Either way, she’d accept.
Cassandra’s eyes moved to the lower right corner of her laptop’s screen.
2:17.
She was suddenly in a panic. It was hardly enough time to get ready for such an important event. Important because it was an event for celebrities who usually who didn’t fancy opera in the natural order of things. Even more important because it was her chance. And with her current hairdo, she was destined to screw it up.
“Iris?”
She didn’t need to be asked twice. Iris pushed Cassandra towards the shower and turned the water on. Hot. Cassandra was already removing her PJs and stepping under the warm needles of water. Iris drew the curtain closed as Cassandra heard her rifling through the hallway closet. She doused herself in coconut scented shampoo and tropical mango body-wash. As she scrubbed the days of worry from her skin, her mind went to choices of attire. With more time, she would have maxed out her last remaining credit card, the AmEx, and bought something black and sleek and stunning.
But there was no time.
“Iris!” she cried out. “What am I supposed to wear?”
“I got it, Cass!”
“I don’t have—”
“Yes, you do. Wash!”
Cassandra obeyed and finished her shower. She reached for the towel hanging from the door and pressed it around her shaking frame. As she stepped into the hallway, she saw Iris’s ingenious solution to her problem.
“Iris, what would I do without you?”
It was the raspberry chiffon she had worn at the wedding of Allison, her former roommate. In the days leading up to the happy event, Iris was full of suggestions as to how to accessorize. But that had hardly been the problem.
When the dress arrived in the mail, it was too big.
With the alterations, she had been out nearly five hundred dollars. She remembered the seamstress sucking her in and adjusting the hem. She had stood before the mirror and silently bemoaned the expense. Especially at the thought that she would never wear it again.
Never was now.
Before she slipped back into the single-strapped gown, Iris dried her hair. She swept it up about her shoulders. Cassandra applied her makeup with more care than she had ever known. It wasn’t professionally done. But it was close enough.
The silver wrap she’d used on the night of Allison’s chilly October wedding was still hanging where the dress had sat, devoid of purpose. Iris eased it around Cassandra’s arms and strapped her into the pair of ivory shoes that Allison had ordered and the bridesmaids paid for. Iris finished the picture with a silver clutch. She took a step back and admired their mutual handiwork.
“Nice,” she said.
“Really. You think I look—”
“Like a rich man’s wife.”
Cassandra let the words sink in. A rich man’s wife. For tonight, she’d play the part. Be everything that Oliver Chambers wanted. Beyond that, she could only hope.
She paced the floor as she waited for her phone, still sitting on the coffee table, to buzz with the call that the promised car was waiting. She wanted to smoke but thought better of it. The last thing she needed was stray ash singing a hole in all that she now was. She sighed and sat on the arm of the couch. Iris was answering a quick text. With a lascivious smile.
“What’s that all about?” Cassandra asked. She was grateful for a change of subject.
“It’s Adam,” Iris said. The tone of her voice suggested that Cassandra was to understand without another question.
“Adam?”
Cassandra didn’t understand.
Iris sent her message and smiled with secrets about to be revealed.
“Met him at the diner. He’s a regular. Good tipper. Even better in bed.”
Iris was at it again. On any other night, Cassandra would have warned her to be careful. Not to get in over her head. But the butterflies in Cassandra’s stomach prevented her from doing anything but tapping her toes against the carpet.
They could have taken more time. More prep time would have distracted Cassandra from the bought and paid for date. The waiting seemed as if it would never end when her phone finally buzzed. Iris picked it up and pressed it into Cassandra’s hand.
She answered the call.
“Yes?” she said, her voice cracking.
She listened and nodded and placed the phone into her clutch.
Iris looked as if she would explode.
“Well?” she asked.
“Showtime.”
Chapter Seven
Iris took Cassandra’s arm and led her down the steps to the street. She opened the door to reveal a silver town car and a smiling chauffeur. He nodded at Cassandra. Then Iris. He could obviously tell which girl was destined to be his passenger.
Cassandra turned to Iris with a nervous smile.
“Iris?”
Iris hugged her. Gently.
“Don’t want to muss you up,” Iris said.
She lightly kissed Cassandra’s cheek and pointed to the car.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
Cassandra squeezed her hand and stepped towards the car. The chauffeur held the door open and tipped his cap.
“Evening,” he said.
He was young and blonde. On the lanky side. But still super cute. Would Oliver Chambers prove as appealing?
“Hi,” Cassandra said. She extended her hand. The chauffeur took it with a bow and kissed her fingers. She wondered if Oliver Chambers, whoever he was, would kiss her hand.
The chauffeur smiled broadly.
“I’m—”
He waved his finger before her lips.
“No names. Not with me. That’s for the Boss.”
Cassandra swallowed. The Boss. The man in charge. He would call every shot in the hours ahead. And Cassandra had no choice but to follow along.
She looked back at Iris, who gave her friend a quick thumbs up. Cassandra slipped into the backseat and felt herself being spirited away to parts unknown.
