Gorgeous Gyno

by Karen Deen

  “You’re a dickhead,” Lex grinds out under his breath as the car slows to a stop at the entrance.

  “Oh yeah, the charity sent these over for us too,” Mason quickly rambles as he reaches into the bag at his feet and drops black masks of various shapes into our laps.

  “What the hell are these?” Tate asks. “Did I misunderstand the kind of function this is? Not that I’m complaining. This is right up my alley.” He places his on before he even exits the car.

  “Tate, of course you’d be into that sort of night.” I slap him on the back as I finally get feeling in my legs, standing up out of the car. “It’s obviously a masquerade ball.”

  “Even better. Let’s see what pretty little ladies we can find tonight, give them a night of mystery and pleasure. Who doesn’t love a man in a black mask? Look at us sexy beasts! They won’t be able to resist.” He sounds like an excited kid.

  There’s that ego again. I often wonder how he’s such an amazing neurosurgeon and top of his field. Anyone seeing him now would never let him near a hospital, let alone a scalpel and their brain.

  “Tate, do you think you can try to act like an educated professional tonight and not embarrass us all? Well, me at least. I’m actually looking forward to this and the fundraiser is important to me.” Mason stares him down as we ascend the steps to the door.

  “Wow, give the man five minutes of fame and look what happens. Okay, precious, I will be on my best behavior just for you. Cross my heart and promise to god.” Tate’s sarcasm just revs Mason up even more.

  “You’re not even religious, you dick.” I smack his arm as I walk in. I don’t know if I’ve had enough sleep the last few days to cope with tonight. I have a funny feeling it’s going to get messy. Or a little crazy. Or maybe both.

  “Where’s the bar? I’m going to need it to get through tonight with you three,” Lex mumbles as he makes a direct line across the room, and we all follow. We look like the mafia, four tall, broad men cutting through the crowd all in black, heading straight for the alcohol.

  It’s time for something stronger than the beer from earlier tonight.

  Leaning with my back against the bar, I survey the room.

  Same bunch of stuck-up oldies with their old money, mixed with the young overly flirtatious women and men trying to find that person who can either satisfy their need tonight. Or, have enough money to satisfy all their needs long-term. It’s been a long time since I’ve met a genuine single woman at one of these events. Mask or not, I can’t imagine tonight is going to be much different. Mind you, I’m sure Tate will still leave with one on his arm and be pushing her out of his bed in the morning.

  I sigh. Thinking again of my couch and cuddling up with my little dog-mate, until suddenly… I’m not sure what to think of at all.

  Well, except what those legs would feel like wrapped around me later tonight.

  Holy shit. The nervousness radiating off her as she enters the room has my full attention.

  Tonight’s just taken an interesting turn, and suddenly I’m not feeling tired anymore.

  “Hey, Tate, Mason’s wanting you over at the stage to help him with something.” He looks confused at me but turns to walk towards the guest of honor anyway.

  Now let’s see who this vision is. She obviously needs help settling in.

  I’m just the man for the job.

  Chapter Three

  MATILDA

  Why did I let Hannah talk me into this?

  What if someone recognizes me? My staff will think I’m spying and don’t trust them. Although it’s true to an extent, the trust is not my problem. The fact that I’m a control freak is more on me than them. Fleur will kill me if she finds out. Oh god, I should just get back in the taxi and go straight home.

  Standing at the bottom of the steps heading into the building I feel all crazy. I have about two seconds to make a decision, otherwise the humidity is going to have my makeup running off my face and my hair will be a disaster.

  In or out? What is it, Tilly? I ask myself, waiting for some crazy voice to give me the answer.

  If anyone could hear my inner thoughts, they’d think I’m a lunatic. Pull it together, Tilly. You didn’t go through three hours of preening to walk away now. Imagine Hannah and Daisy’s disappointment if I turn up back at the apartment less than an hour after leaving.

