The Billionaire's Masquerade

by Laurie Gene

  Abby did not want to have to do that.

  When Saturday night rolled around, Abby snuck out of the house without anyone particularly interested. Saturdays were the only nights where she wasn't expected to cook and clean, only because her stepmother usually took her daughters out to dinner. Abby was never invited.

  "Don't think about that," she muttered to herself as she headed into the cold night. "You're going to a wedding."

  Abby never liked weddings, and that remained true, especially today. Because she was saving up for an apartment in New York she wouldn't have to look over her shoulder as she entered late at night, she took all the jobs she could get, though. It also gave her an excuse to get out of the house and away from her family, while helping a friend.

  If that meant she had to walk through an entire wedding reception with treats on a plate, dodging drunk jokes and men trying to grab her ass, she would deal with it. If that meant she had to wear a bow tie and ugly black shoes, she would deal with it. It wasn't as though she was expecting to see anyone of importance here anyway.

  "You're late," Roberta called as Abby walked up to the entrance reserved for the waiters, the band, and anyone else associated with keeping this wedding in check. Roberta let out a stream of cigarette smoke into the black night, flicking ash onto the cement next to her. She tapped her foot.

  "I tried calling but you know I don't get any service in the underground," Abby said, trying not to breathe in the smoke. She didn’t want to judge her friend's mother for what seemed like her only vice, but she did not want to spend the next three to four hours being smothered by second-hand smoke. "One of the trains was running ten minutes late."

  Roberta nodded to the door leading to the kitchen. "Liv is already inside, waiting for you," she said. "Take the shrimp out last. That's the best option."

  "Ooh," Abby said. "Fancy." She paused before the black door. "You okay, Bobbie? You seem nervous."

  "Girl, I've been doing this for years. Let me tell you something. I always get nervous. If I didn't love it the way I do, I'd hate it." She nodded again to the door before bringing the thin cigarette to her lips and taking a long drag. She closed her eyes. When she spoke, her words came out as thick grey clouds. "Now, get your cute butt in there."

  Abby rolled her eyes and pulled open the door. The majority of Roberta's catering team was grabbing their trays from the back storage units.

  Liv turned to her from placing glasses on a counter. “There you are.”

  She grabbed an apron from a shelf underneath the counter and tossed it to Abby.

  Abby caught it and began to tie the strings behind her.

  "Is she still smoking?" Liv asked, pushing off the wall and standing by the island in the center of the large kitchen.

  "Doesn't she always before a gig?" Abby asked, coming to stand next to her.

  Liv shook her head, blunt, black hair following her jerky movement. "Not like this," she said. "There must be seriously important people here. Her nails are down to stubs."

  "Judging by the Astons and the G-Wagons lining up the valet, I'm sure they take baths in hundred dollar bills and have breakfast jewelry," Abby said.

  She finished tying her apron and rubbed her palms on her thighs. She hated the way she felt when she was here; either she got annoyed looks like she interrupted a conversation or, worse, she was ignored entirely. Sometimes, she was called "Girl" or "Hey, you" as someone chased her down for some food.

  Occasionally, a drunk would slap her ass or try and touch her in a way that was both creepy and sleazy. Now that she had an executive assistant job, she hoped to drop these jobs because she would be saving more with one job rather than a bunch of them.

  "All right, people."

  Abby turned around to see Roberta stepping into the kitchen, her lips in a tight line and her eyes narrowed with determination.

  "Tonight is going to go like all these things normally go," she said. "We flash smiles. We offer food. When we're running low, we come back for more so our tray is never completely empty. We don't linger with the guests. In fact, let's try to avoid them all if we can."

  "Except give them food, right, Ma?" Liv asked, her arms crossed limply over her chest.

  Roberta shot her daughter a dry look. "Obviously," she said. "We don't want to engage in any conversation. The bride was practically insistent about this. We don't want to be seen. We don't want to be heard. You know how you go to a fashion show, they get tall, thin, flat women to model the clothes, right? Because the clothes are on display, not the women. It's the same thing, except instead of clothes, it's the food."

