“No. No way. That has to be what, five or six carats?”
“Eight, but who’s counting?”
How he actually managed to say that with a straight face, Olivia would never know. As it was, it took a conscious effort for her to close her gaping mouth. “I would never accept a ring that was so ostentatious.”
“Technically you’re not.” He reached for her hand and, without asking permission, began to slide the rock on her finger. The weight of it felt like an anchor around her neck. “This is only a loan. In fact, when we return, it’s going back in the vault.”
“You have a vault?”
“Yes.”
“That’s absurd. I mean, who the hell has a vault in their home? A small safe hidden behind an oil painting of some stodgy-looking family member? Maybe. But an actual vault?”
“Focus, Olivia. My grandmother is going to have her sights set on us tonight. Believe me, one misstep and she’ll pounce. Several prospective investors will be attending this event. The last thing I want is for anyone to sense instability within the company.”
Olivia looked down at her left hand. Aside from the size, it really was a gorgeous ring. Still, it looked like she was wearing a platinum-set flashlight. “Couldn’t have gone with something a little bit smaller?”
Cole shook his head. “No. It has to be this ring. She’ll be expecting it.”
“I get that your family has a filthy rich rep to protect, but—”
“It was my mother’s.”
Match, set, point. There was no way she could argue with that. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I believe I just did. Now, can we please go?”
Olivia picked her clutch up off the table and followed Cole out of the room. “Anything else I should know about?”
He gave a throaty laugh. “Not enough time in the world.”
“Well, that’s encouraging.”
He jabbed the button to call the elevator. “Just keep your mouth shut and smile and whenever possible give people a good look at that ring.” The doors opened with a quiet swoosh and they stepped inside. Cole moved to the opposite corner and dug his smartphone out of his pocket. For twenty-nine floors, he stared intently at the screen. Whatever he was reading must have been quite fascinating because he was still glued to his phone when they stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The limo was waiting at the curb. Jonathan was standing beside the rear door, which he opened as they approached. “Evening, ma’am, sir.”
“Good evening, Jonathan,” Olivia said before ducking into the car. He and Cole exchanged a few brief words before Cole rounded the rear of the SUV to join her on the opposite side. He’d barely settled into the leather seats before he was back on his phone. Great. Was the whole night going to be that way?
Olivia fiddled with the latch on her beaded clutch as she glanced around at the vehicle’s interior. If she thought it resembled a spaceship from a distance, that was nothing compared to how it looked up close. In front of her, three muted television screens broadcasted various news channels while beside her an iPad sat waiting for a finger swipe. But it was the control panel above her head that she found most intriguing. Row after row of tiny buttons that looked more appropriate for entering a sequence of launch commands than conducting business on the streets of Chicago.
One with a computer icon caught Olivia’s attention. She reached up and pushed it and a second later a keyboard extended from behind a panel beneath one of the monitors.
Cole exhaled a heavy sigh. “Can you please stop touching everything?”
Olivia fixed him with a hard stare. She hadn’t touched everything, just one button. Certainly not worth getting his boxers in a bunch. But still, she knew he needed his wits about him for what he was about to face. So even though he was being a rude asshole, she decided to let it go. Once. “Fine.”
She folded her hands in her lap and looked out the window. The traffic moved at a crawl down Michigan Avenue, but the wait at each red light gave her a chance to watch the people milling up and down the stretch of road known as the Magnificent Mile. Olivia used to wonder who could possibly afford to shop at stores with such high-end merchandise, and now technically she was one of them. Not that she would ever spend any of Cole’s money. She’d have his balls on one of his stupid silver platters if he tried to go back on his wedding day promise, but other than that Olivia had no interest in the Grant family fortune.
“So,” she said, trying to break the awkward silence. “Where is this shindig anyways?”
“Navy Pier,” he said, still not looking up from his phone.
“Really? I would have pegged you as more of a Peninsula kind of guy.” She shrugged. “Seems like your type of place.”
“For a smaller event, perhaps.”
Still no eye contact. Olivia was tempted to see if one of the little buttons above his head said “ejection,” but instead of sending him hurtling out of the car, she pressed on.
“How many people will be at this one?”
“I don’t have the final head count, but around a thousand, I believe.”
Olivia’s mouth gaped open. “You’re shitting me?”
Cole finally looked up. “No, Olivia, I can assure you I am not ‘shitting you.’” He frowned. “And I suggest you try to curtail the use of that sort of language tonight. My grandmother would not be amused.”
She was about to tell him where he could shove her ticket to the gala when the limo rolled to a stop.
“Press line?” Jonathan asked from the front seat.
Cole paused, taking a moment to consider his reply. “Yes, but photos only. Tell them I won’t be answering questions.”