The city passed by though the window. Cassandra pulled her wrap tighter and closed her eyes. It was happening. Really happening. She had a job to do. She was meant to be charming and engaged. She had spent the morning frying eggs and avoiding her bills. But this night, she would be a debutante. A socialite. Without a care in the world.
The car pulled up to the hotel. It was a massive, classic structure inviting men with money to take off their shoes. Cassandra spied a tall blonde in a gown of pink, fitted with crinoline, and felt like a fraud. She sank back into the leather seats as the chauffeur opened her door.
She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Miss?”
Cassandra was reconsidering. She couldn’t do this. She was just a poor kid who had fallen on hard times. She drank like a fish. Smoked liked a shark. She wasn’t what he wanted. She wasn’t what anyone wanted. Oliver Chambers had obviously made a mistake. She wasn’t the girl for the job.
She should just go home.
“Miss?”
Cassandra lifted her eyes to the chauffeur’s soft face. He reached for her hand. Cassandra couldn’t move.
The chauffeur removed his cap to reveal a buzz cut. He was cute.
“Okay there?” he asked.
She barely managed a nod. He snapped his fingers.
“It’s okay,” he said. “He’s right inside. Waiting.”
Right inside.
She had come this far. The solution to all of her problems was just within reach. She could slink back into the certainty of debt. Or she could take a chance.
And he was waiting.
Cassandra let the chauffeur guide her from the car. She felt ready to faint as he steadied her back.
“Easy,” he said.
It was far from easy.
She looked to the good Samaritan who was part of the package and bit her lip.
“What’s your name?” she desperately asked.
His smile morphed into a small laugh.
“Me? I’m Jeff.”
So she could know his name. But it didn’t go both ways. It was still something.
“Hey, Jeff.”
Tell me what I’m in for. Tell me that it’ll be okay. Tell me all about Oliver Chambers.
Cassandra waited for answers that never came as Jeff reached into his breast pocket and fired off a text message. The response was almost instantaneous. Jeff keyed in a quick reply and smiled at Cassandra.
“You’re up, Miss.”
They neared the door. She could still chance her mind and order Jeff to take her home. He would probably ignore her. She wasn’t calling the shots. Maybe she could just take off into the night and pray against the blisters bound to form as she ran through unfamiliar streets.
She didn’t have the strength for it. She barely had the strength to just meet Oliver Chambers.
“Miss?”
Cassandra nodded, and Jeff held the door open.
She entered a lobby of beige and black. The floor was a maze leading in one direction. The drapery reached to the ceiling and threatened to crack through the ceiling and touch the sky. Cassandra took a deep breath and continued to move forward.
And then she saw him.
He was seated on a curved sofa the same shade as the drapes. He wore a blue suit and looked from his phone to her. He already had a drink in his hand, and he raised it in her direction with a smile.
He had to be Oliver Chambers.
He was obviously older than she had imagined. Definitely well into his forties. But below his light brown hair danced a pair of bright blue eyes and a grin that was even more inviting. He had summoned Cassandra to his side. And here she was. He took a quick swig of his drink and deposited his empty glass on the highest level of a three tiered table. He smoothed his jacked against a lean chest and stepped towards her.
She was his for the night. And she no longer felt anything resembling doubt. She just wanted to see where this would lead.
Oliver was a breath away. He offered his hand. Cassandra accepted his touch without hesitation. She waited for his lips on his fingers. But he only shook her hand.
She wanted more.
“Trixie?” he asked.
Cassandra blushed and nodded.
“Yeah. Kind of.”
“Kind of. Well are you or aren’t you?”
Maybe Jeff couldn’t know her name. Maybe Oliver wasn’t supposed to know her name. But Mary Lynn had told her to be real.
Cassandra would take the chance. She held his hand tighter.
“Actually, it’s Cassandra.”
He seemed to ponder her true name. He was rolling it around his eyes, focusing on everything but her. She wanted his eyes back on her. His blue eyes.
“Cassandra,” he said.
What would he say next?
And their eyes met again.
“That’s better. I like it. I’m Oliver.”
He left out his surname. One of two that drove a company to heights that she could barely imagine. Cassandra didn’t know if she should be flattered by the familiarity or fear the anonymity that might make her disposable at the end of the night.
She took the former as he led her to the curved sofa and beckoned for her to sit. Cassandra obeyed and he snapped his fingers for a waiter to freshen his drink. The server appeared and waited.
“I’ll do this again,” Oliver said as he held his empty glass out. He turned to Cassandra with a sweeter smile.
“And for you? What do you want, Cassandra?”
A beer.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t sip white wine and laugh without a care in the world. Her world was full of cares.
Oliver looked from her to the server.
“Bring her a Bud. Come to think of it, I’ll take one, too.”
The server was off. He had read her profile. Thoroughly. Was he offering an olive branch? Or did he have a different game in mind?
“That is your personal preference. Right?”
Cassandra nodded.
She looked up at the ceiling mingling with the drapes. The night had yet to begin, and Cassandra already felt that she was losing the battle. She felt like Carrie at the prom. She was only here to be led to the Met stage and drenched in pig’s blood before the night was out.