  "Nice," Liv muttered.

  Abby couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, but she didn't think it mattered. Her lip flicked up as she tried to smother her grin.

  "Everyone gets a ten and a meal after the wedding guests have eaten, but let's take shifts, yeah?" Roberta continued before slapping her hands together. "Any questions?" Her eyes shot to both Abby and Liv. "Any real questions?"

  Liv put her head down and pulled her face into a pout.

  "Perfect," Roberta said with a nod. "Prepare your trays. Let's do this, yeah?"

  - - -

  Abby wasn't sure how she ended up with the mini corn dogs, but at least it wasn't fancy and it didn't smell nasty. Liv wound up with the shrimp. It was the more popular food choice, but it smelled disgusting, and that stench could seep into the clothes and linger for days, even after multiple washings.

  She emerged from the kitchen, silver tray positioned skillfully on her open palm. She rolled her shoulders back and stretched out her neck.

  "Just three and a half more hours," she murmured to herself. Nickleback played over the speakers and Abby let out a breath. "Just three and a half more hours."

  The crowd was still making their way inside the reception room. Roberta toyed with the chocolate fountain on the buffet line against the wall furthest from the entrance before she stepped back to look at the long table filled with food set up to look both delicious and aesthetically pleasing.

  The food wasn't even glanced at, the dance floor not even stepped on. Guests gathered around particular tables, hunched over, covering their mouths. Their eyes glanced to the left and the right, clearly gossiping about something. It reminded Abby of high school, except with fancy clothes and bad music.

  "Why do you look constipated?" Liv asked as she walked by. "Smile. It'll make you look prettier."

  Abby bit her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing. She decided to listen to her friend, however. Just because Abby didn't necessarily agree with the way the wedding guests were behaving, just because she didn't want to be here, just because she hated the music, didn't mean she could walk around with a sour look on her face. She was selling the food, as Roberta would say.

  As Abby started toward the crowd, she caught sight of someone familiar as he walked into the room. Nick Stafford had an elegance about him that made her knees weak and the back of her neck start to sweat. He had never given her a reason to be nervous before—save for the fact that he was a gorgeous billionaire and one of New York's most eligible bachelors on top of being her new boss—but it seemed like all ease got sucked out of any room he stepped into.

  He commanded attention, whether he intended to or not, and there was something about the way he made people feel when he was speaking to them one on one. It was as though the world didn't exist anymore.

  Strange, how someone could make Abby feel both nervous and comfortable at the same time. She didn't think such a thing was possible, considering the feelings contradicted one another so profusely.

  His eyes scanned the room until they landed on one of the three bars, positioned in different areas of the room. Abby thought it was a bit much to have three bars, but Roberta said this ensured there wouldn't be too much of a line at any given one at any given time, which made sense but must cost a fortune.

  Not that the bride or groom seemed to care anything about cost.

  He took a step tow
ard the bar, but a slender hand wrapped around his wrist and stopped him. He twisted his body, revealing one of the most beautiful women Abby had ever seen before. Her long dark hair was swept into a wispy bun, her makeup was elegant without being overdone, and her strapless gold dress clung to her curves without being too noticeable.

  This was Nick's fiancée.

  She was utterly beautiful.

  Abby forced her eyes to look away and resumed her job of modeling the food. She did not know why, but she could not help feeling deflated.

  Chapter 5: Nick

  Nick thought nothing could top his Great-Uncle Horace's funeral when he was twelve and there were no other kids invited because his great-aunt was an evil woman who hated kids in terms of boredom and length, but this wedding nearly did it. The ceremony itself was nearly two and a half hours simply because the bride was a half-hour late, each person involved with the wedding got to walk down the aisle to a full song, and the Bible verses recited were practically entire books themselves. Nick had stood up, hoping to pee, but they hadn't offered an intermission and Bonnie had cut him a look that was powerful enough to shatter glass.

