Travis couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. “Nice work, missy.”
She shot a happy look at Beau, which did really stupid things to his heart.
All he wanted was her kidney.
Hold that thought, man. Hold that thought.
“Sheez.” Tony Malone scooped up a handful of confetti and let it flutter back to the table. “This is gonna blow the socks off the old Dash CEO.”
Nick nodded, tapping his toes to the music. “This is gonna be one kick-ass party. What a change.”
Hearing the compliments, Celeste fairly floated from one table to the next as the room filled up.
Several of the Dash people sought her out to compliment her on the creative way she put the spotlight on their company. Billy Bassinger pulled her aside and told her they had to have a copy of the video. She even got a nod on the decor from Olivia, who wore an amazing Versace cocktail dress that Celeste knew had set her back a cool three thousand. She and Jackie had seen it in Barneys last spring. Jackie had pronounced the color too trendy and the style too slutty.
Olivia moved through the room as if the chartreuse knit had been spray painted on her, doing trendy and slutty with undeniable flair.
The catering manager hustled up to Celeste with a question, and she leaned near him to hear over the din. As she did, her gaze traveled toward the door and caught an imposing man entering the room.
Good God in heaven. Creighton Johnston.
No one had ever told her the CEO’s name. If they had, she wouldn’t have even come here tonight. She grabbed the catering manager’s arm and used him to block her view—and Creighton’s.
She remembered him distinctly from one of her father’s fund-raisers last winter, but she’d completely forgotten the connection to Dash Technologies. Now she recalled her father’s bragging about the huge contributions he could soak from the high-flying executive who needed legislative approval to build unsightly cell phone towers all over western Connecticut. She was certain that the “Bennett for Senate” campaign had already cashed at least two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of Johnston’s donations.
“The beluga is going fast, ma’am.” The catering manager moved left and right to get her attention. “Shall we add on to the order?”
Alarm washed over her as Creighton shook hands with Travis and Beau. “More beluga, of course. Whatever is necessary.”
Would Creighton Johnston recognize her? She turned her back to him. She hadn’t sat at his table for the fund-raiser. She wasn’t even sure they’d ever been introduced; there’d been a thousand people at that dinner. But she remembered his shock of white hair and the piercing gray eyes.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and for one moment, she half expected to turn and stare into those eyes. Well, if it isn’t Gavin Bennett’s daughter, Celeste. Wait till I tell your father I ran into you…
She turned and nearly melted in relief when she saw Beau. “Get me out of here. Quickly.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Just put your arm around me and walk with me somewhere. Anywhere. Without attracting any attention.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders, and Celeste dropped her head enough for some hair to cover her face. Beau guided her out through the doors.
“Keep going,” she whispered.
He didn’t stop until they reached a deserted corridor. “What’s going on?”
“The CEO of Dash.” She backed up against the wall, glancing in the direction they’d just come. “He’s a contributor to my father’s campaign. I met him last winter at a fund-raiser in Stamford.”
Beau’s eyes widened in surprise as he moved directly in front of her. “No wonder you’re freaked.”
“What should I do?”
“Will he recognize you?”
“We weren’t formally introduced, but who knows? I’m sure he has offices full of people whose only job is to find out everything they can about a candidate who can impact their business. That would include families. He could know what I look like. He surely knows Craig Lang.”
“Who’s Craig Lang?”
“My last fiancé.”
“Oh.” Beau regarded her for a minute. “Look. You’re in a place he’d never expect you to be. You don’t have the same name, you cut your hair, and you act different.”
“I haven’t changed my face.”
“No, but you’re not anything like that uptight debutante I saw in the museum. You’re more at ease. More relaxed.” He paused and a hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Maybe it’s the company you’re keeping.”
She ignored the flirtatious tease. “I’m going back to the motor coach.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want a scene here; it will ruin everything. I can leave quietly and no one will miss me.”
