The costume arrived neatly packaged in a clear plastic bag, breaking his reverie. Grayson took out a billowing white tunic, loose drawstring trousers and a tall cone hat. The outfit was even more ridiculous than he imagined. He was halfway to shoving the articles back into the bag, a wine-soaked shirt preferable to looking like a literal clown, when his hands stilled.
This was a rare opportunity. The next months were going to be a whirlwind of meetings and paperwork, shaking hands and kissing babies. His social life, which he already kept on the light and noncommittal side due to his long work hours, would become nonexistent. And if he won...well, he would have to say goodbye to the concept of taking time for himself.
A head-to-toe costume was the last thing anyone would expect to him to wear. It would allow him relative anonymity to spend time with his friends and enjoy a night out without worrying about, as Evan put it, being pounced on. There would be plenty of time to answer people’s questions about the transition at Monk Partners next week.
Tonight was his for the taking. One last evening of freedom.
And maybe he could discover why someone had publicly voiced the concern he carried deep inside.
* * *
The guests seated with Nelle and Yoselin at Mrs. Allen’s table burst into animated chatter as soon as Grayson Monk left the stage. Only Nelle stayed quiet, sipping her cranberry juice and vodka, hoping the ice in her drink would cool the heat still present in her cheeks.
She’d seen recent photos of Grayson, of course. Even caught a few of his television appearances. Who hadn’t? He’d been a darling of the media since he made his first billion eight years ago at the tender age of twenty-five. But he was taller and broader in real life than any two-dimensional image could convey. Nor could the cameras capture the intensity in his gaze, the charm in his smile.
A deep flush filled every pore of her skin when he’d turned that smile in her direction. She knew he only looked her way because the man who had shouted out the question sat several tables behind her. But his sheer charisma had hit her like a tsunami, much to her chagrin. She held on to the knowledge that no matter how likable and charming he may seem when giving a speech, she knew the truth. It was a front so he could get what he wanted when he wanted, no matter the collateral damage.
Like father, like son.
And anyway, not that she would ever be this close to him again. She could start to relax and enjoy the evening. Now that she knew he was wearing a tuxedo, his dark blond hair uncovered by a mask or hat, it would be easy to spot him—and avoid his general vicinity.
Yoselin ended her conversation with the man on her left and turned to Nelle. “Is he really going to run?”
“Who?” Nelle widened her eyes, crossing her fingers Yoselin was talking about anyone else but the subject of Nelle’s thoughts.
Yoselin indicated the stage, where musicians were now setting up additional instruments. “Grayson Monk. For Congress.”
At the rate her drink was disappearing, Nelle was going to need a refill soon. Maybe two. “I guess? I wouldn’t know.”
“But you grew up in El Santo, right? I forgot until you mentioned he’s from there, too,” Yoselin persisted.
Nelle shook her head, aware her cheeks probably still matched the color of her drink. “I did, but he’s several years older. Besides, we ran in different social circles. And speaking of running, did I tell you I want to run a marathon this year—”
Mrs. Allen leaned over the table. “Did you say you grew up with Grayson Monk?”
Nelle choked on a piece of ice. After coughing, she met Mrs. Allen’s curious gaze. “We’re from the same town. But—”
“Excellent!” Mrs. Allen clapped her hands together, her rings catching the glow of the stage lights and throwing small prisms of color onto the table. “I’ve been trying to secure Grayson as a key sponsor for eons. With his support, we are sure to receive the financing necessary for the East Bay facility.” She nodded at Nelle. “I knew there had to be a reason why Yoselin demanded we hire you.”
Nelle bit her lip and looked down at the table. What Mrs. Allen said was true: Yoselin had had to fight hard to hire her. Mrs. Allen in particular wanted another candidate, one with deep connections to the Bay Area’s elite.
