by Marian Tee
Oh.
“Ask me anything in return and I will give it to you as long as it’s within my power. Do you want your own island? A yacht? A twenty-carat—”
“Shut up,” she mumbled even though she couldn’t help laughing at the outrageous things he was offering.
She felt him smile over her head. “Anything within my power,” he murmured. “Remember that.”
Anything, she thought, and it came to her then. She whispered slowly, “I do have something I want.”
“Tell me.”
“I want to attend one of your parties.”
Chapter Twelve
Dylan Charbonneau, lead vocalist for Minuit Rouge, strode down the expansive hallways with the confidence of one who was long familiar with the ins and outs of Angelo Valencia’s home. And so he was, although the paparazzi had yet to discover it.
Once in a while, he would be forced to stop, with the women of Angelo’s staff unable to stop themselves from asking to have their photos taken with him. The rockstar obliged every request, and the maids sighed dreamily when he walked away. How gorgeous and sexy he was!
If only he wasn’t engaged, they thought sadly.
Upon reaching the entrance to the patio, the rockstar stopped dead in his tracks, his hand stilling on the steel handle of the glass doors separating the main house from the garden.
Was he truly seeing this?
Angelo Valencia III, a man infamous for his rigid control and conservative manners, backing away with clumsy haste and being stalked by…a girl half his size?
The girl was dark-haired and beautiful, and with the kind of curves he knew Angelo was fond of. Her taste in clothes was a bit questionable, though, and Dylan was surprised the billionaire had made no attempt to have her wear something else.
“Just let me go!”
His eyebrows shot up at the girl’s words. She had momentarily stopped her pursuit of his friend and was glaring up at Angelo, hands planted on her hips.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Angelo snapped. “The answer is no!”
Interesting, Dylan thought. This was the first time he heard of Angelo refusing to let a woman go. Normally, most women would cry and beg to keep Angelo as their lover.
“But you promised—”
“Because I thought you were going to use your brains,” Angelo snapped.
Now, Dylan was stunned. Angelo worshipped the rules of propriety, and yet here he was, practically telling the girl she was an idiot.
“It’s just a party,” the girl argued.
“It’s not any kind of party, and you know it.” Angelo’s voice became final. “You will not change my mind on this. You will not go to the party, and that’s it.”
Dylan blinked. So this heated argument…was over tonight’s party?
Crazy, the rockstar thought.
“Just let me try, please.”
“You fainted upon encountering three strangers in my hallway,” Angelo pointed out curtly. “My parties’ guest lists can have as many as three hundred names—”
The dark-haired girl gave the billionaire a mulish look.
Angelo rolled his eyes. “That won’t work on me.”
She lifted her chin. “If you don’t let me, I’m going to kiss you, and I don’t care if you say we can’t do it just because I didn’t get to call home. I’m going to kiss you and—”
Dylan blinked again. Well, that threat was—
He saw Angelo back a step away from the girl.
Effective, he thought incredulously. The threat actually worked!
“Do not be foolish.” But instead of sounding furious, Angelo’s voice was thick with desire.
Dylan shook his head. Poor man. He knew that look on his friend’s face. He was a goner, and it was time to lend the billionaire a hand. He pushed the door open, stepping inside as he said innocently, “Am I interrupting something?”
Angelo’s head swiveled in his direction. “Charbonneau.”
The girl glanced his way, too – just before gasping and running away…to hide behind a row of bushes.
Okaaaaay.
His fans did a lot of weird things when meeting Dylan for the first time, but that one right there could probably make it to his top ten.
Angelo strode forward to welcome his friend. “Glad to see you, Charbonneau.”
Dylan shook his hand, asking, “Seriously, Valencia, am I interrupting some kind of kinky role playing—”
An embarrassed squeak emerged from behind the bushes.
Dylan stopped speaking, but Angelo relaxed at the sound. Good, he thought. She didn’t sound like she was on the verge of collapsing. That was all that mattered. Clearing his throat, he turned to face his friend and murmured, “It’s, err, a long story.”
