***
We arrived at the gala unfashionably early. Mel held onto my arm as we headed towards the red carpet. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest at the prospect of walking down that daunting 500 foot gauntlet of press and photographers. This was something I was dreading. I had even held on to the brief hope that we could skip it all together. Mel was adamant that we walk it though.
She was one of the nicest and most down to earth people I knew, but she did have her diva moments. It was during those times that I wanted to throttle her. Mel had it in her head since she was a teen that when she ever got the opportunity to attend the Eichendorf Gala, she'd walk the red carpet. Luckily, no one knew who we were, so we made it through unmolested.
Once inside the gala, I breathed a momentary sigh of relief. I thought the hardest part of my evening was over, but it was only just beginning.
"Oh look, there's my mother. We should go say hello," Mel said, grabbing me by the arm and leading the way towards the other end of the ballroom.
I braced myself for the cold looks and disdain I'd receive and wasn't disappointed. After air kissing her daughter's cheeks, she stood back and looked Mel over. Her lips pinched and her eyes narrowed as she silently appraised her daughter's appearance. I could see the anxiety on Mel's face as she turned a slightly pinker shade. I, on the other hand, was completely ignored, as if I were a part of the decorations. I was actually relived that she wasn't turning her critical glare in my direction, but I did feel bad for Mel nonetheless.
When she was finally done with her perusal, she gave Mel a curt nod and then turned her full attention to me. It was like I could hear her thoughts as she looked me up from my borrowed dress and glasses, to my hair and makeup, which I was sure didn't meet her approval. I was glad she didn't give voice to them, even though her expression told me everything I needed to know. I liked to think of myself as tough, but there were still some people that intimidated me and Cora Abelgard was one of them. I dared even the toughest linebacker to face her laser stare and not tremble beneath it.
"I'm surprised to see you here," she finally said to me. "But I guess Melanie invited you."
"Uh...yeah, I guess, I mean she did invite me, yeah."
I hated myself for sounding like an idiot and giving this woman the satisfaction of unnerving me, but I couldn't help it. She was terrifying and she knew it. Thankfully she left soon after to go mingle with guests she deemed more important than me or her daughter. I didn't even bat an eye at the rude way she left us without so much as a backward glance or a goodbye.
"I think the hardest part of the evening is over," Mel said to me. She perked up once her mother was out of sight and began to look around the ballroom in awe.
I had to admit it was an impressive sight. As bad as she was at being a mother, Cora Abelgard really knew how to throw a party. The space was wide and airy, but the lanterns strewn throughout the high ceilings gave the place a more intimate atmosphere. A large space was cleared out in the middle of the room for the dance floor. The tables were decked out in bright blue and red chinoiserie style prints with exotic and lush floral centerpieces. There was even a makeshift koi pond underneath the lighted glass floors giving the impression we were walking on water.
"Come on let's go get a drink," I said, heading towards the nearly empty bar on the opposite side of the room.
When I got to the bar, Mel wasn't behind me. She had remained right where we had been standing and was talking a tall gentleman. I didn't recognize him, and truthfully, I was glad to have a minute alone. Everything was so overwhelming and the last thing I wanted to hear was Mel rhapsodizing about what a great party this was and how wonderful it was to be here.
Once my drink arrived, I took a large gulp. It felt good and warm going down and I immediately ordered another one.
"Hey there, beautiful," I heard a voice purr near my ear. I turned around abruptly and bumped into some guy standing right behind me. The drink he had in his hand spilled all over the front of my dress.
"Oh I'm so sorry," he said. He reached out his arm like he was trying to dry me off with his little cocktail napkin, but his aim was much too close to my breasts for my comfort. If I weren't so annoyed already, I might have found the situation amusing.
I brushed his hands away, and grabbed the stack of napkins the bartender held out to me. "Damnit!" I bit out, noticing the large dark wet stain on the front of my dress.
"Are you all right?" he asked again.
I finally looked up at him. I really got a good look and I could feel my blood beginning to boil. The man appeared to be in his early to mid thirties, with dirty blond hair that was cropped short at the sides and longer at the top. He was a little taller than me and would be considered handsome but for his smug expression and bloated face, probably due to a life of idleness and excess. He was also clearly drunk and even more clearly ogling me in my wet dress. As if I hadn't already had enough to deal with, I now had to add fending off drunk lechers to the list of ordeals I'd been subjected to already.
"I didn't mean to spill my drink on you," he said, smiling at me in what he probably thought was a charming manner, but just came off as creepy. "My name's Maxwell." He stood there and held out his hand for me to shake.
I ignored his hand and glared at him. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you go accosting people you obviously don't know. Did you think I'd melt at your feet or something with you whispering in my ear? You're not smooth, not remotely attractive to me and you're obviously drunk," I seethed.
As I continued my rant, I noticed a small crowd had gathered around us. Maxwell's face had turned a dark shade of red, from anger or embarrassment, I didn't know. A part of me cringed as I let the hateful words fly out of my mouth. I knew I'd regret it as soon I calmed down again, but I felt like I couldn't control myself. I'd been pushed past my breaking point and one look down at my ruined dress just got my blood pressure up even more. Without looking at anyone, I held my chin up and stalked out of the ballroom for the nearest restroom.
