Chapter One
Katie
When the bitchy assistant for whatever rich jerk owns this insane mansion called me to handle an extravagant masquerade ball, I strongly considered saying no. But the many zeroes on the huge check Amanda promised I’d get at the end made me reconsider in a heartbeat—and that was on top of the budget they already set for the party. All in all, I was making out like a bandit, which makes it a little easier for me to stomach Amanda’s attitude.
Because she’s absolutely terrible. The woman is your classic snobby blonde bitch with pin-straight hair and a sneer permanently glued to her face. But I won’t let her get to me. Even if she reminds me of all the mean girls back in high school, I’ve moved past that phase of my life. All I need to do is focus on the check I’ll be snatching from her perfectly manicured fingers by the end of this night, and I’ll be fine.
Standing at the mansion’s entrance, I tilt my head to observe the building, trying to see the place as the masked guests will see it. The entryway is a huge circular area with a giant, glittering chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling, and across from the entrance is a long hallway finished in dark woods and antiques my grandmother would drool over. I can practically see the multimillion-dollar price tag on everything lining the walls. I can’t even imagine what having this much money would be like. I certainly wouldn’t have to skip out on the guacamole at Chipotle anymore.
But the vintage feel of the mansion is actually perfect for a masquerade ball. When I found out the party was being hosted by a rich tech guy with a big wallet and an even bigger reputation, I was a little worried about what I’d have to work with. I’ve put together parties for tech guys before, so I’m familiar with their lifestyles. It’s either utterly lavish with over-the-top crazy gadgets and top-of-the-line everything, or totally spare and Spartan. You’re lucky if you have furniture sometimes. I’ve seen guys living with a mattress on the floor and one chair, despite being worth billions.
So during my first tour of this place a couple weeks ago, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Fortunately, seeing the actual building took my breath away and eased my worries. The outside walls were ivy-covered and imposing, with literal turrets reaching into the sky. A sweeping driveway circled the front of the house, a perfect setting for the Bentleys and Porsches that were sure to pull up.
Inside was even better. The expansive hallway across the entryway had a few doorways leading to different parts of the house. Right when you enter, you’re greeted by a giant mirror and an old coat rack that’s unnecessary given the number of maids bustling around to take your coat. On either side of the large foyer are two wide, winding staircases. I didn’t get to tour the upstairs rooms because Amanda said those were the bedrooms, which wouldn’t be part of the festivities—I stifled a snort then, because what kind of extravaganza doesn’t end in debauchery and a bit of raunchiness? But then again, this was a sophisticated gathering with lots of important people attending. As much as I wanted to take a peek, based on the rest of the house, I could already formulate a mental picture of the luxurious antique furniture in every nook and cranny. I didn’t need to see it to know what it looked like in my mind’s eye.
Just past the entryway and into the hallway, a doorway on the left leads to a huge library that’s probably worth almost as much as the property itself. When I had the initial tour, I saw at least seven first editions placed carefully throughout the book-filled room.
But the library isn’t going to be the setting for today’s party, per Amanda’s request. After all, this is a masquerade ball, so they’ll be using the grand ballroom with its lofty ceiling and gracious, paneled walls.
Frankly, there isn’t need for much decoration because the house itself is already magnificent and imposing, with its ornate wooden bannisters and gleaming marble floors. But, hey, I have to earn my keep, so I decided to put in some window accents. I used black and white crepe paper, twisted together like for a birthday party, and draped the strands across the windows. In the center, I used expensive, hand-painted masks to accentuate the party theme. The masks and colors match the room’s ambiance, and I think they add to the costume party feel of the entire event.
All the tables are clothed with black and white linen and the table centerpieces are adorned with black and white roses and real peacock feathers imported from India. The feathers were my idea, and Amanda reluctantly admitted they looked nice.
Again, as long as she’s happy, then I’m happy because my business is a full-service party planning and catering company. We set everything up, serve the food, and then take it all down afterwards. I started the company fresh out of college and it’s grown beyond my wildest dreams. I have twenty employees for big events like this one, four chefs taking care of the food, and eight highly trained servers. It took me a lot of work to get here, but every grueling step was worth it. After all, this is my passion, and my success has been unexpected but gratifying. The only problem is the financial aspect of the business. Every cent of profit either goes into expanding my company or paying off my student loans, so I don’t have much left over. I get by, but sometimes it’s a choice between a shower and air conditioning during the hot summer months. Definitely not both, seeing that cash is tight.