“Ah.” He glanced towards the bushes and saw the girl peeking at them over it. She gasped and disappeared from view. Repressing his smile with an effort, Dylan commented lightly, “She’s different from your usual, isn’t she?”
Knowing that Lane was listening, Angelo drawled, “She’s crazy.”
“Am not.” The words floated out of the bushes like a deeply affronted ghost had uttered them.
Dylan’s eyes widened. “I think I know who she is.” He said slowly, “March told us about this girl in CU—” When Angelo’s face suddenly became inscrutable, Dylan knew he had guessed right and he started laughing. “No way, man. I thought March was lying, but she’s real? The girl who’s gotten you running away from your own shadow? That’s her, right?”
A gasp from the bushes.
“Go fuck yourself,” Angelo said pleasantly.
But the rockstar only laughed harder. “And you’re still running away from her?”
He gestured to the doors behind Dylan. “Exit’s that way.”
Dylan did his best to control his amusement. “Fine, man. I can take a hint.” He cleared his throat. “So…I get why you’re, umm, avoiding her. Not running away, you understand,” Dylan said with exaggerated earnestness, “but just avoiding her.”
“Please. Don’t mind me. Fuck off.”
Dylan was impressed. “That’s twice you’ve sworn in the past five minutes. I didn’t even know you know how to use the F-bomb outside the bedroom.” Angelo’s eyes flashed in warning, and he coughed. “That’s the last dig. Word of honor.”
Angelo shook his head, muttering, “I hope Bree realizes what an ass you are and dates Steel March behind your back.”
Dylan scowled. “Below the belt, Valencia.” But the thought, even though impossible, was enough to wipe any smile from the rockstar’s face. He nodded towards Miss Girl in Hiding, asking, “Is she going to stay there the entire time?”
“It depends. Will you excuse me for a moment?” And without waiting for his friend’s reply, he turned and swiftly made his way to Lane.
She was seated on the grass, arms around herself, knees tucked under her chin. She looked up as his shadow fell over her, and she said glumly, “I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell me I told you so.”
He crouched down beside her. “Actually,” he drawled piously, “I was going to tell you that at least you didn’t faint.”
She made a face, knowing she had given him the ammunition he needed to keep her out of his parties.
“Do you think you can survive an introduction to him?”
“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “You didn’t tell me your friend was Dylan Charbonneau.”
Angelo’s gaze narrowed at the way Lane spoke of Dylan. So she recognized him, he thought broodingly. He had thought Lane’s panic was because Dylan’s presence had taken her by surprise, but now he realized it was because she had recognized who the rockstar was.
The fact not sitting well with him at all, Angelo gracefully came to his feet, saying with deceptive kindness, “You don’t need to meet him if you don’t want to.”
Thinking that Angelo might use the situation as an excuse to keep her locked in her room again, she quickly shook her
head. “No, actually, I think you’re right.” She scrambled to her feet, saying brightly, “If I really want to attend your parties, I should start practicing now. Right?”
Too late, Angelo realized that his plan had backfired and now there was no way he’d keep Lane from meeting Dylan. He said reluctantly, “If you’re sure—”
Lane gave him a determined smile. “Positive.”
Fuck.
Angelo changed tactics, and lowering his voice, he said, “He’s known to be touchy-feely with women.”
Her brows furrowed. “But I thought he’s changed ever since he got back together with his fiancée?”
He stared at her incredulously. “Are you actually one of his fangirls?” His lip curled at the last word, and if she said yes, friend or no friend, he was kicking Charbonneau out of his home.
“Don’t say it like that,” she protested. “And stop glaring at me. I just really like his band’s music.”
Normally, Angelo found Lane’s pink cheeks adorable, but right now it was the last thing he wanted to see. “Stop that,” he hissed, completely losing his cool.