He slapped his hands against the wall, trapping her. “Not a chance. I’ve checked out your seating arrangements and you’re right next to Harlan.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, then slowly traced a path down her arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps. “I’ll keep Creighton busy talking and you stay focused on Harlan and Olivia. We’ll make sure introductions are brief.”
She nodded slowly, holding on to the encouragement she read in his warm brown eyes. “Maybe he won’t even notice me.”
Beau raised a skeptical eyebrow and consumed her with one raking gaze. “That’s doubtful.” Then he pulled her hands up close to his face. “But don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” He kissed her knuckles, sending a spray of sparks where the goose bumps had been.
“You probably already know this, but you’ve done an amazing job tonight. The music, the lights, the video, the whole deal. Travis is blown away, and Harlan is probably reconsidering every thought he ever had about Wyatt right now. All because of you.”
The compliment warmed her. Something certainly warmed her. “I wanted Travis to be happy.”
He pulled her hands toward his mouth and placed his lips on her knuckles again. “One more thing.”
Oh, no. “We’d better go,” she insisted, eager to escape. He was too insanely attractive, too sexy, and too damn close to her mouth.
“You look ravishing tonight.”
She smiled at him. “The better for the lions to eat me in the den.”
Cece Benson never, ever paused to consider which fork to use. In fact, Olivia noticed, she never even looked at her place setting. Her elegant fingertips moved gracefully over the utensils without hesitation. She simply knew how to slip her napkin onto her lap without upsetting so much as a soup spoon. She reached for the tiniest fork with her left hand—the one wearing a supersize diamond from Beau—without even glancing at it. She kept her pretty green eyes focused squarely on Harlan, asking polite, open-ended questions that gave him a chance to pontificate.
Cece Benson came from real, honest-to-God money.
That was what Olivia really envied. Sure, it would be great to have chiseled cheekbones and the undying love of a man like Beau. But the inbred refinement of wealth and class was something Olivia couldn’t buy or have surgically implanted. You had to be born into it.
Olivia laid her hand on Harlan’s arm. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about your purchase of a racehorse, Harlan.”
Cece shook her head and smiled at Olivia. “Not at all. I love horses. I used to show Arabians as a teenager.”
Harlan said, “Now there’s a beautiful horse—”
“And where were you raised?” Olivia asked.
“New England.” As a waiter interrupted her with a whispered question, Cece held up one finger to Olivia. She listened, nodded, and gave the waiter a one-word instruction. So cool, so in control.
“What does your father do?” Olivia prodded.
A nearly imperceptible shadow crossed Cece’s face, and she looked down at her plate. When she looked up, she had a fixed, cool expression on her face. “He’s in banking. And what about you, Olivia? You have a lovely accent. Where are you from?”
A twang is what
the little bitch meant. “North Carolina.”
“Ah, the heart of NASCAR country.”
Shame stabbed Olivia in the belly. Goddamn it, she must have heard the rumors about Livvie Wolowicz. Olivia held her wineglass up to the server.
“White or red, ma’am?” he asked.
Any fucking thing with alcohol in it. She gave the cabernet a silent nod, like she imagined Cece would. She would not let this well-heeled snot back her into a corner to discuss her misspent youth at the racetracks. Olivia took a swig of the wine just as Creighton Johnston approached the table with Beau.
Harlan stood up and Beau guided Creighton around to the other side. “I believe you’ve met everyone here, Mr. Johnston.”
Creighton acknowledged Olivia and then his gaze stopped on Cece. “Not everyone,” he said holding his hand out.
Cece stood up, setting her napkin on the table as her hair fell over her face a bit. She shook his hand, but Olivia noticed a distinct lack of eye contact. Either she was painfully shy or Cece had a red-hot affair with the old guy and didn’t want anyone to know it. Neither option had a shred of likelihood, Olivia decided, taking another drink. Beau quickly moved Creighton along, evidently not interested in having the Dash CEO fawn over his new fiancée.
