The Fate Date (Glengarry Curse #1)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Gavin

T he presenter stood before them, sweat beading at his greying temples, one drop crashing down on the glass conference table. Stuck to his trembling index finger was a surveillance prototype, the size of a dime, that fit into a transparent sticker. He extended his arm forwards, offering it up like one last sacrifice to the research and development gods seated before him.

The presenter was bluffing. While the man had droned on about microphone capabilities, a quick mental tally of their test data validated Gavin’s suspicions. People lied. Numbers didn’t. And Gavin’s instinct was never wrong. He could list the signs: pungent perspiration clinging to the air, eyes trying to hypnotize you with their subconscious pleas. Yet the colleagues seated next to him beamed with naivety. His team was supposed to carefully consider which projects to back, track the return on investment, and keep people safe—but it seemed only Gavin could sniff out desperation. He knew it because he’d been there.

Gavin aligned his papers and stood up. “I’m going to stop you right there. It’s going to be a pass from me.” His colleagues’ smiles morphed into grimaces. Contrary to what they believed, Gavin didn’t relish rejections—and it always fell to him to deliver this cutting kindness. Avoiding their censure, he looked towards the glass wall separating him from the line of workstations, the horseshoe pattern of tables giving the other employees front row seats to this conference-room drama. The executives, however, in their glass-walled offices around the perimeter, were oblivious to the scene playing out mere steps away. In a few weeks, Gavin would be among them. Until then, he needed to remain focused, or else the roof would come crashing down—literally.

Gavin crossed towards the exit. At the door, despite the knotted feeling in his stomach, he turned back to look at the presenter. Long ago, he might have tried to smooth the edges of his rejection with a kind word or a semblance of a smile. But he knew from experience that coddling was no mercy. “Your proposal is riddled with errors, improperly formatted, and there are discrepancies with your presentation. We won’t be pursuing investment opportunities at this time.”

Gavin didn’t wait for their reply, he swept out of the room, his long stride eating up the distance to his workstation. Screeching echoed in the open-concept workspace as the office chairs tucked in as he passed. Gavin looked at the ground to dodge his subordinates’ rubbernecking gaze. Reflected in the glittering black tile, his dark wavy hair and grey eyes almost disappeared. It reminded him of the miniature Lord of the Rings wraiths he used to paint as a teen, made menacing with precise brushstrokes of silver, charcoal, and slate.

Reaching his desk, Gavin didn’t miss the “Dick!” that echoed from the conference room. It bounced off him, ricocheting off the floor-to-ceiling windows, the attention of his colleagues seeping it in.

He rolled his shoulders down and back, lest they betray his frustration, and gazed out the window opposite his workspace. The forested trail system nestled in the suburban tech sector of Ottawa always reminded him of his backyard, visible from his childhood bedroom. When Gavin had first started at IM Tech Securities ten years ago, this sight had been comforting. It wasn’t anymore.

With a shake of the leather strap on his wrist, Gavin checked his watch—the one that belonged to his father— and decided he had just enough time before five to confirm that his teams had submitted their weekly reports as scheduled. But the email he found waiting in his inbox was even more exhilarating than spreadsheets.

Ian Ghouri : October Board Meeting and Corporate Retreat

A sense of calm, like the kind caused by the New York Times ’ Sudoku victory jingle, soothed him as he sank into his chair. The announcement of his promotion at the board meeting was an angel’s summons, heralding him to the golden gates of financial freedom. Finally.

But the email wasn’t a psalm. It was a siren’s cry.

We invite all candidates for the Chief Financial Officer position, and their significant others, to the annual corporate retreat, at which time they will make a presentation…

Gavin didn’t move, just stared, as fear and frustration duelled in his stomach. This job was supposed to be his . Malcolm, the former CFO, had assured him. The promotion—and raise that went along with it?—were essential for the renovations needed to keep his mother safe at home before the old farmhouse came crumbling down around her. With the ticking clock of her upcoming surgery, he'd explored every financial option. But with his personal credit in shambles and the inability to take out a second mortgage without her knowledge, there was no other way to come up with the cash so quickly. Because if the roof caved in —so would his secrets to protect her.

Gavin’s thumb tapped absentmindedly on the trackpad, causing the spreadsheet columns on his screen to flash like a glitchy piece of code. He re-read the email, hoping against all odds that it had magically changed. Congratulations and Candidates were not so phonetically dissimilar.

But there it was in full plural glory. Candidates.

Maybe this was a formality. Perhaps a seemingly open competition for the Chief Financial Officer position would help allay any fears of favouritism?

Gavin peered across into Ian’s office. His chest further constricted with every paper Ian stuffed haphazardly into his bag. Gavin couldn’t let this anxiety accumulate over the weekend, not when he had to look his mother in the eye at her party this evening and reassure her that the renos were moving ahead as planned.

He hoped the hurried tap of his loafers didn’t betray his urgency. As Gavin strode in, Ian’s hands stilled overtop of his desk, which was cluttered with posed family photos and popsicle-stick crafts.

