Page 24 of Caught Between Two Billionaires
“Okay,” she says cheerfully, clearly not believing a word.
“And even if I did talk to him, I have no interest in going to bed with some overmuscled Neanderthal who looks amazing in a suit. I like my men more… enlightened.”
“Mhmm. I’m going to have someone send over this dress I ordered online but haven’t worn yet. It’s red and shimmery and it will look incredible on you.”
“I don’t need a dress,” I say, even though absolutely nothing in my canvas carry-on is suitable for a gala. There are sundresses and skinny jeans and paint-splattered pj’s.
“Text me when you get home, or I’ll worry about you.”
“You’re just hoping I give you dirty details, but there won’t be anything dirty. There’s only going to be me telling Christopher he’s an arrogant jerk face, and him bending to my will.”
She laughs. “Okay, but text me anyway.”
The dress arrives an hour later, even more gorgeous than she made it sound. There’s a red silk bodice that makes my modest breasts look impressive in the ornate gold-plated wall mirror. And a black wrap skirt that floats around me like liquid when I walk, revealing an impressive amount of leg. It’s a dress that a modern-day goddess would wear, along with the black and red Louboutins included in the box. In short I’m dressed to kill.
The gala takes place in the Tanglewood Country Club, a place that charges enough money to its members that the carpet shouldn’t look quite as shabby as it does. It’s a place with more clout than taste, which probably says more about the historical society than they think.
I can hear the gentle hum of voices and clink of glasses from down the hallway. The suited security guard makes me wait while he searches a printed guest list, which I’m not on. Do they really have a problem with party crashers hungry for dry quiche and dry conversation? Maybe it’s been too long since we moved in wealthy circles, because my hands start to sweat. I don’t belong here, at least not in spirit, and even this random stranger knows it.
Only when he uses his phone to check his e-mail does he find my late addition.
Holding my head high, I stride through the room. Avery grew up in Tanglewood, so I’m guessing she knows most of the people in this room. I know basically no one, and I don’t see Christopher anywhere.
There are admiring looks because of the amazing dress.
Curious looks, because of my anonymity.
A familiar drawl slows my step. “Not sure it’s better falling down,” Sutton says, his back turned to me, speaking to an older woman who clearly does not appreciate his words.
“The Tanglewood Library has an important history, and it’s the job of the society to preserve that. We aren’t going to give it to just anyone who moves in with money.”
“It hasn’t been given away, Mrs. Rosemont. I bought it.”
Her face flushes red, and I realize I’ve stumbled into the scene that every single person will be talking about in Tanglewood tomorrow morning. Unless I somehow stop it.
“Do you think money counts for everything, young man? You’ll find that money can’t buy you everything. It can’t buy you a construction permit if we tell city hall not to give you one.”
“He bought it because he values the foundation,” I say, tucking my hand through Sutton’s arm as if I belong there. He stiffens only slightly but doesn’t give me away. “Maintaining the historical integrity is an important part of the Mayfair-Bardot corporate philosophy. They plan to work closely with the society to ensure they do it justice.”
Her eyes narrow. “Then why haven’t they contacted us before now?”
I shake my head, commiserating with her at the cluelessness of men. “They’ve been overly focused on things like paperwork and permits. That’s why they’re here tonight, though. To meet you and ask for your help in doing this the right way.”
“I see.” She looks pissed, but at least she stops threatening him. “The gala is hardly the place to discuss details.”
Sutton clears his throat. “We would be happy to host you at our offices at your earliest convenience. We wouldn’t dream of moving forward without the society’s input.”
“You need more than our input,” the woman says sharply. “You need our approval or you’ll never get the construction permits you need from the mayor’s office.”
I manage to keep a straight face, even though it’s painfully clear that Sutton and Christopher had planned to move forward without the society’s input. It may not have even occurred to them that the society might object—or that they could put in place roadblocks with building permits. I may not know the specifics of Tanglewood, but I know high society. Even if the society itself doesn’t have any power, the husbands of its members certainly do.
Sutton manages to use that Southern charm to win Mrs. Rosemont over, so that she’s blushing and trying not to smile by the time she’s called away by another woman.
