I pace in my apartment for a good twenty minutes as the pros and cons race through my head. Ultimately, I decide that lookingfor a new job while unemployed isn’t a good move. So, I relent to my boss’s request and begin dressing for the ball. Besides, Cassie and Lowri will be there. They’ll be looking for me to show them around.
At the appointed time,my carriage arrives to take me to the ball.
Okay, it’s just a regular black sedan, but tonight I feel like Cinderella—well, not exactly. In reality, I look like a cross between a princess and a seductress in the red, shimmery, strapless, mermaid gown. The sweetheart neckline shows off my cleavage, and the fluffy feathers at the bottom add a touch of decadence that will make me stand out from the crowd. My mask is trimmed in shiny sequins, crystals, and feathers to match.
It will be interesting to see if anyone recognizes me. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to identify anyone else. Maybe that will make it easier to avoid Stuart.
The ball is being held in an enormous Hollywood mansion. I heard that there will be at least two hundred attendees. We probably won’t cross paths anyway.
I’m still fidgeting with worry as the car pulls to a stop in front of the magnificent home. A valet opens my door and offers his hand to me as I attempt to gracefully exit the vehicle while taking in the details of the scene before me.
Warm white lights illuminate the perfectly manicured lawn and pathway from the drive to the stained glass, double doors at the front. White bricks form the home’s exterior, accented by large glass windows with freshly painted black trim. Rose bushes in full bloom spread a flowery scent through the air, causing me to inhale deeply and savor the pleasant aroma.
I climb the three steps from the drive to the entrance path and follow other attendees toward the front doors. Greeters stop us short of the doors to scan our electronic invitations before granting us admission to the red carpeted path.
Photographers snap photos in rapid succession as reporters pummel me with questions, such as, “What designer are you wearing?” “Who are you?” “Who’s your date tonight?”
I smile, identifying the designer as an up-and-coming British phenom, known as J. J. Eton. A card accompanying the dress instructed me to provide that information tonight. I also give my name and indicate I’m attending on behalf of my law firm, which is a sponsor. As for the question about a date, I toss my long auburn wave behind my shoulder and shrug, saying, “It looks like I’m sailing solo tonight.”
With my red carpet walk complete, someone hands me a glass of champagne and directs me inside the mansion. Following the crowd down the hall to a large room on the right, I find myself surrounded by at least thirty pieces of breathtaking diamond jewelry on display.
These are the jewels in the silent auction tonight. I heard they were incredible, but that doesn’t do them justice. These pieces belong in a museum. I’m in awe.
A line has formed, snaking around the displays. I follow, stopping at each piece to admire it and read the card with a detailed description. I almost gag at the starting price of the first one. I’m not sure I’ll make that much money in a lifetime.
Halfway through the items, I stop, mesmerized by a diamond and black pearl necklace. The description says there are twenty-three 15 millimeter, perfectly matched, natural Tahitian black pearls. A one-carat, flawless white diamond sits between each pair of pearls. My necklace was much smaller, and the only diamonds were tiny ones on the clasp. Still, it was incredibly special to me.
“Is that you, Brooke?” a familiar voice asks.
I turn and immediately recognize Lowri and Cassie. “It is. How did you recognize me?”
“Your beautiful auburn hair,” Cassie gushes.
“That makes sense. Are you two having fun?”
“We haven’t been here long. We’ve only had time to look at these incredibly expensive jewels. Do you really think they will all sell tonight?”
“The Foundation hopes they will. There certainly are enough uber-wealthy people here, from what I’ve been told. If you could afford it, which piece would you bid on?” I ask.
“That’s easy. I’m in love with the gorgeous, princess-cut, white diamond ring.” Lowri says, dreamily pointing to a glamorous ring displayed on our right. It shimmers like fireworks under the lights.
“It is spectacular. I don’t blame you. How about you Cassie?”
“I wouldn’t mind that emerald and diamond necklace,” she says, gesturing to the other side of the aisle where three women in designer dresses are admiring it. I hear one say she’s going to have her husband bid on it for her.
“Which isyourfavorite?” Lowri asks.
“Everything here is gorgeous, but I’m particularly drawn to this diamond bracelet. By the way, have you seen our client yet?” I ask, scanning the crowded room for him.
“I’m not sure. All the men are dressed alike in black tuxes and shiny gold masks. It’s hard to tell them apart except for their variations in height and hair color,” Cassie muses with a shrug.
“True. But if you need to find him, we can help,” Lowri offers enthusiastically.
“No. I was just curious. It’s doubtful he’ll need a lawyer tonight. If Stuart wants to find me, José from the PR firm will know how to recognize me since they sent me this dress.”
Lowri taps her mouth with her index finger, asking, “So, it’s Stuart, instead of Lord Sandridge now, is it? What’s up with that?”
I laugh nervously. “Umm ... nothing. He just insists that we be on a first name basis since we’re working together so closely.”