I survey my work proudly for a few moments longer. My employees are scurrying around, putting the finishing touches on all of the tables and wall decorations. This isn’t the biggest venue we’ve ever worked, but it’s certainly the most grand. I trust my employees not to break anything valuable, but seeing the antiques everywhere still makes me nervous. I’m so ready for this night to be over. Once we clear out and cash the check, I can forget this place ever existed.
Amanda saunters out of nowhere, dressed in a slinky floor-length gown. Her face crumples into a frown as she looks me up and down.
“Is that what you’re wearing, Katie? Guests will be arriving soon. Everyone needs to get to their party posts. You need to change into something appropriate, otherwise you’ll stick out like a sore thumb, and I can’t trust you to stay out of all the photos. Hopefully you have something?”
I force myself not to roll my eyes and keep my voice neutral. “Of course, Amanda. Happy to. I have a dress in the kitchen. I just didn’t want to ruin it during setup.”
“Well, go get it on, then. And get your people to their posts!” she snaps, clearly enjoying her position bossing me around.
I sigh as Amanda stalks away. I’ve worked with some terrible customers, but Amanda takes the cake as the worst. Her tall, skinny frame and perfect blonde hair just add to my dislike of her. She’s like a Barbie come to life. That is, if Barbie never smiled and only ate lemons.
Plus, at five feet five, I’m not super short, but I’m not model tall like her. I’m a healthy weight for my height, with curves in all the right places. My brown hair is straight without needing to fry it with an iron every morning. I keep my makeup light, only using enough to subtly enhance my natural features. By all accounts, I’m an attractive woman. But I still look like a slouch next to Amanda with her modelesque frame.
“All right, everyone,” I clap my hands into the echoing ballroom, calling my staff to attention. “Our invitees will be arriving soon. Please put the finishing touches on what you’re working and then get ready for the welcome event. You all have your assignments for the duration of the party.”
A few mumbled responses reach me through the large room, and my employees move a little faster to get the job done. Within five minutes, all of the workers are gone and the room is ready to be filled with glamorously-dressed men and women. I retire to the kitchen to grab my dress and change in the bathroom before the party begins.
My dress is calf-length and black with a beautiful peacock design on the bodice. It’s a little funny because I match the centerpieces, but I’m okay with that. After all, my purpose is to blend in with the background. I don’t need to be seen; I just need to keep an eye on my waiters and waitresses, make sure everyone is being fed, and that nothing catastrophic happens. I’m not here to attend the ball, just babysit it.
When I emerge from the bathroom, there are already guests taking off their coats inside the foyer. Most are wearing masks as the invitation requested, but some are barefaced. I ran the idea of having extra masks on hand by Amanda, but she immediately overruled the idea.
“You wouldn’t be able to find what we want,” she sniffed.
I was taken aback, despite the fact that my expression didn’t change.
“I’m sorry?” was my question. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that Mr. Moore is a billionaire, and his guests are wealthy business magnates as well. The type of mask that they go for wouldn’t be in your party budget. Nor would you be able to locate anything suitable.”
Wow, that was quite the putdown. But I let it go with a pleasant smile on my face. After all, this was a job, and a well-paying one at that.
“Of course,” was my pleasant response. “No extra masks, then. Got it.”
And when the invitees begin to arrive, I see what Amanda meant. The guests are all beautiful, rich-looking people dressed in perfectly cut tuxes and sweeping ballgowns in jewel tones. The women wear five-inch heels, and yet manage to appear elegant and gracious. The men are uniformly tanned, tall, and handsome.
Who are these people? Or more accurately, who is the mysterious host? I’d done my research on the client, Trent Moore, but there were no definitive conclusions. His name sounded important, but in fact, the man wasn’t born rich. Instead, he dropped out of college ages ago to create his own company, and now he’s a billionaire with money coming out of the wazoo.