Jonathan gave a quick nod before jumping out of the car to open Olivia’s door. She drew a deep breath. She could do this. All she had to do was put one foot in front of the other and smile for a few photos. How hard could that be? But the flash of cameras blinded her the moment she stepped out of the car.
Cole was at her side. “Just picture them all in their underwear,” he said as he buttoned his tuxedo jacket.
Was he crazy? Like that lame trick could possibly distract her from the constant whirling and clicking of cameras.
He dipped his head so his lips brushed her ear. “It will be fine.”
Easy for him to say. This was his world not hers. It was what he encountered on a regular basis.
“Ready?”
Not really, she thought. But this was what she’d signed on for and like it or not, for the time being at least, she was Mrs. Coleman Grant III. So despite how she was feeling inside, Olivia met his question with a forced smile and a small nod.
Cole’s hand came to rest on the small of her back as he guided her to the lane of red carpet just inside the velvet ropes. Jonathan might have told the event organizers that Cole wouldn’t be taking any questions but that didn’t stop the photographers from shouting to him as they clamored for the perfect shot. Most merely yelled his name or a simple request to “look this way,” but a few were more creative.
“Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Hot date tonight?”
“Flash us some leg, sexy lady.”
Of course, once one of them noticed the two rings on her left hand, complete chaos erupted.
“Show us the rock.”
“Was there a prenup?”
Or her favorite, “When’s the baby due?”
It wasn’t easy, but despite the shameless attempts at getting a reaction out of her, Olivia held her head high. If it was difficult for Cole, he didn’t show it. In fact, the expression “never let ’em see you sweat” came to mind. He didn’t even bat an eye when one moron asked where he’d found such a “hot piece of ass.” Like all the other inane questions, he simply ignored it with the calm demeanor of a seasoned professional. She might have been out of her element, but for Cole it was just another Saturday night.
When they reached the end of the red carpet, Cole paused to press a kiss to Olivia’s temple. “Smile,�
�� he whispered. “This is the money shot.” The cameras flashed like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July, exploding in rapid succession until one blurred into another to form a blinding wall of light.
“Let’s go,” he said once he’d decided they’d seen enough. He kept his arm banded around her, holding her tight against him as they moved toward the entrance of the Grand Ballroom. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, she thought. With Cole at her side, she’d managed to survive the red carpet and the farther they got from that mayhem, the more the tension in her shoulders eased. Perhaps the worst was over.
With each step her confidence built. But as they made their way through an elaborate entrance designed to look like a Moroccan street fair, she wasn’t so sure. Because while she’d tried to mentally prepare herself for a ballroom filled with over a thousand party-goers, nothing she had imagined compared to what lay before her in full Technicolor splendor.
Part of Navy Pier’s original construction, the historic Grand Ballroom was the embodiment of a bygone era, making it the perfect location for a party set in one. With a soaring eighty-foot domed ceiling and panoramic views of both Lake Michigan and the Chicago skyline, the venue was the epitome of timeless elegance. On one side of the room a raised platform held an orchestra to make any Big Band leader proud, while on the other side, colorful swathes of fabric draped plush seating areas flanked by palm trees bathed in ambient lighting. But while there was no doubt the decor was breathtaking, the fact remained that out of the thousand guests in the room, Olivia knew exactly one. And despite being married to him, even on a good day they barely tolerated each other.
A waiter dressed in a white tuxedo jacket and a bright red fez approached with a tray of champagne. Cole reached for two of the saucer style glasses, then handed one to Olivia.
“Thank you.” She took a sip. The bubbles tickled her nose and all at once she wished she was back at her apartment sharing a bottle of cheap Prosecco with Cassie, laughing and eating Chinese food out of the carton while watching bad reality TV. Normally she would be one to balk at a Saturday night spent on the sofa, but at the moment that sounded absolutely perfect compared to a night spent rubbing elbows with heavy hitters dressed like Humphrey Bogart.
Olivia narrowed her gaze on the patio that wrapped around the ballroom. Unless her eyes deceived her, there was even a cigar lounge just outside the doors. Old rich dudes with stogies. Could it get any more cliché?
She felt her stomach rumble. Managing a full meal in that dress was going to be tricky-hell. She was barely managing to breathe but a few hors d’oeuvres would go a long way to quell the hunger pangs not to mention the butterflies. She was scanning the room for a tray-toting waiter when a cluster of felt covered tables caught her eye.
“They have gambling?”
“For charity.”
A crease formed between Olivia’s brows.
“Meaning you buy the chips, but win or lose, it all goes to the house.”
“What fun is that?”
An amused smile spread across his lips. “Don’t tell me that my wife, the great humanitarian, would rather keep the winnings for herself?”
“Of course not. All I’m saying is it takes a bit of the fun out knowing there’s nothing on the line, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm.” He bent low until his mouth was just a breath away from hers. “Perhaps it’s the thrill of the chase.”
