“I

can’t believe he’s here. He never comes to these things unless

it’s hosted by a friend…”

“Did you see he bumped Arno Reinhart down a spot on the

Forbes Billionaires list? Poor Arnie nearly had a meltdown in the middle of

Jean-Georges when he found out…”

The whispers started halfway through the Frederick Wildlife Trust’s

annual fundraiser for endangered animals.

This year, the small, sand-colored piping plover was the alleged star of

the show, but none of the gala’s two hundred guests were discussing the

bird’s welfare over their Veuve Clicquot and caviar cannoli.

“I heard his family’s villa in Lake Como is undergoing a one-hundred-

million dollar renovation. The place is centuries old, so I suppose it’s

time…”

Each whisper grew in intensity, accompanied by furtive glances and the

occasional dreamy sigh.

I didn’t turn to see who had the normally cool-as-ice members of

Manhattan high society in such a tizzy. I didn’t really care. I was too

focused on a certain department store heiress as she tottered toward the

swag table in sky-high heels. She quickly glanced around before swiping

one of the personalized gift bags and dropping it in her purse.

The minute she walked off, I spoke into my earpiece. “Shannon, Code

Pink at the swag table. Find out whose bag she took and replace it.”

Tonight’s bags each contained over eight thousand dollars’ worth of

swag, but it was easier to fold the cost into the event budget than confront

the Denman’s heiress.

My assistant groaned over the line. “Tilly Denman again? Doesn’t she

have enough money to buy everything on that table and have millions left

over?”

“Yes, but it’s not about the money for her. It’s the adrenaline rush,” I

said. “Go. I’ll order bread pudding from Magnolia Bakery tomorrow to

make up for the strenuous task of replacing the gift bag. And for God’s

sake, find out where Penelope is. She’s supposed to be manning the gift

station.”

“Ha ha,” Shannon said, obviously picking up on my sarcasm. “Fine. I’ll

check on the gift bags and Penelope, but I expect a big tub of bread pudding

tomorrow.”

I laughed and shook my head as the line cut off.

While she took care of the gift bag situation, I circled the room and kept

an eye out for other fires, large or small.

When I first went into business, it felt weird working events I would

otherwise be invited to as a guest. But I’d gotten used to it over the years,

and the income allowed me a small degree of independence from my

parents.

It wasn’t part of my trust fund, nor was it my inheritance. It was money

I’d earned, fair and square, as a luxury event planner in Manhattan.

I loved the challenge of creating beautiful events from scratch, and

wealthy people loved beautiful things. It was a win-win.

I was double-checking the sound setup for the keynote speech later that

night when Shannon rushed toward me. “Vivian! You didn’t tell me he was

here!” she hissed.

“Who?”

“Dante Russo.”

All thoughts of swag bags and sound checks flew out of my head.

I jerked my gaze to Shannon’s, taking in her bright eyes and flushed

cheeks.

“Dante Russo?” My heart thudded for no apparent reason. “But he

didn’t RSVP yes.”

“Well, the rules of RSVPs don’t apply to him.” She practically vibrated

with excitement. “I can’t believe he showed up. People will be talking about

this for weeks.”

The earlier whispers suddenly made sense.

Dante Russo, the enigmatic CEO of the luxury goods conglomerate the

Russo Group, rarely attended public events that weren’t hosted by himself,

one of his close friends, or one of his important business associates. The

Frederick Wildlife Trust didn’t fall under any of those categories.

He was also one of the wealthiest and, therefore, most watched men in

New York.

Shannon was right. People would be buzzing about his attendance for

weeks, if not months.

“Good,” I said, trying to rein in my sudden runaway heartbeat. “Maybe

it’ll bring more awareness to the piping plover issue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Vivian, no one cares”—she stopped, looked

around, and lowered her voice— “no one actually cares about the piping

plovers. I mean, I’m sad they’re endangered, but let’s be honest. The people

are here for the scene only.”

Once again, she was right. Still, no matter their reason for attending, the

guests were raising money for a good cause, and the events kept my

business running.