“There are many reasons why Nelle is perfect for the job.” Yoselin held out her left hand and started to tick them off on her fingers. “One, she—” Her words trailed off as she spotted a tall black man wearing a judge’s robe with a white collar and sporting a plain half mask making his way toward their table. “Jason!”
Jason grinned, and Yoselin got up out of her chair so she could kiss her boyfriend. “What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t be my date because you had study group after torts class,” she said, somewhat out of breath.
“I can take one night off studying.” He smiled and intertwined his hands with hers. “I borrowed an old robe from Judge Durham, and Mrs. Allen left me a ticket so I could surprise you.”
Yoselin smiled at Mrs. Allen. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Allen waved her hands in dismissal. “You’ve been working so hard it’s the least I could do.” She smiled at Nelle. “And now that I know that Nelle has a connection to Grayson Monk, I’m even happier. You two have fun. Nelle and I will take care of business.”
The musicians took their spots and started to warm up. The room dimmed as streamers of purple, green and blue light shot outward from the proscenium outlining the stage. Jason held out his hand to Yoselin. “Shall we?”
Yoselin turned to Nelle. “You’ll be okay if I leave you here?”
“Of course she will,” Mrs. Allen stated. “She’s with me.”
“Farmer’s market this Sunday, right, Nelle?” Jason asked. “Can’t go to brunch afterward without you.”
“It’s on my calendar.” Nelle smiled as she watched the couple walk toward the dance floor. Yoselin and Jason looked so...complete. A unit. And she appreciated the invitation. But while they never made her feel like the third wheel, she was well aware she was the odd woman out in their world built for two.
It might be nice to have someone of her own to put his arms around her, to sway with on the dance floor and laugh at a shared joke as Yoselin and Jason were doing right that minute.
It might be.
But first, she needed to make Project New Nelle a success. Put solid ground under her feet. Rebuild her reputation, career, confidence. Once she had her life back in order, maybe she could think about finding a partner to share it.
She caught Mrs. Allen’s gaze and put on her best professional smile. “I’m here for work, so feel free to point me in the right direction.”
Mrs. Allen glanced around the room, and then her face lit up. “Ah! There’s Bitsy, by the other side of the stage. But I should speak to her alone. Why don’t you mingle? We’ll meet back here shortly.” She rose from her seat and slipped on her phoenix mask, complete with towering red and gold feathers that shot toward the vaulted ceiling.
The other guests at the table also started to leave, some heading for the dance floor, others for the buffet tables and open bars dotting the perimeter of the hall. Nelle weighed her options and decided people were more likely to chat with a stranger if they had drinks in their hands instead of food on their forks. She fought her way through the crowd already forming at the nearest bar.
“Cranberry and soda, please,” she said to the bartender, once she managed to get his attention. The vodka from her last drink was still making her head swim. Then she turned back to scan the concourse, hoping to keep an eye on Mrs. Allen so she could time her arrival back at the table to coincide with hers. But she didn’t see her hostess in the sea of black tuxedos, brilliantly bright gowns and multihued costumes.
“Here you go,” the bartender announced. Nelle turned around to reach for her drink. A sharp elbow landed in her side, causing her to stumble against
the bar. Her fingers slid against the glass, sending it spinning down the polished, slick surface. It was headed toward a guest with his back to her. He was wearing a blinding white costume and was oblivious to the disaster heading his way. She opened her mouth to warn him—
—when he turned, assessed the situation with one split-second glance, and caught the glass. Not a drop spilled.
He glanced to his left and his right. When he saw Nelle staring at him, her mouth still open in shock, he smiled. “Yours?” he asked, indicating the glass.
He was tall, well over six feet. Although he was dressed like a Venetian clown in a loose white top, his broad shoulders could not be hidden. Physically imposing men usually made Nelle wary, but there was something—perhaps the twinkle of humor in the dark eyes behind the mask, perhaps the way the one-sided smile gave him a slightly self-deprecating air—that allowed her to let down her guard. She smiled back. “Guilty,” she responded. “That was some catch.”