My dress wasn't the only thing that needed attending to at that moment. I needed time to get myself under control. Thankfully, the restrooms were empty when I entered. I was able to dry most of the drink off under the hand dryers. With the pleated folds in the front, I felt confident that no one could tell there'd been a stain there unless they looked closely.
Once I got the dress taken care of, I began to replay that scene over again in my mind. I knew I had overreacted and had lashed out in anger. The evening and everything about it reminded me so much of high school and being teased and taunted daily. When I turned around and saw Maxwell's smug smile after he had spilled his drink on me, it felt like he had done it on purpose--like he somehow knew I didn't belong and I was a big joke.
Rationally, I knew it was unlikely, but the paranoia was always there, even though sometimes it was more pronounced than others. That's why I hated going to these functions. I always felt too on edge, and on the lookout for any sign of mischief. I'd already been through my fair share of humiliation and I wasn't about to let it happen again.
While I was staring in the mirror, mentally bracing myself for going back out to the ballroom, the restroom doors opened and two giggling women entered arm and arm. They paused when they saw me. The pause was only brief before they went back to whispering and laughing in each other's ears.
I took it as my cue to leave, and as I walked back towards the ballroom, I resolved to find Maxwell and apologize. Even though he'd been mostly at fault, I knew I shouldn't have gone off on him like that. He just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. As I walked back to the ballroom, I was shocked to see how much bigger and louder the crowd was. It seemed like everyone had arrived while I was away. There was no way I could find Maxwell in this crowd.
I decided to head back to the bar and wait for Mel there. I had made up my mind that once I found her, I'd tell her I was done and leaving for the night. There was no way I could manage another hou
r in here.
As I made my way over, I could feel a hum in the crowd and a faint buzzing sound. People were whispering to each other as I walked by. I shook my head, thinking I must have been imagining it all. There'd be no reason for anyone to even know who I was, much less be talking about me. But something just didn't feel right.
Chapter Two: Roman
"Roman Conrad! Is that you?"
I turned my head at the sound of my name. The face staring back at me was unfamiliar, yet he acted like we were the best of friends. Then again, I was used to it. There were two reactions I normally got from people. It was either fearful deference or encroaching familiarity. This man had gone for the latter. The fact that he could stand there and look at me without an inkling of discomfort pushed him up a little in my estimation.
It was times like these that I wished I'd brought Lara, my personal assistant, with me. Normally she'd be my go-to date to attend these charity functions with. She knew who everyone was and most importantly could steer me away from people I had no time or desire to speak to. As it was, I had been somewhat forced to attend with a beautiful, but rather shallow woman. The fact that she was my best friend's little sister made her clearly off limits, but judging from the looks she had been shooting me all night, she left me in no doubt she would welcome me in her bed.
"You have no idea who I am, do you?"
I snapped my head up to look at the stranger again. An inkling of recognition was making its way through my brain.
"Warren Peters," I said, as soon as the name had popped into my head.
"I'm glad to see I'm not as forgettable as all that."
I shrugged my shoulders. "It's hard to forget the man who took something that belonged to me," I said.
"Oh come on, you're not still sore about that, are you?"
The truth was I had forgotten it all until he addressed me just then. Warren Peters had somehow outbid and out maneuvered me at auction for a rare Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic. There were only two in existence and one of them was in a museum. The other car should have been sitting in my garage, but this man standing before me with his Cheshire cat grin had stolen it from right under my nose. Now that I remembered, I felt that rare but bitter taste of defeat once again.
"Why don't you sell it to me?" I said. "Name your price."
The friendly smile on his face was replaced by a shrewd and calculating look. I instantly felt my hackles rise and knew that I'd be a fool to underestimate this man.
"I heard you bought the Cézanne painting at auction last year," he said.
"What is your point?"
"Perhaps we could make a trade."
I laughed in his face. "You're kidding me right? The painting is worth over $100 million and the Bugatti is $40 million at most. What do you take me for?"
"I'm just throwing the offer out there. To tell you the truth, I really don't even want to sell the car. I've grown attached to it. It's a real thing of beauty--"
"I'll give you $50 million for it," I said cutting him off. "That's more than what the car is worth."
He paused to think about my offer and I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. But before he could reply we were interrupted.
"Oh Roman! There you are. I thought I'd lost you in this crowd," my date Helen said as she came up and grabbed my arm.
I had to fight to keep the annoyance from my face at her untimely interruption. But I couldn't help rolling my eyes at her dramatic entrance. As if I wasn't standing exactly where I'd been for the last half an hour.
"Helen, this is Warren Peters," I said, slipping my arm out of her grip.
She turned around and barely acknowledged him before turning back to me. It would have been funny to watch her flounder when she found out Warren Peters was a very rich man, but I couldn't be bothered to enlighten her.
"The funniest thing happened, you'll never guess Roman!" she said looking up at me in that simpering way that I couldn't stand.
I didn't say anything knowing she'd tell me anyway. If there was one thing I'd discovered during our short acquaintance, it was that Helen Marsden was never one to hold back from gossiping.
