I take a sip of the champagne, make a face, and scowl. It’s not up to snuff. I catch the attention of a passing waiter by clicking my fingers and beckon him over.

When he arrives, I hold up my glass. “What is this?”

“It’s Dom Pérignon, sir.”

“Yes, I can tell it’s a Dom Pérignon, but it’s not the vintage I asked for.”

The young server looks at me like I’m nuts. “How can you tell?”

I flash the smile that my Head of PR warns me is condescending. “When you’ve been drinking luxury champagnes as long as I have, you learn the difference. This is 2009, at least. I specified that the vintage should be no later than 2005. The Mayor of New York is here tonight. What’s he going to think if I’m putting forward anything but the best?”

“Mr. Vermont, this is a two-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne.”

“It tastes like a bottom-shelf, grocery-store knock-off. Don’t serve this to the mayor. Send someone to my private cellars and bring up a half-decent bottle. Any of the Krug bottles will do. Go on, now.”

The waiter scurries away. I roll my eyes. Impossible to get good staff these days.

I cast my eyes around the rest of the reception, looking for any other flaws. It’s the launch party for one of TJV Publishing’s latest releases—a fashion magazine that’s sure to give Vogue a run for its money. Held at CAPITALE, the event costs a small fortune, but it’s worth it to send the right message.

The columns at the edges of the room are lit up in blue and silver, our trademark colors, and each round dining table is adorned with bouquets of blue and white roses. Each guest will receive a pure .999 silver bookmark engraved with TJV’s logo and an e-reader device pre-loaded with the first copy of our latest magazine before they leave. There are over three thousand guests in attendance tonight.

Soon, there will be dinner, but first, drinks. It’s time to mingle.

I stride with confidence through the hall. I’m wearing a finely tailored black suit, expensive leather shoes, and my haircut cost more than five hundred dollars.

I see the eyes of dozens of women following me. To be young, rich and handsome makes you a big deal in this city. And I am a very big deal.

Carla approaches me. She’s a journalist who’s found her way into my bedroom on more than one occasion. I was ready to believe that she was searching for some exclusive scoop on me, but I’ve yet to read a tell-all on Thomas Vermont’s incredible sexual prowess, so I continue to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Tonight, she’s wearing a long, tightly-fitted red gown, her dark hair curling around her bare shoulders.

“Tom, I was disappointed I didn’t receive an invite.”

“Yet you came anyway.”

“I’m Preston Howler’s plus one.”

“Ah, Preston. So, you’re dating photographers now?”

“I was just looking for the opportunity to talk to you, Tom. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent any quality time together. Perhaps we could schedule a private interview after the party?”

I bring her hand to my lips, kiss it softly, meeting her eyes as I lift my face, and smile. “Carla, time with you is always a pleasure and a privilege, but I’m afraid that I’m otherwise engaged tonight.”

Carla lets her hand drop and purses her lips slightly. She casts her gaze around the room and all the lovely women milling around. “Who’s the lucky lady tonight?”

“It’s not that kind of engagement, Carla. Now, you’re here with Preston, aren’t you? You’d better get back to him before you make him jealous.”

Reluctantly, Carla walks away. I feel sorry for her, and all the other women who try for my attention. Though my love affairs don’t last long, I don’t mean to be cruel; I lose interest quickly.

Although perhaps all that’s about to change. I have no “other engagement,” only an interest in one particular woman, although I’m not quite ready to shout it from the rooftops yet. News spreads quickly around here.

I’m interrupted from my thoughts by a pat on the shoulder. Lucas Collins, my Head of Customer Service, is standing at my side, his large, round face red from one too many glasses of the wrong champagne.

“Thomas! Wonderful party! The best yet. What a celebration.”

I smile. “Thank you, Lucas. Credit goes to Diane, as always. She’s a miracle worker with these things.”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to get you aside for a moment. A customer complaint has come in, and I think it’s worth your attention.”

I roll my eyes and wave away Lucas’s concerns. “Not now, Lucas. It’s a party.”

“Apparently, one of our articles in the June edition of Around Town hasn’t gone down well.”

“Which article?”

“The restaurant review. You know, the scale of ‘cheap and nasty’ to ‘fine and classy.’”

I let out a laugh. “Really?”

“Well, Thomas, some of the venues weren’t happy to be on a certain end of that scale. You remember the hipster joint that served cocktails out of mini wheelbarrows?”

“The one with rats running around?”

“They’ve asked if we’d print a retraction. Otherwise, they’ll sue for defamation.”

I shake my head. “We didn’t even mention the rats in the article.”

“Well, the owners are throwing a tantrum over it. The woman I spoke to claims we don’t understand the bar’s ‘vibe.’”