“One out of two isn’t bad. I hope I don’t have to go for three.” He handed her the drink, careful not to let go until she had a firm grip on the glass. Their fingers brushed, just for a second, but long enough for a jolt of electricity to shock her into awareness. “This isn’t the first drink thrown at me tonight.”
Six months ago, she would have politely smiled and then walked away, secure in her staid but comfortable relationship. But Mrs. Allen had told her to mingle, didn’t she? And while the old Janelle didn’t flirt, she decided—spurred on by the lingering vodka mixed with his lingering touch—that Nelle did. She raised an eyebrow and leaned, ever so slightly, into his space. “Intriguing. Although in my case, it was an accident, I didn’t throw it. What did you do to earn a drink thrown at you?”
“I tried to save a phone in distress.”
“And the phone threw a drink at you in return? There really is an app for everything.”
He laughed. It was a good laugh. A rumble of warm bass notes that resonated deep inside, the vibrations loosening the steel bands that kept her physical response to attractive men locked up tight. She couldn’t help but grin in response, and his dark eyes took on a new light of appreciation as their gazes met and caught. He angled his body toward hers. “I was hoping for a bottomless whisky tumbler earlier tonight, but an app that throws drinks might be the idea the world is missing.”
“Why stop at drinks? There are so many possibilities! Like, tomatoes.”
“Tomatoes?”
“For, say, a bad movie. You could virtually throw a tomato at it.”
“I think that app already exists. In a way. Rotten Tomatoes?”
She nodded. “Oh, right. So how about an app for...wedding cake?”
“Wedding cake?”
“You know, when the bride and groom cut the cake, and they feed it to each other but sometimes they purposefully miss and the cake is smeared all over? What if bridal couples could use an app instead? Think of the dry cleaning costs it would save.”
His teeth flashed white in a very appealing smile. “You must go to very messy weddings. Did that happen at yours?”
She held up her bare left hand. “Not yet, and hopefully not ever. It’s not my idea of fun. The cake thing, I mean, not the wedding. That is something I do hope... I mean...” Her cheeks grew hot. What made her talk about weddings with a man she’d just met? “Um, what else can be thrown...? I know. Milkshakes.”
“Technically, milkshakes are a drink.”
She tsked. “It’s not just a drink. A good milkshake glides over your tongue, creamy and rich. It’s so thick you can’t suck it through a straw despite pulling as hard as you can. The spoon stands straight up—” She stopped, suddenly aware they were standing very, very close. So close, the sequins covering her bodice almost brushed the white canvas of his top.
“Go on,” he said, his voice low and verging on rough. “Describe what you do to the straw again?”
“The straw.” She swallowed, her attention caught by his chin and lips, the part of his face fully visible. His chin was square, firm, clean-shaven. His lips were neither full nor thin. If she were Goldilocks, she would pronounce them “just right.” She wondered... “The straw is—”
“There you are. I’ve been waiting at our table for you.”
Mrs. Allen’s voice came from behind her. Startled, Nelle stumbled and almost fell against the man. He steadied her with a light grip on her bare upper arm. His touch delivered a quick lightning bolt of pure current. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it as Mrs. Allen was joining her at the bar.
The older woman settled her cool gaze on Nelle, still leaning slightly against her conversational partner. “Shall we? If now is a good time for you, that is.”
Nelle pulled herself upright, a tense knot forming between her shoulders. Her first work assignment and she was already failing. Her new life would fall apart before it began. “Yes. Of course. I’ll follow you.”
It wasn’t until Mrs. Allen had led her to the other side of the venue that she realized she hadn’t said goodbye to the man with the perfect lips, much less remembered to take her drink with her.
Copyright © 2020 by Susannah Erwin
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ISBN-13: 9781488063084
Marriage by Arrangement
Copyright © 2020 by Sophia Singh Sasson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Marriage by Arrangement Page 18