“Gavin, what can I do for you?” Although Ian was the younger of the two founders, time had painted his black hair with streaks of grey and the laugh lines on his tan face etched more deeply over the past ten years he’d worked here.

Gavin had perfected the slope of his brow and the flare of his nostrils to silently communicate his displeasure on a scale between irritated and infuriated. He used the strategy frequently with his subordinates. Though he rarely used it with the CEO, Ian would recognize it.

“I see you got my email.” Ian sighed and sunk down into his chair. “I have to go at five, by the way.” He gestured to the clock partially obscured by some children’s “artwork”.

Gavin pulled out the chair across from his boss, causing a horrible screeching sound with the force against the tile. Like he’d mastered long ago, he relaxed his face and suppressed any tell that would betray just how screwed he was by this development. “I have plans this evening too.”

Ian’s brown eyes widened in surprise. “Oh? Hot date?”

Gavin stayed silent. He didn’t talk about his personal life at work. Those were separate compartments. Besides, his personal relationships—or lack of them—were irrelevant to his work performance .

“What’s going on, Ian? I’ve taken on the interim CFO responsibilities for months. I’ve consistently exceeded my performance expectations. Is this some sort of procedural formality?”

Ian glanced at the clock. 4:51pm.

“Yes and no.” He scratched the stubble peppering his pointed jaw, then gestured for Gavin to sit. “The board wants to make sure that they’ve got the best person to fill the role. We posted the position externally, and we’ve been working with a head-hunter as well. In my opinion, you’re the strongest contender, and most of the board agrees. But there are still a few holdouts. They’ve narrowed the list to three candidates and want it to be an objective process. You, Alfred—”

“What?”

Gavin’s brain had the same experience when his web browser tabs closed without warning—none of this made sense. Alfred was better able to list the new features of his favourite luxury car than he could last quarter’s gains.

Ian gave him a quelling look. “Keep it down. Alfred’s fiancée is the Board of Director’s niece. The presentation will be a good experience for him.”

“So much for being objective.”

“He’s a nice guy. The board likes him.” Ian drummed his fingers on the desk, “and the other candidate is external.”

Alfred, Gavin could manage, but an external candidate was a wild unknown. His traitorous fingers twitched like they always did, right before the flip of a card. “Details on him?”

“Her, actually. I’ll be honest, she’s your real competition. She doesn’t have the same knowledge of the company, but her work history is quite impressive. The board thinks she’s more than capable of the challenge and, well…” Ian stopped mid-sentence and shifted in his seat.

“Well, what?” Gavin’s low voice rumbled between the glass walls.

Ian shrugged. “Well, she’s a hell of a lot more pleasant to talk to. ”

Gavin tensed, the words causing an unexpected sting. “Sorry, I thought we were candidates for the CFO position, not Miss Congeniality.” He had meticulously avoided office friendships. Despite the loneliness, it had allowed him to climb the corporate ladder with the efficiency needed for his family—until now.

“You know what I mean, Gavin. Your work is flawless. You have the technical skills, but at the management levels, you need to motivate and uplift your teams.”

“My teams consistently exceed their performance objectives.” He’d seen the proof in this quarter’s stats only this afternoon.

Ian waved his palms in the air, like he was gesturing to something obvious that Gavin couldn’t see. “Yes, trembling with fear as they do so.”

Gavin swallowed the anxiety creeping up his throat. Yes, his standards were high, but he had never raised his voice or treated anyone unfairly. His constructive feedback always focused on the work—the specifications, objectives, deadlines—never the person. “Have there been complaints?”

“No.” Ian’s voice lowered. “It’s not…look, it’s a minor…call it a personality thing. But if you really want to impress the board, make yourself seem a bit more approachable. Some of the board members are worried about the organizational risk if people are too afraid to come forward with problems or feel unappreciated by the executive team. The upcoming corporate retreat is the perfect opportunity to let people get to know you. Maybe brush up on your small talk?”

Few things irritated Gavin more than small talk. Having to complete a paper form by hand, or a random software update at the most inopportune time made the list.

Ian studied Gavin for a minute and grimaced. “If it’s helpful, we’ve decided to include plus-ones at this year’s retreat. The board wants to support the whole IM Securities family, and our significant others play a big role in that. You mentioned having plans tonight. If it’s anyone special, maybe you could bring them along?”

Panicked that his disgust was apparent, Gavin looked out towards his gawking colleagues and a movement caught his eye through the glass. Alfred bounded down the hallway towards Ian’s office like a Labrador retriever, adjusting his tie before tripping on a power cord.

Ian leaned forwards. “I have to remain unbiased on this, but honestly, you could learn a lot from Alfred on—”

A tappity-tap-tap sounded, and without waiting for acknowledgment, Alfred popped in his chestnut helmet of hair.

“Hey Gav, my boss man, sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to thank you, Ian, for the opportunity. I’m so honoured to be considered for the CFO position. Effie is going to be stoked when she hears it.” He pulled his fist downward mid-air.

Ian nodded. “Well deserved, Alfred. The board and I are looking forward to your presentation.”

