Chapter Eighteen
Bethany
"So, you've got the dress, you've got the hair-do. When's our guy picking you up?" The DA loomed in my office door.
It felt awkward and unreal to stand behind my desk in a designer ballgown. A strapless, black satin corset top constricted my breath while even the slightest breeze caused the light and flowing folds of the floor-length skirt to ripple. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever worn, and it was strange to do so in an official capacity.
I clasped a sparkling jet bracelet onto my wrist and wished I didn't have to face my boss. How could I tell her that I wasn't going to the ball with Dylan?
He must have sensed something was off when he called. I had tried to mention the party, but it came out so stiff that I wasn't surprised when he didn't ask me along as his date.
"Durham? Focus. When's Mr. Wylde picking you up?" the DA asked again.
I cleared my throat. "He's not. I'm meeting him there."
She rolled her eyes. "Some gentleman he's turning out to be."
I waited until she swept out of my office to badger another assistant and then took a deep, shaky breath. How was I going to pull this off? I had to get into the shipping magnate's party; the DA was insistent on getting an inside scoop on our suspects. The only problem was I didn't have an invitation, and I wasn't on the list as Dylan's plus-one.
"Wow. You look stunning! Too bad it's for work." Annie appeared in the doorway.
"Oh, thank god," I said. "I don't want to have to take the elevator down and walk through the foyer alone."
Annie smiled. "So, you have a plan yet?"
I picked up my sleek, black satin clutch purse and fidgeted over it. "No. I've never crashed a party. They're going to take one look at me and send me away."
Annie snorted. "Looking like that? Fat chance."
She took my arm and escorted me to the elevator. Almost every head turned to watch us go. Half the office was jealous that I had been given such an exciting undercover assignment. The other half thought it was a waste of time. I hated to think what either side would think after I failed.
Annie squeezed my arm and hit the ground floor button in the elevator. "The trick to gate-crashing is to pretend you're mad. Pretend you're mad at your date; they're already inside, and you're going to cause a scene if you can't get to them."
I took another deep breath despite the form-fitting dress. "I'm a terrible actress."
"Then just look worried; there's always someone who can't resist a damsel in distress," Annie said.
I made a face. I wasn't in distress. I wasn't spineless. I squared my shoulders and swept through our office building foyer like a queen. Annie grinned next to me the whole way.
"If I turn into a pumpkin at midnight, it's all your fault," I told her as I slipped into the gleaming town car I had hired.
Annie's pep-talk kept me going until the driver helped me out of the car, and I faced the opulent mansion for the first time. Between the shiny cars, the brightly-lit windows, and the sparkling jewelry, I was blinded.
Luckily, there was a flow of the rich and famous heading up the front steps, and I was drawn along with them. Private security stopped people here and there to check for invitations and when one guard held his hand up to stop me, my breath stopped, too.
"My date has the invitation. He's already here," I said. "Dylan Wylde."
Then a sick feeling hit my stomach. What if Dylan had brought another date?
The security guard looked at me and then consulted with another guard. The second guard nodded.
"I'm clear?" I asked.
The serious man nodded. "Paparazzi shot of you and Mr. Wylde. He's not much for RSVPing so we checked around about possible plus-ones. We do thorough background checks on all guests."
I swallowed hard. So, they knew I was an attorney with the DA's office. Still, I was allowed inside, and the stunning surroundings quickly distracted me.
Collin Maxwell was rich beyond any standards. With most of the world's commercial trade being transported by ship, his prime harbors and piers made him essential. The word billionaire didn't even apply to him, he was beyond that, and his showplace of a home was beyond anything I had ever seen.
I tried to act casual as I moved through the mansion’s glittering rooms. Crystal chandeliers, hand-painted frescos, priceless art, and antiquities from every corner of the earth made it nearly impossible not to gape. I bit the inside of my cheek and kept moving.
"Champagne, miss?" The waiter wore a stiff high-collared white jacket that made him hold his nose up in the air, but I still saw him wink.
"Thank you." I took a crystal flute and the compliment. Both started to make me feel better.
Then I entered the palatial ballroom and lost my breath completely. The cavernous room was straight out of a fairytale, lit by a dozen tear-drop lights.
"Designed by Chihuly himself," a gruff voice said.
I turned and almost spilled my champagne. "Mr. Maxwell. So nice to meet you."
"And you must be Ms. Durham, assistant to the District Attorney," my host said with a sly smile.
"You caught me," I said with what I hoped was my most charming grin.
"And here I thought that was your job," the shipping magnate quipped.
"I'm just here for the dancing," I said.
Collin Maxwell surprised us both by laughing out loud. He then took my arm and began a sweeping lap of the large ballroom.
"Ms. Durham, what a relief the DA's office has finally sent me someone with a bit of brains and charm. Tell me, how do you like my home?" he asked.