“The real topic of the night,” Shannon said, “is how good Dante looks.

I’ve never seen a man fill out a tuxedo so well.”

“You have a boyfriend, Shan.”

“So? We’re allowed to appreciate other people’s beauty.”

“Yes, well, I think you’ve appreciated enough. We’re here to work, not

ogle the guests.” I gently pushed her toward the dessert table. “Can you

bring out more Viennese tartlets? We’re running low.”

“Buzzkill,” she grumbled, but she did as I said.

I tried to refocus on the sound setup, but I couldn’t resist scanning the

room for the surprise guest of the night. My gaze skimmed past the DJ and

the 3D piping plover display and rested on the crowd by the entrance.

It was so thick I couldn’t see beyond the outer edges, but I’d bet my

entire bank account Dante was the center of their attention.

My suspicions were confirmed when the crowd shifted briefly to reveal

a glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders.

A rush of awareness ran the length of my spine.

Dante and I belonged to tangential social circles, but we’d never

officially met. From what I’d heard of his reputation, I was happy keeping it

that way.

Still, his presence was magnetic, and I felt the pull of it all the way

across the room.An insistent buzz against my hip washed away the tingles coating my

skin and drew my attention away from Dante’s fan club. My stomach sank

when I fished my personal cell out of my purse and saw who was calling.

I shouldn’t take personal calls in the middle of a work event, but one

simply didn’t ignore a summons from Francis Lau.

I double-checked to make sure there were no emergencies requiring my

immediate attention before I slipped into the nearest restroom.

“Hello, Father.” The formal greeting rolled off my tongue easily after

almost twenty years of practice.

I used to call him Dad, but after Lau Jewels took off and we moved out

of our cramped two-bedroom into a Beacon Hill mansion, he insisted onbeing called Father instead. Apparently, it sounded more “sophisticated”

and “upper class.”

“Where are you?” His deep voice rumbled over the line. “Why is it so

echoey?”

“I’m at work. I snuck into a bathroom to take your call.” I leaned my

hip against the counter and felt compelled to add, “It’s a fundraiser for the

endangered piping plover.”

I smiled at his heavy sigh. My father had little patience for the obscure

causes people used as an excuse to party, though he attended the events

donated anyway. It was the proper thing to do.

“Every day, I learn about a new endangered animal,” he grumbled.

“Your mother is on a fundraising committee for some fish or other, like we

don’t eat seafood every week.”

My mother, formerly an aesthetician, was now a professional socialite

and charity committee member.

“Since you’re at work, I’ll keep this short,” my father said. “We’d like

you to join us for dinner on Friday night. We have important news.”

Despite his wording, it wasn’t a request.

My smile faded. “This Friday night?” It was Tuesday, and I lived in

New York while my parents lived in Boston.

It was a last-minute request even by their standards.

“Yes.” My father didn’t elaborate. “Dinner is at seven sharp. Don’t be

late.”

He hung up.

My phone stayed frozen on my ear for an extra beat before I removed it.

It slipped against my clammy palm and almost clattered to the floor before I

shoved it back into my purse.

It was funny how one sentence could send me into an anxiety spiral.

We have important news.

Did something happen with the company? Was someone sick or dying?

Were my parents selling their house and moving to New York like they’d

once threatened to do?

My mind raced through with a thousand questions and possibilities.

I didn’t have an answer, but I knew one thing.

An emergency summons to the Lau manor never boded well.

M

Vivian

y parents’ living room looked like something out of an

Architectural Digest spread. Tufted settees sat at right angles to

carved wood tables; porcelain tea sets jostled for space next to

priceless tchotchkes. Even the air smelled cold and impersonal, like

generically expensive freshener.

Some people had homes; my parents had a showpiece.“Your skin looks dull.” My mother examined me with a critical eye.

“Have you been keeping up with your monthly facials?”

She sat across from me, her own skin glowing with pearlescent

luminosity.

“Yes, Mother.” My cheeks ached from the forced politeness of my

smile.