Plus, based on the articles I’ve read, he’s a bit of a bad boy. Less than a year ago, Trent Moore barely avoided an arrest for an altercation at a charity event. The article I saw said that Mr. Moore had brought two beautiful females to the party, and not one. Predictably, the two ladies got into a catfight, and all three were ejected. Wow.
But there was something more to the story than that because in the accompanying photo, one woman bore a striking resemblance to Trent. They both had the same high forehead, jet-black hair, and sparkling blue eyes. I had a feeling that she was his sister, and that this wasn’t your usual catfight. I’m not sure what the fight was about, but there’s definitely more to it than the usual female hormones gone awry.
A sound to my right brings me out of my thoughts. A woman wearing a sleek black dress and a beautiful green and white mask is admiring the centerpiece on a table nearby.
“Do you see the peacock feather?” the woman purrs to her male companion. “What a beautiful idea. It really ties everything together, don’t you think?”
I smile. I wish Amanda was nearby to hear the compliment about my decor. Oh well. A job well done is a job well done, even if I’m the only one to hear the words of appreciation.
From my post against a wall, unseen but all-seeing, I watch the party unfold. Guests arrive and remark on the window masks, the centerpieces, and the mansion’s built-in fixtures. Things are going well, so I allow myself to relax for the first time since this job started.
An hour into the masquerade ball, things are still looking great. Nothing has broken, and there are no spilled drinks or dropped trays. I’ve heard multiple people comment on the food, a menu I created myself. I’m proud to say this party is going exactly as planned. Even Amanda with her perpetually pinched face looked pleased the last time I caught a glimpse of her. I mentally mark that down as a small victory. Impressing the difficult hostess is hard, but I think I’ve managed to succeed.
Suddenly, a hand grazes my back. I turn, expecting to see one of my employees, but instead, all that greets me is a wall of black. Oh wait. My eyes are level with the broad chest of a tall, masked man. Unlike the other guests who wear disguises that cover just their eyes, his shades his entire face. I can make out a firm, square jaw and intense blue eyes, but nothing else.
As the music crescendos, the mysterious man gracefully pulls me into a waltz without a single word. My first instinct is to pull away from him. I’m not supposed to be dancing because I’m the help, but he holds me firmly in position. If I try to leave now, it would cause a scene, which would surely make Amanda furious beyond belief. So instead, I float along as his strong arms guide me around the room smoothly and elegantly. My heart’s beating fast, breath coming in shallow inhales. Who is this mysterious stranger?
We move along with the flow of the music coming from a small orchestra set up in the back of the ballroom. After all, a masquerade ball isn’t complete without string instruments to provide the backdrop for dancing, and Mr. Moore was willing to spring for it. A DJ would play the wrong music and a CD just doesn’t have the same effect. This was probably the only item on which Amanda and I agreed: the music had to be performed live.
Finally, the long, instrumental song ends, and my mysterious dance partner releases me from his hold. He steps back and takes my hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a gentle kiss while he bows to me. I feel like I should curtsy, but I would only make a fool of myself if I tried. Instead, I smile weakly at him, deciding that doing nothing is better than trying to do something and making a fool out of myself.
My strange partner stands and straightens his coat when he releases my hand. His eyes meet mine and there’s a familiarity there, but I can’t place where I’ve seen those eyes before.
Silently, the man lifts his mask, his beautiful, haunting blue eyes gazing unwaveringly at me. His chiseled face and coal-black hair are coupled with a perfectly tailored tux completing his princely look. He looks exactly like the pictures I’ve seen, down to the dimple in his cheek and powerful shoulders. Plus, he looks like he belongs among these lavish surroundings. It is his house and party, after all.
“Hello,” the man rumbles, keeping his eyes locked on mine. He extends his right hand to shake mine, as if we haven’t already been introduced in the most intimate way. Dancing and a kiss on the hand are romantic and beautiful, whereas a handshake is formal. I reach my hand out to shake his because I’m at a loss for what I’m supposed to do. When I imagined meeting the man, this is not how I expected it to happen.
“I’m Trent Moore,” he says smoothly. “And you are?”
Oh, no. What do I say? After all, I’m the help and I wasn’t supposed to be dancing. So do I make up a story, or do I admit the truth? Because this is my fantasy … but if Mr. Moore knows I’m staff, will he expect me to cater to his every need?