"Maxwell Stein just got humiliated by some nobody. It was the saddest and most pathetic thing," she said.
Immediately, my eyes glazed over as I tried to tune out her voice. I had no interest in hearing about Maxwell Stein and his latest exploits. More than likely he was drunk and acting like a lecherous cretin again.
"What happened?" I heard Warren ask.
I was surprised by his interest in idle gossip which got my attention. Now that Helen had a captive audience, she didn't hold back.
"She actually threw a drink in his face and told him he was ugly and a drunk. Don't get me wrong, Maxwell probably deserved it, the pervert, but can you believe the gall of this girl to actually throw her drink in his face. So tacky. And she's not even pretty! Who does she think she is? I've never even seen her before, and her dress, it must be off the rack--"
"I can't say I disagree with her," I said interrupting Helen's tirade.
She shot me an irritated glance before catching herself. "Yes, but you should have seen this woman. I don't even know how she got invited. Cora's standards are surely slipping if someone like that four-eyed freak managed to make the guest list."
I held my tongue, not mentioning the fact that Helen wasn't invited either. She had been excluded from the guest list for the last five years and the only reason she was here tonight was because her brother, who was safely overseas in Asia, badgered me to take her.
"Oh look there she is, right over by the bar," she said.
I looked over to where she was pointing and noticed a woman standing by herself. She seemed harmless enough if it weren't for the combative stance she took. She wasn't an unattractive woman, from what I could see, but her dress did nothing to flatter her figure. It made her hips look wide while she was practically spilling out of her top. Her breasts were pleasantly perky and full though, but it was all overshadowed by the hideous glasses she wore on her face. I had no idea if this was a fashion trend she was trying to start, but she looked utterly ridiculous. If it wasn't for Helen pointing her out to me, I'd have taken no notice of her whatsoever.
"She's not bad," I said after my perusal. I knew I was being overly generous in my assessment, partly to shut Helen up and partly to goad her.
"You can't be serious, Roman!" she spluttered. "Don't tell me you actually find her attractive. I've seen your ex-girlfriends and this girl couldn't even hold a candle to them."
"Why thank you, Helen. I'll be sure to mention that you said that next time I see them," I said drolly.
Helen was too flabbergasted to make a reply and I hid a smile behind my champagne glass.
"Roman's right," Warren said. "She's does have somewhat of a pretty face, if you can look past the unfortunate glasses, though she could stand to hire a stylist. Who is she?"
"I don't know. No one knows who she is. Like I said, she's probably a nobody that managed to sneak in," she answered before she turned and shot Warren a resentful glare.
"You seem to be taking a lot of interest in her," I said to Warren. "Do you fancy her?"
"She's not really my type. Besides, it's a moot point. The Ice Princess obviously thinks we're all beneath her. Look at how she looks down her nose at everybody here. I don't even think you could win her over."
"Care to make it interesting?" I said. I smiled as I hit on a brilliant plan.
"I'm listening."
"I bet you I could make her fall in love with me in one month, tops," I said. "If I win, you give me the Bugatti."
His eyes widened in interest. "You really rate your charms highly, don't you? I mean don't get me wrong, I have no doubt you could make her fall in love with you, but making it happen in one month is moving pretty fast."
"So you're afraid to take the bet?" I asked.
Warren looked me over appraisingly, before he turned his attention back to the Ice Princess, as he had
called her. His lips pursed in thought before a slow smile spread across his face. "No, I'll take the bet. Something tells me it's going to take a lot of work to crack that hard shell. But if you lose, I get the Cézanne."
I stared long and hard at Warren. He knew the Cézanne was worth more than twice the value of the Bugatti, and he also probably knew how competitive I was. I had to give it to the man for sheer audacity. I'd never failed at a challenge I set for myself yet, so I had no doubt that I could pull it off. My confidence was unshakable as I agreed to Warren's terms. Our handshake sealed the deal, and I smiled as I thought about the fact that in one month I'd finally be the owner of a Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic.
***
I didn't waste a minute starting my plan of action. The first thing I had to do was find out who the Ice Princess was. I excused myself from Warren and Helen, and made my rounds around the room, always keeping an eye on her. There must be someone here who knows who she is, I thought. There was no way she snuck in here and crashed the party. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.
Truthfully, I could relate to that sentiment. I hated these formal black tie galas as well, but as a member of the board of directors, this was one event I couldn't skip out on. After making my second pass around the room with no more information to go on than what Helen had already told me, I was ready to bite the bullet and introduce myself to her directly.
Just as I was making my way over, I finally saw a petite redhead approach the mystery woman and grab her hands excitedly. She looked familiar, but I couldn't place my finger on where I saw her before. The two women had their heads bowed close together chatting excitedly. I saw them pointing at the front of the Ice Princess' dress, and wondered what they could be talking about.
Finally they broke apart when another person joined their party. I smiled when I realized that the newcomer was none other Chad Remington. He'd be the perfect person to help me gather information. I'd briefly dated his sister years ago and I knew he had a reputation as being extremely friendly and guileless--almost like an irrepressible puppy.
The Wager: A Billionaire Romance Page 2