  This is more Hannah’s style. Although she is a great mom to Daisy and runs a tight ship at home, she has a crazy side. Before Daisy came along, she was wild, and says that’s what attracted Trent. He loved the spunk in her, the little bit of adventure. Well, she can shove her adventure right up her ass right this minute. How the hell did her crazy turn into my adventure?

  I can do this. I need to remember I am not here as Tilly tonight. I’m here as Cinderella looking for her prince for a night, according to Hannah. Oh, and dessert, who can forget dessert!

  Geez, who am I kidding? I’m here to spy on my staff and make sure the function is a success. At least I should be honest to myself. I can’t fool my own head even if I’ve managed to fool my friend.

  Handing my invitation to one of my staff, Sarah, who’s working the door, I’m trying not to even speak, worried she’ll hear my voice and blow my cover straight up. She looks at me strangely as I just enter without a word. I’ll be one of those people that the staff gossip about in the kitchen. The weird lady who has no voice. There are always a few interesting characters we find at every event.

  My heart rate is a little elevated stepping into the room, finally clear of the doorway.

  Shit!

  Now what do I do? It just occurred to me; I won’t be seated at any table for the dinner, and standing near the wall while everyone is seated will look bizarre. I can’t just sit anywhere. These things are planned long before the event. Stepping back towards the shadows on the wall, I stand just watching the whole room, quietly taking in everything from a distance.

  My heart feels proud watching TJ controlling the room and staff. He looks calm and has everything happening as it should be. My breath hitches a little as Fleur floats out from the hallway that leads to the kitchen. She approaches the stage and is talking to two men at the side of the lectern. I can only see them from behind, which I must admit is not a bad view. They completely dwarf her size-wise. Fleur is what we call a pocket rocket. Five-foot-three and full of a personality that you don’t want to cross. I’m not an Amazon-sized woman by any stretch of the imagination, with a height of five-foot-seven, but I still look like a giant standing over her at times.

  I just watch as I see her smiling and pointing to different things on the stage. I can tell by the look on her face she is talking to them but also listening to someone talking through her earpiece. She never misses a beat and the hot suits wouldn’t have even realized she was multi-tasking. One of them must be Mason White, the pilot who is the guest speaker we pulled in at the last minute. I put one foot forward and start to head over there and thank him for coming to our rescue, when I remember I’m not here working. Left in limbo and out of the shadows, I stand fidgeting with my bag. This is so crazy. What the hell was I thinking?

  As I stand frozen trying to plan my next move, I hear the PA crackle and the shrill voice of Lucia on the stage announcing that dinner is about to be served so would we please take our seats. She then continues to ramble on about the way the night will run. No one is listening.

  My brain is racing as she talks.

  Fuck, now what do I do?

  Good one, Tilly. Not so clever now, are you?

  Everyone starts to turn and move towards their tables. Except one man, who seems to be heading in my direction. Shit, is he someone who recognizes me?

  Turning to my right I hasten towards the toilets and decide it might be the place to hide until dinner is seated and I can work out what the hell to do. Passing two younger women exiting the bathroom, I’m relieved to find it empty. Walking into one of the stalls and closing the door behind me, I lean against the wall. No one would b
elieve this story of my stupidity. I’m supposed to be some super-duper event planner, yet here I am hiding in the toilet trying to get myself out of some stupid idea that sounded good when Hannah rattled it off three hours ago.

  Note to self: Don’t listen to Hannah ever again!

  Snap out of it, Matilda. You know the timeline of tonight so well, you can probably recite it backwards in your sleep. Looking at my phone, I know if I wait for five minutes everyone should be seated. There were also a few tables at the back that weren’t full on the seating plan. I can sneak onto one of those. We always place extra seats just in case we need to shift someone or there is a mix-up and there are extra people.

  Like me!

