want to discuss is your other incomparable high-profile match."
"Other match?" I hold the phone closer. “Well, we’ve had so many over the years.”
“Of course. But what we’re really interested in Jessica Gordon’s match…”
“I’m sorry. But I don’t know a Jessica Gordon. ”
The line goes silent. Several seconds pass before Emily speaks. “She’s…Grayson Dixon’s ex-fiancée.”
The room seems to tilt slightly.
Oh shit. This is the woman Douglas Franklin mentioned last night.
And I hooked her up with her current partner?
It can’t be…
"Ms. Carpenter? Are you there?"
I look at my bank statement again. Then at the massive contract Grayson left behind.
"I'll, uh, need to check my records," I manage. "Client confidentiality, you understand."
"Of course. But this feature could do amazing things for your brand. Really highlight the human element that AI can't replicate. I'm thinking front page, Sunday edition..."
Front page.
The kind of exposure that could save my business.
The kind of exposure that could keep clients rolling in. Or land me in tabloid hell.
I’m sure Dani would say both are great for business.
"Let me get back to you," I hear myself say. “I’m really busy. But I’ll be in touch soon.”
After hanging up, I stare at the contract on my desk. Section 47.3: "All press interactions must be coordinated and approved by both parties..."
I don’t finish before a wide-eyed, wild-haired Dani bursts in. “Okay, the clown finally left, but he's coming back tomorrow with his one-man show about—" She stops. "Are you okay? You look like you swallowed one of Mr. Giggle’s balloons.”
"I'm fine." I stand up. "Just... processing."
"Processing what?"
I look at my bank statement one more time.
"That I'm about to go shopping," I say finally. "Apparently, I need something 'on brand' for tonight."