Alfred’s grin spread even wider, drawing his bulbous nose with it. “I’ll have to pick your brain about the competition at golf on Saturday.” He stepped into the office, miming a swing. He nudged Gavin in what he assumed was a congenial gesture. Gavin did not reciprocate his smile.

Ian did though. “Melanie is still reeling from Effie’s trouncing last round. She’s been rage-pitching in the backyard. I’m going to have to hire a landscaper.”

Alfred barked out a laugh, stepping in front of Gavin. “I’ll tell Effie to go easy on her this time.”

The clock read 4:55.

Ian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “Speaking of this weekend, I thought we could go out for a couple’s dinner afterwards. Two of the newer board members—Omar and Jonathan—and their significant others wanted to meet before the retreat so they felt more comfortable with all the unfamiliar faces. Bojana will be there too, of course.”

Alfred stepped forwards, further blocking Gavin from Ian’s line of sight. “A corporate and family dinner," he guffawed. "Effie and I would love that. I’d really value their insights on the future of the company.” He peered back over his shoulder. “Are you seeing anyone, Gavin?”

Gavin wiped his sweating hands on his pant leg. Alfred’s perma-grin made Gavin wonder if he already knew the lonesome answer to his question. Gavin had a strict no-strings policy when it came to dating. Opening himself up to someone was a risk he couldn’t permit. Even without the supposed “family curse”, being alone was infinitely more practical than having to hide things from another person.

“I—”

“Right, sorry, living the bachelor lifestyle, aren’t you, boss.” Alfred exchanged a look with Ian. He shook his head like they had some sort of inside joke—and Gavin felt like the butt of it. Alfred leaned in again to block Gavin. “Ian, I wanted to ask you about food restrictions at the retreat…”

This meeting, and Gavin’s plan to clear things up with Ian, were spiralling out of control. He should have crafted an agenda. Its objective: “What the Actual Fuck is Going On”, with sub-points about firing the entire board. And Alfred, while he was at it. He started recalculating his route to the airport to pick up Gareth. With rush hour traffic, he’d be forced to go slightly above the speed limit to make it to the party on time or endure his brothers’ gloating about his tardiness—not because they cared, but because they knew Gavin did. At least his mother’s birthday would be marginally better than listening to Alfred kiss Ian’s ass.

4:57. His pulse increased along with the red numbers of the clock. The longer Alfred droned on about couple’s parties and his personal connections to the board, the more it felt like the promotion was slipping away, unravelling the web of lies he’d spun so his mother never learned the truth. He could still picture her frantic eyes, the day he’d come home from the lawyer’s office after his father’s death. Her grief and his own guilt had sliced his insides, and he never wanted to experience it again—nor her compounding disappointment if she learned of his actions since then. He had to get this promotion. There was no other way to come up with the cash so quickly for the house, and he’d be damned if he used his father’s tactics—again.

Though Gavin had the technical experience to annihilate the competition, he knew he sucked with people. His typical professional strategies, like competence, were apparently obsolete. To save his secrets and secure the job, he would require a full personality upgrade. But he didn’t know the code, nor where to even start this epic overhaul. The only thing he knew was that Gavin 2.0 needed to pair well with others.

He stood. “Well, gentlemen, I’ll let you plan your golf strategy. In the meantime, I’ll check in with my partner and see if she’s free for the retreat weekend.”

Ian and Alfred stopped prattling and stared at him.

“Wait, you actually have a girlfriend?” Alfred asked.

5:00.

His bluff regained the attention of the room and Gavin savoured the nostalgic onslaught of adrenaline that coursed through him. Fool that he was, he continued to raise the stakes. “We’ve been seeing each other for about a year now.” His heart pounded against his chest, unleashed after years of prudent decision-making. He needed out of this room, out of this conversation, fast—before his reckless impulses fully took over. “Actually, I’m off to pick her up right now for my mother’s birthday party.”

“Meeting the family and everything,” Alfred said, his eyes narrowing. “You should bring her by the office for lunch one day. We can have a double date. ”

“Why don’t you join us for dinner this weekend?” Ian added, gesturing to Alfred. “It would be a good opportunity to talk to the chair of the board,” His eyes were wide like he was trying to telecommunicate something to Gavin. It made him look possessed.

Gavin broke eye contact. His eyes searched his surroundings wildly for an excuse.

“Bojana has such a profound depth of experience. Maybe you could discuss some presentation ideas with her,” Alfred chimed in with a wolfish grin.

Sweat gathered between his shoulder blades. Gavin’s gaze snagged on the conference room across from them. “My girlfriend can't. She’ll be at a conference. She works for the government,” he added, to strengthen the veracity of his lie.

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Some other time then, I’ll check the schedule with Melanie.”

“That would be great. Text me the dates,” Gavin said, managing not to cringe at the thought of his colleague texting him during personal hours.

5:02. He was going to be late.

“Well…night,” he said to the dumbfounded pair, then strode out of Ian’s office, grabbed his things, and beelined it for the elevator. He kept his shoulders back, head held high as he rode down to the parking garage. It was only when he was safely ensconced in his reliable 2015 Honda Civic that he considered the consequences of his actions.

How was he supposed to magic a girlfriend out of thin air?