  I find the seat closest to the back and a wall I can blend into. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck tingle from the frustration I still get looking at these annoying things. I place my damn green napkin on my lap quickly, ready for the dinner service and to avoid one of my waiters having to tend to me. Trying to avoid eye contact with anyone at the table doesn’t work. There are two older couples, who from memory are some of the original list of volunteers with the organization when it started. They stopped working for the charity years ago but still attend the dinner. They like to be at the back where the speakers aren’t so loud. I’m not sure why, because the way the woman is screaming across the table at me, I’m pretty sure she is completely deaf. Or forgot to turn on her hearing aid.

  “Don’t you look lovely, dear. I’m Esme and this is John, Gerald, and Doreen. What’s your name?” I’m sure every person for five tables around us knows her name now too.

  “Ma….” I stop in a panic. I can’t use my name. Oh, this is getting more ridiculous by the minute. “Sorry, a frog in my throat. My name is Hannah.” Sorry, Han, but it’s your fault I’m in this predicament.

  “What a pretty name for a pretty girl. Is your husband busy tonight?” Oh lordy, this is going to be painful.

  “Yes.” Short and simple. Shut her down. Come on, TJ, get those appetizers on the table so I can get her focused on eating.

  “Oh. Such a pity. All dressed up and no man to spend the night with.”

  If only she knew she was spot-on with the truth. How am I going to find a man if I don’t have the nerves to move around the function freely?

  Good old Doreen then decides to join in. “In our day, you wouldn’t go out without your husband to escort you. You modern girls are so different. It was frowned upon back then.” I sigh, waiting for the lecture as she takes a breath. “Good on you, girlie.” Now that wasn’t what I was expecting at all.

  “Thank you.” I look over to the next table to see them being served. Finally, a reprieve from the Spanish Inquisition that I can feel coming.

  Esme and Doreen start to discuss loudly the meal placed in front of them. The color, the shape, what the ingredients might be, and of course the taste. I don’t feel like eating but decide to take a few small mouthfuls to test the food. You know, quality control and all.

  We aren’t just event planners. A few years into the opening of Fleurtilly, we decided to set up our own catering division in the business as well. That way we have complete control over the event if that’s what the client wishes. We have chefs we can call in, that we completely trust and share the same visions. Likewise, for all the event staff who know exactly how we expect things to run. We found hiring agency staff just wasn’t working. We would get a different group of people every time. We never managed to get exactly the result we wanted. It was a huge risk, but we took the leap and did it ourselves. With Laticia, our head chef working tonight, I know I don’t have to worry about the quality, but it can’t hurt to check. Of course, it’s not that her mouthwatering sherried mushrooms and parmesan tart has just been laid in front of me.

  I don’t know why I even thought I’d be able to come tonight in the hope of relaxing and perhaps stepping out of my comfort zone. My mind is running through the timeline, ticking things off as they happen. I don’t know how to take work out of my everyday thoughts. It consumes me. With minimal conversation with the other guests either side of me, I know I can’t sit here for much longer. Sitting idly is not my thing. I can feel my hands itching because I should be up helping Fleur where I can.

  I need to curb these nerves. I thought they would start to settle after dinner was served. So far no one has recognized me or has any idea there’s an extra guest. I mean, I’m sure Fleur would have noticed an extra person on this table. She would have the layout mapped in her brain. But at this stage of the evening, things are going well so what’s one extra meal.

  Feeling like the air is getting thick in here, I stand and excuse myself from the table. Esme tried to start up another conversation, but I pretended I didn’t hear what she was saying. People are starting to move around after the main meal and the level of noise is starting to rise. I walk briskly towards the side foyer doors that lead to what is usually the quiet area. Thank goodness Lucia insisted we make sure this was made a quiet social area due to her migraines. Not that I imagine seeing her out here anytime soon, but like everything else she was so insistent on, we agreed just to shut her up.

