Page 1 of Faking with Three

CHAPTER 1

OLIVIA

War rooms are supposedto 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. Hedoesn’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 onmyterms. 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 inmyoffice, atmytable, 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.”

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