“I can’t deal with something like this right now. I’m away for the holidays. Offer her a small under-the-table gesture of apology. Whatever you think it will take to make this go away.”

“And the retraction?”

“Small print. Back pages.”

“Excellent. I’ll make sure that gets done.”

“Thanks, Lucas. Enjoy the party.”

You’d think that after forking out thousands of dollars for an event, I’d be able to enjoy it, but there’s no rest for the wicked. If it wasn’t a spurned woman on my tail, it was an employee hoping for some face-time with the boss, or a journalist with a hundred-and-one questions. Within the hour, I’m exhausted.

I escape out of the main hall to a quieter area of the venue and pull out my cell. I smile when I see that she’s replied to my messages. This woman, this mystery girl online, is about the only thing keeping me sane right now.

I read her message.

Sounds like you’ve got a busy night ahead! A work party sounds fantastic. I wish I could do something like that. There’s no party for a self-employed gal. I’d love to get dressed up sometime and let my hair down. Make sure you have fun tonight.

I quickly shoot a message back. When we meet, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I would love to see you all dressed up. I bet that’s a real sight for sore eyes.

She replies. Send me a picture of you in your suit.

Patience, Zoe! Let’s both wait for the grand reveal this weekend. I can’t wait to see you.

I met Zoe on a dating site about six months ago, and we’d clicked straight away. I haven’t yet shown her my picture; she’s only seen the little cartoon representation that I used in my profile. My fame usually precedes me, and there’s been something very appealing about talking to somebody outside of the New York bubble, all this superficial glitz and glam.

I wonder what she looks like. She won’t give away much except green eyes. She says that she’s self-conscious about her knees and ankles. They’re too lumpy! I look like a newborn camel learning to walk. Hmm, she must have long legs. I don’t care if she’s knock-kneed. She makes me laugh, and that’s more than I can say for anyone else I know.

Diane finds me outside in the hall. She’s my events manager. She approaches me nervously with a cautious smile. “Well? What do you think, Tom?”

I offer her a warm smile. “A triumph, as always, Diane.”

“I’m sorry about the champagne.” She looks distraught. She’s dressed up for the occasion, but beneath her make-up, she looks frazzled and exhausted.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s the wrong vintage. I fucked up. I know I fucked up.”

I lay a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. “I didn’t even notice.”

Diane looks relieved. She checks her watch, gasps and leaves to attend to something else. The champagne is terrible, but I won’t tell her that. Diane has put all of this together. The last thing I’m going to do is tear into her over some Dom Pérignon.

I have a reputation as a bit of a tyrant, but I’m not deliberately unkind. Not if I can help it.

Just as dinner is starting, I finally return to the party. I sit down next to Matt, my right-hand man. He grins at me. “So, Tom, the rumors are true.”

I raise my eyebrows in response and shrug. “What can I say? My sister’s been asking me to spend Christmas with her for years.”

“What’s different about this year?”

I smile knowingly. “It’s time I caught up with her is all. Things have been tough for her since Mike died.”

“I bet,” Matt agrees. “You offered to move her out here, though, didn’t you? It was her choice to stay.”

“Laura didn’t want to leave Maine. That house was her and Mike’s first home. It’s where they raised Megan. It’s where Jack was born. I think she has too many memories to leave the place. Plus, the kids have school and all their friends, and Laura’s best friend since forever lives five minutes away. A bigger house in a strange city doesn’t appeal to Laura. It’s not worth it for all she’d leave behind. And her business has roots in Portland.”

“Wedding planner, right?”

“A die-hard romantic.”

“Good for her.”

“She’s out of town in a couple of weeks,” I tell him. “She’s working a wedding in Houlton. Some big affair. They’ve got her on retainer for a whole week. Some people, right? Laura’s time doesn’t come cheap.”

Matt raises his eyebrows. “Neither does yours. It’ll be a change of pace from New York. A break will do you good.”

“I doubt I’ll get much chance to relax. Laura has visions of me playing super-uncle to her kids.”

“Has she seen you around children?”

I laugh. “She knows I’m terrible with kids. Yet she thinks it should be different because they’re her kids.”

“What are you going to do while she’s out of town?”

I smile. “I’ve arranged some company while I’m away.”

Matt’s eyes widen with surprise. “Who?”

“Nobody you know.”

“Looking for a Christmas fling, hmm?”

I sit up straight, loosen my tie. “No. I think it’s going to be more than that.”

“More than a fling?” Matt teases. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve been speaking to this woman for a while. She’s sharp, witty, kind. I think I might have met my match, someone who can keep up with me.”

“Someone who can keep you in line, let’s hope!” Matt laughs, patting me on the shoulder. He nods approvingly. “You know what? Good for you, Tom. You work too hard. Maybe the right woman will help you learn to take things a bit easier.”