Page 52 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

Chapter Thirteen

The ballroom at the Park Avenue Worthington was just about the last place Brooke wanted to be on a Saturday night—or any night, for that matter—but she had to admit the staff had gone all out. The room was ringed with long, black-skirted tables. More tables formed a square at the center of the room. Each one held an array of items from bottles of wine to Yankees tickets to gift certificates for some of Manhattan’s most exclusive restaurants, all up for bid. Rumor had it a walk-on part in a Broadway play was up for grabs.

Smartly dressed waitstaff circulated among the growing crowd with trays of mouth-watering hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne and sparkling water. At the far end of the room, a stage was set up with a podium and microphone. Balloon bouquets and floral arrangements dotted the room, adding pops of color.

“Wow.” She turned to her sister, who looked stunning in a black sleeveless Valentino cocktail dress and matching patent leather Louboutins. Brooke felt dowdy in comparison in the tomato-red fit-and-flare number she’d pulled off the clearance rack at Neiman Marcus. She smoothed down the skirt, wishing she were home in her yoga pants and an extra-large T-shirt. Or better yet, buck naked in bed with Eli. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Mallory waved off the compliment with a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m the chef. I’m only responsible for the food.”

“You can’t fool me.” Brooke snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “This thing has your fingerprints all over it.”

“Well, I did collaborate with the event planner,” Mallory confessed, blushing and taking a sip of her sparkling water. Her sister had never been very good at accepting praise.

Brooke decided to let her off the hook and change the subject. “Dare I ask about the whereabouts of dear old Mom and Dad?”

“They’re around here somewhere.” A man in a white coat flagged Mallory down from across the room. She acknowledged him with a nod and handed Brooke her glass. “That’s my sous chef. Must be some minor emergency in the kitchen. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Brooke spent the next half hour meandering around the ballroom, making small talk with strangers and family friends she barely remembered and checking out all the items up for auction. Signed sports memorabilia. Exotic vacations. Golf lessons. She was scrawling her signature on one of the bid sheets when her mother’s piercing, judgmental voice stopped her pen midstroke.

“A hot air balloon ride, Brooke? Really? Do you think that’s practical?”

“No, Mom, I don’t.” Brooke finished signing with a flourish and turned to face her mother. No surprise, she was decked out to the nines in a floor-length beaded gown, her makeup flawless, not a frosted white-blond hair out of place. “But I think it sounds like fun. And it’s for a good cause.”

She assumed. To be honest, she hadn’t paid much attention to the cause célèbre du jour. If memory served, the signs at the entrance to the ballroom said something about girls and science. A refreshing change from saving whales or building houses or fighting disease. Not that there was anything wrong with saving whales or building houses or fighting disease.

“Where’s your young man?” her mother asked, one plucked eyebrow inching upward.

“Not here.” Brooke didn’t volunteer more.

Her mother’s eyebrow rose higher, disappearing beneath her frosted bangs, but she didn’t press. “Well, at least you made it.”

“Brooke.” Her father joined them, putting an arm around his wife, whether for show or because there was still some real affection between them Brooke was never sure. “You look lovely.”

“Yes.” Her mother looked her up and down, her expression shockingly more supportive than scornful. “That color suits you.”

“Um, thanks.” Compliments were so rare from her parents, Brooke didn’t quite know how to react. Fortunately, a tall, blond-haired man who was a close second to Eli in the heart-stoppingly gorgeous department stepped onto the stage and tapped the microphone, diverting their attention.

“Hello and welcome. I’m Simon Adler, and on behalf of the board of directors of Geek Girls, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming out tonight.”

The crowd applauded politely, and he continued. “I hope you brought your checkbooks because we’ve got all sorts of great items up for auction. So remember, bid often and bid high.”

Laughter. When it died down, Simon went on with his speech. “In a few minutes, you’ll be hearing from our board president, who’ll let you in on some exciting things we have planned for this year, but until then eat, drink, and of course, bid.”

The crowd applauded again, a little more enthusiastically this time, and Simon left the stage. Gradually, the hum of conversation and the clinking of glassware resurged, filling the ballroom.

“Richard.” Never Rich. And certainly not Dick. Her mother was nothing if not predictable. She laid a bony, ringed hand on her husband’s arm and with the other gestured to a couple on the other side of the room. “I think I see the Garrisons. We should say hello.”

“Yes.” Her father nodded to Brooke as his wife dragged him away. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

Not if I see you first.“Sure thing.”

Brooke hijacked another waiter, handed off Mallory’s half-full sparkling water and exchanged her now empty champagne glass for a fresh one. She sipped and scanned the ballroom for her sister, coming up empty. The emergency in the kitchen must be proving more major than minor.

Just when she was about to give up hope and hit the bar for something stronger than champagne, Mallory showed up.

“Everything okay?” Brooke asked.

“It is now.” Her sister stopped a waitress, took a canapé from the tray she was bearing, and bit into it. “Tell Hector it needs more mascarpone.”