Come to think of it, no one even mentioned that Cece was engaged to Beau. Or that she was the Chastaine minion responsible for the glam decor and hip music all around.
Why not?
Suddenly, things started to get very clear in her fuzzy head. She knew why not. Because Creighton Johnston probably already knew exactly why the imposter was there. She wasn’t a fucking sponsor liaison; she was a spy. She was onto them. Probably paid by Creighton to delve deep into the inner workings of the Dash sponsorship. To expose inconsistencies in the multimillion-dollar marketing budget. Fuck it all. If she dug deep enough, Cece Benson could wipe out Harlan’s career. She finished the glass of wine and set it on the edge of the table for a refill.
“How did you get this job, Cece?” she asked pointedly. “Is your background in marketing?”
Cece turned away from Beau and Creighton as she answered. The move further confirmed Olivia’s suspicions. Cece and Beau were both far more interested in the guests than in each other.
But of course they were. It was all so obvious what was going on. They weren’t engaged, for Christ’s sake—it was a sham. She was probably an FBI agent or an undercover cop or investigator. Oh, fuck. She took a big drink of the refreshed cabernet. But Harlan would never believe her unless she got some kind of proof. Hard evidence. Then he’d listen and they could figure out what to do. Together. As a team.
Olivia didn’t hear Cece’s response to her question. Her head buzzed with the wine and her mind-blowing discovery.
“With my background in advertising, it was a perfect fit,” Cece added to an explanation Olivia had missed.
Oh, yeah, right. Advertising. Sure. At the Police Academy. “How’d you learn to throw a party like this?” Olivia demanded.
She could have sworn the little brat paled. “I’ve been involved in a lot of different events.”
She was so hiding something. The waiter returned and Olivia lifted her glass toward him.
Harlan’s hand came forcefully down on her wrist. “Haven’t you had enough?”
She snapped out from his grasp. “I’m fine.” She tried to silently communicate the danger with her eyes. “I’m getting to know Cece. I’m very interested in her background.”
Harlan shot her a lethal look. He didn’t have the keen intuition Olivia had; he didn’t see people the way she did. “Things aren’t always the way they seem,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that right, Cece?”
The other woman nodded and sipped her water, turning even farther away from Creighton and Travis and Beau.
“Didn’t Beau say Cece was a nickname?” Olivia pushed. “What’s it short for?”
This time there was no doubt the blood drained from her pretty face. Olivia could have danced with the joy of her own power. She might have been born poor and class-less, but she wasn’t stupid. Nope, Livvie Wolowicz was smart as a tack. She gulped the red wine to celebrate her cunning insight.
“Cecilia,” Cece answered softly, looking at her plate.
“Cecilia,” Harlan said. “That’s my mother’s name.”
Oh, Christ. Now Harlan would do twenty minutes on his mother the saint. “Don’t get me started on her,” Olivia said with a rough laugh.
Cece smiled politely. “Where do your parents live, Harlan?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Olivia said loudly. “We’re talking about you. I’ve been wondering, Beau was only in New York a week ago. Exactly how long have you known him?”
“Olivia!” Harlan growled at her. “Drop it. They’re engaged. Just accept it.”
“But sweetheart, you don’t understand.” Olivia pushed her chair back a little and it caught on the rug, nearly tipping. Harlan grabbed the chair back to right her, and she was vaguely aware of eyes on her. She pointed her fork at Cece. “This girl is not what you think she is.”
All of the other conversations at the table suddenly stopped, empowering Olivia to push harder. “Isn’t that right, Cece?”
Olivia could have sworn she saw those elegant fingers shake as Cece folded her napkin. Bingo. Cover blown. All she needed was something concrete, which she could get by a secret visit to Beau’s motor coach. Maybe tomorrow during the race. Olivia picked up her glass and let a satisfied smirk cover her face.
“Excuse me, please.” Cece stood slowly and walked away. Harlan scowled at Olivia, along with Travis and every other person at the table.