She was spending too much time on the movie channels.
Oliver leaned close to her ear.
“I like it, too. From time to time.”
She met his eyes and expected a smirk. But his smile only grew warmer. Cassandra returned his grin. And she believed him.
She laughed.
“Thought it’d be too common for you.”
Oliver fell back with his own laugh and folded his hands behind his head.
“Common? Hardly. I enjoy the taste. And you like it. You’re not common.”
She liked the way it sounded. He was telling her everything that she needed to hear. It felt nice to be understood. By someone other than Iris. Oliver moved forward in his seat and touched her face.
“No. Not at all.”
Cassandra had yet to drink, but her head was already whirling every which way. She had to keep herself on point. She should ignore the beer when it ultimately arrived.
She took his hand and lowered her stare to his thighs. Was he a runner? What was he running away from?
And she was back to playing the part he paid for.
“You’re very sweet. All… this. And the opera too? I’m game.”
Was it too much?
The beers arrived. Oliver tipped the server generously and handed Cassandra a frosty glass. She seized it and drank quickly. Oliver laughed.
“You are game. Good. I like a girl who knows what she needs.”
And Cassandra did. She needed to reach the end of the night. She needed money to pay her mounting bills. She needed…
Oliver downed all there was of his beer in a single gulp.
“I think you need the opera. I saw your profile.”
Cassandra felt that she was nearing familiar ground.
She set her glass down.
“Yes. Love it. You?”
She was challenging him to speak plainly. This wasn’t foreplay and all that in entailed. He wanted her for the gala. And Cassandra had dressed for the occasion. She was ready for a night of expertly scored Italian text and a hopeless romance. Even if this promised to be the latter.
But she did like his eyes.
Oliver moved closer. He draped his arm around the back of her seat. She waited for his fingers, but he kept them from her skin.
He sat back and snapped his fingers.
“Quick. Favorite opera?”
She could answer the question. Easily La Boheme. A chance encounter. Doomed from the start. But what love before fate and disease reared their heads. It was too obvious. In every way. La Boheme was beautiful. But clichéd. She had to be smarter if she was to plead her case.
“Peter Grimes.”
Oliver surveyed her with a bemused stare.
”Really? Why?”
She had to talk fast.
“Because… because it’s… it’s a story of one man against impossible circumstances.”
Oliver’s face went vacant. Cassandra was terrified that she had done the wrong thing. And for the first time, it wasn’t about the money. She felt as if she had struck where she could hurt. And she hated what she had done.
Thankfully, his smile returned. He set his glass down and slapped his hands together.
“Nice. Already on my page.”
Cassandra drank again. He liked what she was saying. He liked her.
Oliver reached for her face. His hand was warm and hard against her skin. Cassandra fixed her stare on all of his face. She could see the lines starting to form around his eyes. They were wrought with obvious worry. But she didn’t know where the anguish came from. A part of her was too scared to comprehend the source.
Cassandra caught all of the sadness. Something had happened to him. Something that forced him to lease Ladies on a website w
hen he was obviously able to turn actual heads outside of the virtual realm with his money and his power. And his looks. She could imagine him as a boy. But he was more attractive as a man.
Oliver was on his feet. He eased Cassandra to his side. She forgot what was left of her beer.
He was beautiful.
Oliver held her hand.
“I like what you have to say, Cassandra. Care to join me at a party?
Cassandra could think of nothing else.
Chapter Eight
The lobby of the Met was cavernous. Space reaching into infinity and every inch a staircase. Cassandra feared discovery in her borrowed bridesmaid’s gown. She had no business among the well-to-do. Someone would find her out in an instant and point her back towards her hole before she had the chance to defend herself. She was nearly rushing back to the chill of the night when Oliver pressed her closer.
“Easy,” he said. “You’re with me.”
That was all she needed to hear.
He moved her through the crowd of the supremely well-dressed and shook hands, slapped backs with a sure smile. Cassandra could feel the eyes on her. She blushed as ladies bowed their heads and gentlemen scanned her entire frame. Under normal circumstances, normal meaning some absurd contrivance where she found herself just below the world’s greatest soprano, Cassandra would be too excited to do anything but giggle in the face of the fortune tossed her way. She imagined Iris at her side as they played like real ladies and giggled at the Botox in their midst before settling in for the show. But she was with him. Cassandra was purchased arm candy. He required her sweet and silent as he showed his face to the crowd.
Or did he?
They were cornered by a short man. The lady on his arm towered over all of them.
“Oliver!” the short man started. “So good to see you. Been meaning to ask you about the Prince account. Any ideas?”
Cassandra was focused on the little man’s wide eyes. She waited for Oliver’s voice to fill the silence, but she heard nothing. She turned her head to him saw him staring straight ahead. But his focus seemed everywhere else. Cassandra gently nudged him to answer the question. Oliver started at her touch and met her with a slight glare. Cassandra nodded at the one with the questions. When Oliver remained lost in her eyes, Cassandra sighed and turned to the little man.
The Bound Bride Page 4