Page 2 of Faking with Three

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, andI’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.

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