  It’s a long foyer that stretches the full length of the room. There are two separate doorways that the people are entering and exiting from. Standing out here is just about killing me, trying to keep from going inside to take control of the show. I have to keep reminding myself I’m not here for work tonight. I just need a few moments of fresh air to get myself together. Then maybe I’ll have the guts to go back inside and try to talk to some men. Normally I don’t have an issue. I just feel so strange dressed up and hiding behind the mask. You would think it would be easier, but for me, apparently not. I’m obviously a weirdo.

  I stand with my hands on the railing, looking out at the night sky through the glass wall of the foyer, searching for the stars. I remember what it’s like back home. So different. Here with the city lights always on, you can’t pick out every light that is sparkling in the sky. When we were kids lying in the hammock, the sky was so bright. Fleur and I would make up pictures with the patterns in the stars. Oh, to be back in the life of my twelve-year-old self.

  Life was simple. You had dreams.

  You planned them, and you assumed they would just happen.

  Grow up.

  Start our business.

  Find a sexy man.

  Get married.

  Buy a home.

  Have three children. I sigh, my stomach twisting just at the thought of it.

  All before I am thirty years old because life after thirty is all downhill.

  Or so you think at twelve.

  Time for self-evaluation, twenty years later at the age of thirty-two.

  I have grown up and started a business. Big tick.

  Then the list stops.

  Frozen in time.

  Who thought at thirty-two years old I would still be looking for a man? My poor ovaries are on the countdown and running out of time. I’m secretly worried that having a baby could be an issue for me. If the magical man of my dreams doesn’t drop into my life shortly, then I’m going to have to resort to Plan B.

  I wish Plan B was that friend from high school who promised if we weren’t married by thirty, we would be each other’s back-up. No such luck for me. Pretty sure that Fleur would have a real problem if she was asked to be my Plan B. She was the only one I had that connection with back then, and just thinking about it is super awkward.

  No, my Plan B is freezing my eggs or going down the IVF path with a sperm donor. Not the dream I had all those years ago as I pictured a unicorn up in the stars. Should have known, unicorns don’t exist and so far, neither does the perfect man. At this stage I would probably settle for at least half-decent. My nana would shoot me for settling for less than perfect. She’s still living in the time when a man is a gentleman, the head of the house. He provides, he takes care of you, he reproduces with you, just not sure in what part of that description does he love you. It sounds more
like he performs his duty for you.

  Yeah, no thanks!

  Plan B may be the way to go.

  The only flaw, once again, is I need a man, even if not in spirit, at least in bodily fluids.

  I smack my forehead with my hand. Snap out of it! Don’t waste tonight.

  I’m dressed up, looking the best I have in years. My best panties on and a mask so no one knows who I am. Start living it up a little.

  I turn to walk back through the doors as the noise of Lucia’s shrill voice introduces Mason White.

  Not wanting to appear rude, I take a spot leaning against the bar as he starts his story.

  The first words out of his mouth earn a cheer from three men all in black at his table.

  Four men.

  Same sort of suit.

  Same masks.

  One set of eyes and they are staring right at me.

  For the first time tonight, my breath hitches but not for nerves or fear.

  GRAYSON

  Watching her move around the room, something intrigues me.

  She’s here by herself, that much I’ve worked out.

  Yet she’s nervous, flighty. Looking to run at the slightest thing.

  I know I should be listening to Mason, and he’ll be quizzing us later on what he said, but I’ll be damned if I can take my eyes off her. Normally I hate a masked event, yet tonight it has my interest piqued.

  The way that dress curves over those sensual hips. It hugs her body perfectly. Pity we haven’t made it to the dancing part of the evening yet, though. Not sure her tits are going to stay tucked safely in that dress. Just the way I like it. The hint of what she’s hiding, like the hidden temptation.

  Don’t even get me started on the split that runs up her dress. Leaning back gently on the bar with one foot slightly forward, the dress falls perfectly on either side of her bare leg. What I wouldn’t give to be running my hand up that leg, sliding a little higher than that split, before the night’s over with.