“Stop what?”
“Blushing,” he almost roared.
Oh. Lane’s eyes widened as the truth dawned on her. “Oh gosh. Are you feeling jea—”
“Hold that thought,” he said curtly as he took her hands and brought them up to her cheeks. “Keep it there and stay here. I’ve changed my mind. You’re not going to talk to him.” He stalked away.
“But—”
He stopped, turned to face her again, and pointed to the bushes. “Stay.”
“Stop treating me like a puppy.”
“Stay.”
He walked back to Dylan and announced unhesitatingly, “She’s still too shy to talk to you, I’m afraid.”
“Then…how come she’s waving hi at me?”
Angelo’s teeth gnashed when he realized it was true. When Dylan was about to wave back, he snapped, “You’re wrong. She’s not waving at you. She’s doing finger exercises for her therapy.”
The rockstar raised a brow. That was the lamest piece of bullshit he had ever heard, and he had a hard time accepting it came from Angelo Valencia, of all people.
He shook his head, saying, “March was right about you two.”
“Whatever it is,” Angelo advised, “keep it to yourself.”
“Unfortunately—” Dylan grinned. “I’m extremely bad at taking advice.” He nodded towards the girl, saying under his breath, “I’ve never known you to be this crazy about a girl.”
Angelo remained silent.
“She must be very understanding if she doesn’t care about the parties.”
“It’s not like that between us,” he said finally. “We’re taking things a day at a time. That’s all.”
“I see.” Dylan eyed his friend curiously, wondering if Angelo knew just how unconvincing he sounded. A man who was simply taking things one day at a time shouldn’t care about another man waving hi at his woman. Did his friend know that?
Pretending he didn’t notice the contemplative way the rockstar was studying him, Angelo changed the subject, asking, “Will your band make it tonight?”
Dylan nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I came here for, actually. I wanted to see what kind of setup we’d have.”
Angelo nodded, knowing how meticulous Minuit Rouge was with their every performance. “I’ll accompany you to the basement.” He paused.
Dylan’s lips twitched. “Go on, say goodbye to your girl.”
Angelo decided not to dignify that with an answer.
Lane straightened when she saw Angelo heading her way. “Is something wrong?” she asked anxiously right away, noticing the frown marring his forehead.
“No, nothing. I just need to accompany Dylan to the basement.” He paused. “Will you be fine if I leave you with Fico and Umberto for a while?”
Oh. “I know you don’t believe me, and I know you have a reason not to because of what happened the first night, but I swear, fainting isn’t an everyday thing with me.”
“Of course.”
Lane bit her lip, knowing that Angelo was only being polite. It was clear in his gaze he was still unconvinced. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You’ve never asked me why I want to attend to your parties.”
“Because you’re jealous,” he answered promptly.
She winced. “That’s true, but that’s not the only reason, or even the most important one.”
“Enlighten me then.”
“I want to be a part of your life,” she said simply.
Dylan took one look at Angelo’s face when his friend came back and said sympathetically, “That bad?”
It was only when they were clearly out of the girl’s earshot did Angelo speak, but it was not at all what the rockstar expected.
“Lane has a certified phobia of rich people.”
Dylan blinked. That was definitely one for the books as well.
“But she tells me she wants to attend tonight’s party.” Angelo shoved his hands in his trousers’ pockets. “If you were in my position, would you let her?”
As they turned the corner and took the stairs leading to the basement, Dylan said slowly, “It depends why she wants to go.”
“According to Lane, it’s because—” Angelo’s tone took a self-mocking note. “—it’s a part of my life.”
Ah. Dylan glanced at his friend. “You do know what that means, don’t you?”
Angelo frowned. “What?”
The rockstar halted in his tracks. “You clearly don’t.” He shook his head, thinking that Angelo reminded him too much of his old self. “She loves you—”
That word again, Angelo thought.