  By the time the first hour rolled on, he gave up the pretense of looking happy for the couple and frowned. He kept shoving his hands in his slack pockets, feeling the cool temptation of his phone and wanting so very badly to pull it out and see what baseball teams had won.

  That was how desperate he was: he was actually dying to look up baseball stats.

  When the couple finally kissed and walked out, Nick all but jumped up, muttering, "Thank God."

  Bonnie elbowed him in the side. "Nicky," she said under her breath. "I know that was a tad long but there's no need to be rude about it. I mean, what would you do if our wedding is that long?"

  He did not bother to hide his bite. "It won't be."

  She scowled at him. "I thought it was romantic," she said. "There's no such thing as too long when it comes to a wedding."

  Nick bit his bottom lip to keep from retorting something he would later regret and, instead, moved with the rest of the guests into the ceremony room of the Albatross Hotel where the reception was to take place. He needed a drink—and fast.

  "Oh, Nicky, look at the decor!" Bonnie said the minute they stepped into the cool reception area. An Elvis song was playing from the speakers hanging overhead but the dance floor was still empty. "Floating candles, can you believe that bitch? That was my idea. Now I can't use it or else she's going to think I stole it from her when, in reality, she stole it from me."

  "Floating candles? Really?" he asked, shooting her a doubtful look.

  "Don't give me that face," she said. "It would have been beautiful. Much better than this. Come on, let's find our table. I want to be seated before Caroline comes in."

  "Darling, you seem tense," Nick said, his words as stiff as the drink he hoped to have in his hands in under three minutes. "Let me get a glass of red. You find our seats. I'll be right back." He slunk off before she could argue with him.

  Nick lost himself in the crowd of people, shooting forced smiles at those who recognized him and concentrated on breathing. He hated weddings. If he had any say in his wedding, he would choose to elope somewhere remote, maybe the Fiji Islands or Kauai in the off-season. However, judging by the way Bonnie refused to stop comparing her future wedding with this one, he highly doubted that was going to happen even if he mentioned it.

  He dodged a waitress and finally reached the half-empty bar. He made eye contact with the bartender who seemed barely drinking age himself and asked for a scotch. He turned and rested his elbows on the surface of the bar, looking out at the dimly lit room. Candles were actually floating around, hung by transparent strings. He snorted, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all.

  To think, this could have been his wedding. Thank God the bride stole the idea and used it.

  "Scotch," the bartender said, setting down a drink before moving on to another customer.

  The reception was filled, probably with the maximum amount of people allowed, if not more. Everyone the married couple knew from the grocery attendant the wife saw twice a month to Great-Grandma Edna was in attendance—at least, that was what Bonnie said. Not that he was apt to believe her. She did have an inclination for the dramatic. He had found it endearing during the beginning of their relationship, but now, it tended to make him cringe like Bonnie’s nails running down his face.

  He brought the glass to his lips and let the strong taste slide down his throat.

  "Ahh…" he said.

  "You know what goes great with a Scotch?" a voice asked over the low murmur of the crowd. "A pig in a corn blanket."

  His lips twitched up despite himself as he turned to the voice.

  He paused, taking in a familiar set of brown eyes.

  "I know you," he said as he grabbed one of the hors d'oeuvres. "I interviewed you."

  "You did," she said, nodding.

  "Abby, right?"

  She gave him a pleasant smile. "Yes."

  "You're working the wedding?" It hadn't sounded condescending in his head. He nearly choked on the food trying to correct his mistake. "I'm sorry, that wasn't what I meant—"

  "No, it's fine," she said. "Don't worry. Yes, to answer your question. I have a job here. My friend's mom is the caterer. They were short on waitresses. I guess she got the job last minute?" She shook her head and even with the shadows of the candles flickering overhead, he could see a light blush on her cheeks. It made her look... cute. "Sorry, I'm babbling. I'm keeping you. Did you want another piggie before I grab more?"

  "You want to make space on the tray for the fresh ones?" Nick asked. "No, don't worry about it. You're not keeping me. I could use the distraction."

