Page 38 of Orc'd At A Wedding
She turns her attention to Olog, giving him the same assessing look she usually reserves for expensive handbags she's considering purchasing.
"And Olog, how wonderful to see you again. Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Very much, Mrs. Vance," he says smoothly. "The ceremony was lovely."
"Yes, well, Anastasia has always had exquisite taste." She pauses meaningfully. "Unlike some people who insist on working in nonprofits instead of pursuing proper careers."
I feel Olog's hand tighten fractionally on mine.
"I find Bliss's work admirable," he says, his tone still perfectly polite but with an edge that makes my mother blink. "Dedicating one's career to service requires conviction. It's impressive."
My mother opens her mouth, clearly preparing to launch into her usual speech about how admirable doesn't pay for waterfront property, but my father appears beside her with two glasses of champagne.
"There you are," he says, handing one to my mother. "They're about to make their first toast." He glances at Olog with barely concealed curiosity. "And you must be the mysterious boyfriend we've heard so much about."
"Olog Glore," Olog says, extending his hand.
My father shakes it, and I see him try very hard not to wince at Olog's grip.
"Ronald Vance. Bliss's father." He withdraws his hand carefully. "So. What is it you do, Olog?"
Oh God. Here we go.
"I run a personal services company," Olog says without missing a beat. "I specialize in high-level client support."
It's not technically a lie. It's just strategically vague enough to sound impressive while revealing absolutely nothing.
My father nods thoughtfully.
"Personal services. Interesting. And how did you and Bliss meet?"
Olog launches into our carefully constructed cover story about cliff diving and a shared love of outdoor adventure, delivering it with the same deadpan sincerity that makes everything he says sound completely plausible.
My father listens, nodding occasionally, his expression growing more skeptical by the second.
"Cliff diving," he repeats. "You don't strike me as the outdoor adventure type, Bliss."
"People can surprise you, Dad."
"Indeed." He takes a sip of his champagne, studying Olog with the same calculating expression I've seen him use in business meetings. "Well. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other better during the reception."
It sounds like a threat.
My mother links her arm through my father's.
"Come along, Richard. We need to find our table before Susan claims all the good seats." She throws me a bright smile. "We'll see you two inside!"
They sweep away, and I exhale slowly.
"That went well," I mutter.
"Your father doesn't trust me."
"My father doesn't trust anyone who isn't a corporate lawyer or a hedge fund manager. Don't take it personally."
Olog guides me toward the terrace, where guests are already clustering around high-top tables and attacking the appetizer stations with the kind of strategic aggression usually reserved for Black Friday sales.
We claim a spot near the terrace, and Olog immediately positions himself so he has a clear view of the entire space. I recognize the stance, he's in protection mode, cataloging faces and exits even though the only real threat here is my Aunt Susan's passive-aggressive commentary.