I had to gush; the words wouldn't come out any other way. "This may be the most beautiful place I have ever seen."
He patted my arm. "You're kind to an old man."
But Collin Maxwell looked nothing like an old man. He didn't look like a criminal overlord either. With his deep tan, twinkling eyes, and short shock of bright white hair over a tidy beard, he looked more like Santa's lively younger brother. In a tuxedo complete with cufflinks worth more than many small countries.
He led me gently into a long gallery just off the ballroom. Portraits ranged down the elegant walls, but we didn't pause until we reached the wide fireplace in the center. Above the mantle was an over-sized portrait of a princely man.
"My great-grandfather," Mr. Maxwell said. "Not many people make the connection; it's of little concern in the modern world but there is royal blood in my veins."
"And wealth," I realized.
Mr. Maxwell had no need to ship stolen cars to high-end buyers. He was born to wealth, old money, and his hobbies far-exceeded toying around with shiny vehicles. I couldn't even imagine him smuggling in his priceless antiquities. He could afford to buy them outright.
He must have seen the light dawning in my eyes because Mr. Maxwell kissed the back of my hand and then released me. "I'm so glad you could join us this evening, Ms. Durham. Please enjoy the party. You are most welcome."
My hand fluttered to my heart on its own accord. The shipping magnate was nothing like the files had suggested. He was more a fairytale king come to life than a devious scoff-law.
He bowed and then moved off to greet his other, less intrusive guests. I faced his great-grandfather again and tried to catch my breath.
I could have spent five days strolling the Maxwell mansion and would never have been bored but at that moment, I wasn't even sure I could endure five more minutes. My feet ached in my spiked heels and the beautiful dress dug into my ribs. More than anything, I wanted to strip off my heavy makeup and soak in a hot bath.
With that in mind, I causally made my way back through the labyrinth-like rooms to the front door. And, somehow, I ended up back in the ballroom.
An orchestra played up in the marble-framed musicians’ balcony. In between the flashes of dancing feet, the parquet floor gleamed as if lit from within. Some people had given in to the revelry and wore the masquerade masks laid out on long, linen-covered tables. I was tempted to put one on myself and dance the night away.
It was wildly freeing to be alone in the midst of the twirling flow of people but a feeling of loneliness washed over me. Somewhere in the palatial home, Dylan was probably flirting with a masked reveler.
My heart squeezed, and I decided again to head for the front door.
"Miss, a party favor." A jangling Harlequin pressed a velvet box into my hand. He then danced off, giving out other favors as his bells rang through the rooms.
I opened the box and barely stifled a gasp. A long string of black pearls poured out into my hand. I double-looped them over my head and could barely keep from smiling.
There was the proof the DA needed to let Collin Maxwell off the hook. Anyone wealthy enough to give away pearls as party favors was not the criminal opportunist we sought.
"They suit you," Dylan said.
I turned and clutched the pearls to my chest. Dylan was breathtaking in a tailored black-on-black tuxedo. His wavy black hair had been slicked back and the sparkle of the chandeliers glowed around his head like a flashing halo.
"Fancy meeting you here," I joked.
"It was a nice surprise to hear you were my date tonight," Dylan said.
My heart sank. How could I explain that?
I started to try but Dylan took my hand and shook his head. "You don't have to explain. It's all right if you're being here has nothing to do with me. I'm not trying to pressure you, Bethany."
I squeezed his fingers, wishing I could convey more than I was allowed to say. "Work is just—"
"Crazy. I know," Dylan said.
He escorted me to a private alcove where thick velvet drapes framed the whirling ballroom and gave us a quiet place to stand back and watch.
"Why does everything always have to happen all at once?" I asked Dylan.
He smiled, a little confused. "Life's never very good at moderation."
"You couldn't have reappeared in my life after this big case?" I asked.
That made Dylan laugh. "So, you don't mind that I'm back in your life?"
The orchestra played another waltz and the ballroom buzzed with twirling ballgowns and excited chatter. No one could hear us, and I couldn't hold it in any longer.
"I want you in my life," I told Dylan. "I just don't know how that's supposed to work and right now it doesn't seem to be working at all."
"What about now?" Dylan whisked me onto the dance floor.
I laughed and hung on for dear life as he spun me into the wild waltz. We hadn't reconciled anything; I hadn't confessed my conflict of interest. None of that mattered. There was suddenly nothing else but Dylan's smile and the spinning dance.
I was breathless and dizzy, gasping with joy by the time the waltz came to an end. The orchestra announced a short break and the ballroom crowd dissipated into other rooms.
Dylan and I stayed on the dance floor with the others who continued to mingle. His arm was still around my waist, and I leaned against his black tuxedo, savoring his proximity.
"I wish I could tell you everything," I confessed.
Dylan kissed my cheek. "Not now. Later."
My heart lifted. Maybe, just maybe, there would be a later for Dylan and me.