  "Ha," she said. "You say that now, but three years of nervous babbling? Probably not going to be as cute." She cleared her throat. "Anyway... I hope you enjoy the wedding. Friend of the bride or groom?"

  Nick rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably.

  "Engaged to a friend of the bride?" He wasn't quite sure why he posed it as a question when he knew it was fact. He realized, however, he wasn't quite happy about it.

  "Ah," she said, nodding as though she was familiar with his answer. "Well, she's beautiful, Mr. Strafford."

  "Please, call me Nick," he said.

  "What about Nicky?"

  His face contorted into a scowl before he could stop himself.

  "Sorry,” she added quickly. “Not trying to offend you. It was just a joke. See? This is why babbling doesn't do anyone any favors. In the end, I always find a way to stick my foot in my mouth."

  Nick smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "No, I apologize," he said. "I shouldn't react that way to a name. If you're asking what I prefer, it's Nick. Mr. Strafford was my father and even though he's passed on, I don't think I'm quite ready to step into those shoes yet. Not because I can't handle it. More like it makes me feel old and that's the last thing I want to feel." He grinned. "Now I'm the one babbling."

  "Well, Nick," she said. He stilled when he heard his name come out of her mouth. Perhaps he had reacted too harshly to Nicky. He was willing to let her call him whatever she wanted, just as long as she said it like that. "Enjoy the wedding. I'll put in a good word with the bartenders so you don't have to wait in line." She furrowed her brows. "I mean, floating candles. Who does that?"

  "I think it's quite lovely." The silky-smooth voice of Bonnie slid down Nick's spine, and his body tensed. "Anyone who doesn't simply doesn't understand the ambiance that's being set."

  "Oh, of course," Abby said, straightening up and acknowledging Bonnie with a sharp nod. "I do apologize."

  "Are you even supposed to be fraternizing with the guests?" Bonnie continued.

  "Bonnie," Nick said, grabbing her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn't get embarrassed by much, but if Bonnie continued to lecture Abby like Abby was a child, he would leave the wedding whether Bonnie wanted to or not.

&nb
sp; "What? Nick, this is important," Bonnie said, turning her attention to Nick and shooting him a look. "Really, you're too soft with these people. You need to be firm and create boundaries. If you don't respect your boundaries, no one else will."

  "She offered me food," Nick said, his voice flat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Abby shift from her right to the left, glancing in the opposite direction. He did not need to know her well enough to know that she was looking for a way out. Quite frankly, he didn't blame her. He was looking for one as well. "She's just doing her job."

  "She was doing a bit more than offering you food, wasn't she?" Bonnie asked, hand on her hip.

  Nick felt his defenses rise. He knew that look. Bonnie was about to go off on him and didn't care one way or the other that they were in a public setting among her supposed friends. She didn't seem to care about that whatsoever.

  "Don't you trust me?" she began.

  "I should ask you that same question," Nick said, trying to keep his voice down. "Now, fix your face. You're making it obvious that you're upset with me—"

  "Fix my face?" she said, her voice raised a bit higher, catching the attention of a nearby couple looking at a phone. "Did you just tell me to fix my face?"

  "Bonnie," Nick said, his teeth clenched, eyes narrowed.

  She did not hear him. She didn't want to hear him. She was too focused on her own emotions, on how he was making her feel rather than the situation at hand.

  "No," she said. "No. You don't trust me. That's what this is. All I was trying to do was point out that that waitress wanted you. As a woman, I think I can recognize when another person wants my man. It isn't difficult to see."

  "Regardless," Nick said. "That woman has replaced Pamela. She's my new executive assistant." He looked around. "If you want to continue this discussion, let's go somewhere private. I refuse to air our dirty laundry in front of your friends."

  "Dirty—"

  Nick turned and stalked out the door, refusing to look back to see if she was actually coming with him or not. He was over the secrets, over the games, over the tests, over the decisions being made without his consent. It was as though she had dropped the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.