He said mildly, “Have I mentioned that we’ve only—” He paused, needing to search for the proper word to describe what he had with Lane. “—we’ve only started seeing each other a few days ago?”
But Dylan only shrugged. “Bree knew she loved me the first time we met. I didn’t, but I already knew she was special, even back then.” He looked at his friend. “So you tell me, man. Is she special to you?”
Angelo’s lips tightened.
And that, Dylan thought, was his answer, and whether Angelo knew or not was immaterial. “Just out of curiosity,” Dylan murmured, “how do you stop her from going to your party anyway? You had one last night, right? Do you tell someone at the gates not to let her in?”
“She lives here.”
Dylan was stunned. “I see.”
“And if I don’t want her to go to the party, I lock her up.”
“And she lets you?” When Angelo only looked at him, Dylan’s eyes widened in understanding. That innocent-looking girl was a masochist?
He clapped his hand over Angelo’s back. “You lucky bastard.”
Angelo was bemused. “Lucky for what?”
“For finding the one you’ve been looking for years,” Dylan answered easily. “She’s your perfect match, man. So if she wants to go to your party, I say let her, and she might surprise you.”
Chapter Thirteen
“This is such a bad idea,” Julieta said direly for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes. Granted, it wasn’t as bad as the time Signor V locked Lane in her room and stood her up, but—
It was still bad.
Feeling sick to her stomach at the look on her friend’s face, Lane protested, “You’re making things worse.”
Julieta stared stonily at her friend, who for once did not look like she had been styled by a blind, man-hating prude. In her pretty silk dress, Lane’s beauty was actually allowed to shine, her dark curls tumbling down her bare back, her brown eyes made bigger and deeper by her mascara.
It was just too bad Lane could only see her date through security cameras.
The thought made Lane’s scowl worsen.
Damn you, Angelo Valencia.
“Can’t you just smile,” Lane begged. “Please?”
Julieta bared her teeth.
“Umm, neve
r mind.” Lane nervously shifted in her seat, using her feet to swivel her chair from left to right. The guards normally manning the mansion’s control room had been temporarily reassigned, allowing Julieta and Lane to view tonight’s party in private.
Twelve sixty-four-inch screens were mounted on the wall in rows of four. They showed every section of the house, with the camera in the receiving area revealing Angelo standing tall and gorgeous in a dark suit while he spoke with his secretary.
Hopeless, Julieta thought as she watched Lane sigh like a lovesick fool at TV-version-Angelo.
Lane suddenly shot up in her seat, exclaiming nervously, “The gates are starting to open!”
And so they were, she thought darkly, which meant tonight’s party had officially begun.
She crossed her arms over her chest, and thought for the nth time, This is such a bad idea.
Limousines, sports cars, and high-end SUVs filled the driveway, offloading their passengers one by one.
Her first glimpse of the kind of guests that Angelo welcomed had her sighing in relief. Oh my gosh, thank you. She closed her eyes in brief prayer.
Everyone looked so decent, like A-list celebrities dressed for the Oscars, chatting lightly and laughing with each other. A magnificent red carpet had been rolled out on the stairway, and the guests followed the trail until they reached the basement, which had been set up tonight to resemble an Egyptian courtroom.
Masks covered in gold dust were handed to the guests, and everyone – everyone – murmured their thanks with warm smiles.
“They’re all so polite,” Lane marveled. She had nothing to worry about, after all.
Realizing that the other had been deceived by the guests’ glamorous appearance, Julieta started to tell Lane the truth but changed her mind the last second.
Chi ama me, ama il mio cane, Julieta thought. Love me, love my dog, and like it or not, all of this was now an integral part of who Angelo Valencia was.
Julieta didn’t really like it, but then she didn’t have to.
She wasn’t the one in love with her boss.
Several long tables had been set up in the basement, layers of gold and blue silk covering their surfaces. The dinnerware was a mix of porcelain plates and black utensils, complemented by miniature Sphinx centerpieces.