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I look up. “So hire someone.”
Ellery blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Hire someone,” I repeat. “Surely somewhere in Manhattan there’s a stunning woman willing to tolerate an old man for one evening. Be sure to mention the three-star dinner and open bar.”
Whitcomb coughs into his fist.
I underline my note in the margin.
Ellery shakes his head. “Mr. Stanley was very clear that he does not want a sex worker.”
“I’m not suggesting you pull a woman off the street, for God’s sake. Hire from an escort service.”
“He prefers a proper companion.”
“A proper companion,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“And that means…what? A charm school graduate? Or just a cocktail dress and a smile?”
Ellery folds his hands. “The point is that Mr. Stanley is old fashioned.”
“The point is that Mr. Stanley is a pig with a checkbook.”
“An extremely valuable checkbook,” Whitcomb says.
I let out an exasperated breath. “So what are you suggesting?”
Another small silence.
“For the love of God…” I breath in again. “Do any of you have a daughter? A niece? A pretty young assistant? Someone with a dress, a pulse, and the ability not to vomit when Stanley slides his fingers over her bare arm?”
Several men shift in their chairs.
“I certainly wouldn’t involve family in this,” Ellery says.
“Of course not,” I say sarcastically. “Your daughters are daughters, after all.”
So they don’t want to pay a woman, but they won’t ask one of their own to be arm candy for the old coot. I’m disgusted.
Unfortunately, disgust doesn’t solve the problem.
The Vexley Foundation needs Quenton Stanley drunk, flattered, and financially reckless by nine o’clock tonight.
And who better to take care of this than the family fixer—and the CEO of the Vexley Foundation—himself?
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll figure it out.”
I lean against the door to the conference room and pull up my contact list on my iPad when an idea hits me.
Why bother any of the women I know? Most of them will already be at the gala anyway. Instead, I can make someone’s evening.
One of the Vexley House maids.
My father has many faults, but hiring unattractive maids has never been one of them.
Arthur Vexley likes beauty around him. In flowers. In cars. In architecture. In women who serve dinner and lower their eyes.
