Chapter 1

...CHAPTER 1...

...Vivian's POV...

- I can't believe he's here. He never comes to these things, unless it's organized by a friend...

- Did you see that he's overtaken Arno Reinhart in the Forbes ranking of billionaires ? Poor Arnie nearly had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the Jean-Georges* when he found out...

Whispers grew louder in the midst of the Frederick Wildlife Trust's annual charity gala for endangered species. This year, the star of the event is supposedly the piping plover, but none of the two hundred guests, savoring their glass of Veuve Clicquot and caviar cannolis, mention the bird's welfare.

- I hear that his family villa on Lake Como is undergoing a hundred-million-dollar renovation. It's centuries old, so I guess it's about time...

The whispers get louder and louder, accompanied by furtive glances or dreamy sighs. I don't turn around to find out who's getting the usually placid members of Manhattan's high society so excited. I'm not really interested. I'm far too focused on a certain department store heiress wobbling her way to the goodie table on dizzying stilettos. She looks around discreetly before grabbing one of the personalized gift bags and stuffing it into her handbag. As soon as she steps away, I speak into my earpiece:

- Shannon, Code Rose at the goodies table. Find out who she took the pouch from and replace it.

Tonight, each one contains over eight thousand dollars worth of gifts, but it will be easier for me to add the extra cost of her flight to the event budget than to confront the heiress of Denman's stores. My assistant grumbles into my earpiece:

- Tilly Denman? Again? Am I mistaken, or can she afford everything on this table without even seeing the difference in her bank account?

- Yes, but for her it's not about the money. She likes the adrenaline rush, I say. Go ahead. I'll order pudding from Magnolia Bakery tomorrow to make up for your efforts in replacing the cover. And for God's sake, find Penelope, will you? She's supposed to be running the goodie table.

- Ha ha," giggles Shannon, understanding my sarcasm. Okay, I'll take a look at the sleeves and Penelope, but I'm expecting a huge box of puddings tomorrow.

I burst out laughing and shake my head just as the line goes dead. While she takes care of the gifts, I walk around the room, looking for the slightest problem. When I started in this business, I found it strange to work for events to which I would normally have been invited. But I've got used to it over the years, and the income from my services gives me a bit of freedom from my family.

It's not part of the trust fund* my parents are planning to give me, nor is it part of my inheritance. This money is the fruit of my work as an organizer of luxury events in Manhattan. I love the challenge of creating sublime receptions from scratch, especially as rich people love beautiful things. It's a win-win situation.

I make a final check that the sound system is ready for the final thank-you speech when Shannon comes running towards me.

- Vivian! You didn't tell me he was here!" she hisses.

- Who's here?

- Dante Russo!

My worries about the gift bags immediately go up in smoke. I suddenly look up at Shannon and notice her bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

- Dante Russo?

I repeat as my heart beats faster without knowing why.

- But he didn't send his answer back to say he was coming.

- Well, the confirmation rules don't apply to him," she replies, shivering with excitement. I can't believe he's here

- people will be talking about him for weeks!

The whispers from earlier suddenly make sense. Dante Russo, CEO of the Russo Group, a luxury goods conglomerate, rarely attends public events unless he's the organizer, a close friend or an important collaborator. The Frederick Wildlife Trust falls into none of these categories. This man is also one of the wealthiest, and therefore one of the most scrutinized, in New York.

Shannon is right. People will be talking about his appearance at this party for weeks, if not months. - So much the better, I say, striving to calm my frantic heartbeat. Maybe this will advance the cause of the piping plover. My assistant looks at me, rolling her eyes.

- Vivian, nobody cares about..." she grumbles, before pausing and looking around to whisper again. Nobody cares about the piping plovers. I mean, I'm sad they're threatened, but let's be honest, people are here to see and be seen, nothing more. Once again, she has a point. But no matter why they're here, the guests are raising money for a good cause, and these events keep my business going.

- The real topic of the evening," Shannon continues, "is how hot Dante is. I've never seen a guy wear a suit so well.

- Shan, you've got a man.

- What's the big deal? I'm allowed to appreciate the beauty of others.

- Yes, well, I think you've enjoyed the evening enough. We're here to work, not leer at the guests," I reply, pushing her gently towards the dessert table.

- Can you bring back some blueberry tarts? I'm running out.

- You wet blanket," she mumbles before complying.

I try to refocus on the sound system, but I can't help scanning the room, looking for the evening's surprise guest and ignoring the DJ and the 3D image of the piping plover to focus on the crowd gathered near the entrance. People are so tightly packed that I can't see beyond the front row, but I'd bet my bank account that Dante is at the center of their attention.

My suspicions are confirmed when the crowd disperses briefly and I catch a glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders. A shiver runs up my spine. Dante and I belong to close circles, but we've never officially met. From what I know of his reputation, I'd be happy to keep it that way. Still, I can't ignore his magnetic presence as it draws me to the other side of the room. However, an incessant vibration against my hip quickly removes the chills that were running through my skin, diverting my attention from Dante's fan club.

My stomach churns as I pull my phone out of my bag and discover who's calling. I shouldn't be answering private calls when I'm in the middle of an event, but ignoring Francis Lau is simply forbidden. I take one last look around to make sure there are no emergencies to attend to, then duck into the nearest toilet.

- Hello, Father.

After almost twenty years of training, my formal greeting comes naturally. I used to call him "Dad", but after Lau Jewels took off and we moved from our T2 to a mansion in Beacon Hill, one of Boston's most affluent neighborhoods, he insisted I call him "Father". Apparently, it sounds more "sophisticated" and "bourgeois".

- Where are you?" he growls in his big voice. What's that echo?

- I'm at work, so I hid in the bathroom to take your call," I explain, leaning against the sink. It's a fundraiser for the endangered piping plover.

I smile as I hear him sigh heavily. My father has very little patience for the wacky causes people use as pretexts for partying, although that doesn't stop him from going to these parties and donating money. That's what's expected, after all.

- Every day, I learn the name of a new animal in danger," he grumbles. Your mother's on the committee for the protection of I don't know what fish, as if we don't eat seafood every week.

My mother, a former beautician, is now a professional socialite and member of a charity organization.

- Since you're at work, I'll make this quick," says my father. We'd like you to join us for dinner on Friday night. We've got some important news for you.

He may present it as an invitation, but I know it's an order. Suddenly, my smile disappears.

- This Friday?

It's Tuesday and I live in New York while my parents are in Boston. It's really last-minute, even for them.

- Yes," says my father without saying more. Dinner's at 7 p.m. sharp. Don't be late. And he hangs up.

I keep my phone pressed to my ear for a few seconds before lowering my arm. It slips into my clammy hand and nearly falls to the floor before I stow it in my handbag. Funny how a simple sentence can send me into a spiral of anxiety. We've got some important news for you.

Has something happened at the company? Is someone dying or ill? Are my parents selling their house and moving to New York, as they've threatened to do in the past? My brain races, asking a thousand questions and considering a thousand possibilities. I don't have the answer, but I do have a certainty. An emergency summons to the Lau mansion is never a good omen.

...1. sophisticated French nouvelle cuisine, with large bay windows overlooking Central Park....

...2.In affluent English-speaking countries, a sum of money paid by a parent to his or her children when they reach a certain age and/or meet certain conditions....

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