“You’ll thank me for this, Harlan,” she insisted, trying to form the words even though her tongue felt as heavy as her arms.
“Let’s go back to the motor coach,” he whispered just before he stood and turned to the others. “Olivia’s not feeling well.”
“I feel fine,” she insisted, standing and ignoring the rush of blood to her head. She grabbed his arm and pulled him close to her mouth. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, Harlan. That girl is going to ruin everything.”
“You are going to ruin my career if you don’t walk out of here with me right now,” he hissed back, squeezing her arm hard.
She let him push her away from the table and toward the door. The stupid idiot. As soon as she could ditch him, she’d get the master key and go to Beau’s motor coach. Surely the proof she’d need would be there. An FBI badge or something. Then Harlan would know how close they were to being discovered. Then he’d appreciate the fact that she had a brain to go with her sexy body. Then he’d be so glad he married Livvie Wolowicz, after all.
Chapter
Sixteen
Celeste sought shelter in the bathroom. Not the most creative escape, but it was close, and she needed to end that scene before the night was completely ruined. Unless Olivia was now revealing Celeste’s real identity. A quick glance under the stalls confirmed that she was alone. With a long, slow sigh, Celeste leaned against the counter and dropped her head into her hands.
Beau must have been right about the magazine article. That was the only explanation for Olivia’s discovery of the truth. What made her think she could get away with this deception? Now she’d have to face Travis with the truth and he’d hate her for lying—
The bathroom door opened. “Celeste?” Beau looked concerned as he stuck his head in. “Are you in here?” For some stupid reason, she felt like crying at the soft southern tone in his voice.
“Come on in,” she said. “We’re alone.”
In a few long strides, he had her folded into his arms. “You okay?”
She pulled back, even though she wanted to just hug him longer. “Of course I’m okay. But I told you I should have left before the dinner. Did she tell everyone?”
“No, she’s gone. Harlan took her wasted ass back to the coach. She can really be a case sometimes.”
“No kiddin
g.” She shook her head. “If I weren’t so mad, I’d actually feel sorry for her.”
“Don’t waste your sympathy. That woman is a lunatic.”
“Damn.” She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes for a moment. “She’s going to tell everyone who I am.”
“First of all, who’s going to believe a jealous drunk? Second, I don’t think it’s the end of the world if Travis knows who you are. With this party you’ve definitely elevated yourself to his short and elite list of favorite people.”
She wasn’t ready to face Travis as his daughter. Not yet. “What about Creighton? Do you think he recognized me?”
“No. Most of that scene went right past him. He’s having a great time. He’s ready to renew our contract right now.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “Do you know what you’ve done? If I can win tomorrow, or even get a decent finish, we’re golden for next year.”
“That woman is hell-bent on exposing me.”
“She won’t remember it in the morning,” he assured her. “Livvie’s got a long-standing problem with the bottle.”
Celeste thought of the shadows on Olivia’s face. “She seemed angry. Even scared of something.”
“Scared to be in the same room with a woman as classy as you, I’d bet.” He took her hand and tugged her toward him. “You’re almost finished here. Let’s just meet our obligations, then we’ll escape. There’s something I need to do; it’s a tradition before every race.” He pulled her closer to him. “I’ll take you with me and you’ll love it.” His voice was a mix of invitation, promise…and a blatant sexual come-on.
And she wouldn’t consider saying no.
“This is getting complicated, isn’t it?” she asked as he opened the door.
He singed her with a single look. “Yep.”
Celeste used her responsibilities as an excuse to stay away from the table. She lingered in the kitchen, watching racks of crème brûlée emerge from the oven. She had a long conversation with the disk jockey about the dance mix. In a back room off the stage area, she found the audiovisual expert huddled in the dark, checking the mikes before the speeches. She tried to think of some questions he hadn’t answered earlier that day. Anything to avoid the dining room, the probing eyes, and Creighton Johnston.
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