Olivia had the distinct impression they were no longer talking about blackjack and poker.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Perhaps.”
A hand clapped down on Cole’s shoulder, sending champagne sloshing out of his glass. “’Bout time you fuckers got here.”
“Conor,” Cole gritted out between his teeth. He dabbed the front of his jacket with a cocktail napkin. “I’m sending you the bill for this.”
Conor laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to get right on that, dude.” He turned his attention to Olivia and whistled through his teeth. “Smoking hot, Mrs. Grant.”
She couldn’t stifle the giggle that escaped her lips. “Thanks, Conor. Having fun?”
“I would be if I actually got to keep these.” He pulled a handful of five hundred-dollar chips from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket.
“Whoa,” Olivia said.
“No shit,” Conor agreed. “And I started with a twenty. Apparently, I’m sort of a gambling savant when it’s not my money on the line.”
“Idiot savant maybe,” Cole added.
“Either way, these chips are burning a hole in my pocket.” Conor slung an arm across each of their shoulders. “And the tables beckon.”
“I don’t really gamble,” Olivia said. She’d considered it a win that she’d managed an entire weekend in Vegas without so much as a single wager. Of course, she’d also somehow managed to end up married, so maybe it was more of a loss.
“Well, that’s about to change.” Conor lead them to a long table under a neon sign that read “Rick’s Cafe Americain.” It was an exact replica of the one in Casablanca. “When’s your birthday?”
“April eighth.” Olivia frowned. “Why?”
“Because this is how you play roulette.” Conor took a stack of chips and placed them on a black square with the number eight printed on it. “Here goes nothing.” He chuckled. “Literally.”
The dealer spun the wheel and with a flick of her wrist sent a silver ball careening around a small track. When the ball began to slow, the dealer waved her hand across the table. “No more bets,” she said.
The three of them watched as the ball began to bounce in and out of various slots before finally coming to rest on the number eight.
Olivia’s eyes grew wide, and, despite the four-inch heels pinching her feet, she did a little hop. “You won!”
“I told you.” Conor grinned. “I’m unstoppable.”
“It was her pick, dipshit,” Cole deadpanned.
“Good point.” Conor wrapped an arm around Olivia’s waist and pulled her closer. “You’re my new lucky charm, darlin’. What’s next?”
“Um . . .” Olivia chewed her bottom lip. “Eighteen?”
“Eighteen it is.” Conor set a pile of orange chips on the corresponding square.
Another spin of the wheel yielded another win. “Holy shit,” Olivia said a little too loudly.
Cole glanced up at her but instead of frowning he merely chuckled and shook his head.
“Sorry,” she said, smiling as she clasped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t intended to swear, but Cole was right about one thing at least. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t taking the proceeds home, the thrill of victory was nearly as sweet.
“You, my dear, are Lady Luck,” Conor said.
“Let her use it for her own benefit,” Cole said. He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and placed several hundreds on the table. With a nod, the dealer quickly swapped the cash for a stack of blue chips. “I have to make the rounds.” Cole slid the stack in front of Olivia. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
And then he was gone. No good-bye, no tips on who to avoid or who to schmooze, not even a plan to meet up later. So much for appearances. Olivia watched as he cut a path through the crowded ballroom. Heads turned and conversations halted as people jockeyed to get closer. She had meant to look away, to show nothing but a casual indifference to his departure, and yet she stood there in her designer shoes, utterly transfixed. Even in the throes of a battle for his relevance, if not his very existence, Cole still commanded the room. He offered his hand to some, a curt nod to others. His demeanor was no doubt meant to convey casual confidence, but the underlying message was clear: No matter what they might have heard to the contrary, Coleman Grant III was in charge.
“Ready, darlin’?” Conor asked.
It wasn’t like she had much else to do. She certainly didn’t know anyone and since her dear husband had walked away without so much as a single glance back in her direction . . .
“What the hell,” she said, picking up a handful of
chips and placing them on various numbers. “Let’s do this.”
Cole was on autopilot. To say he was in his element would be a gross misinterpretation, but black-tie fundraisers were a necessary evil in his world, and he’d learned early on how best to navigate them. Truth was he hated events like these, designed to shake both hands and wallets. As if tuxedos and beaded gowns made the solicitation more civilized. Speaking of gowns . . .
He looked over his shoulder to steal one more glance at his new bride. She was busy placing chips on the roulette table, affording him a moment of covert admiration. Despite the contentious banter they’d had over how to properly give a compliment, she did look stunning. The dress she’d chosen was perfect, timeless and elegant while accenting each and every curve. And fuck him, was she really bare underneath all that silk? What he wouldn’t give to drag her back to the limo and find out. The memories of their night in Vegas were sketchy to say the least, but the image of his head between her thighs was one he could never forget. She’d tasted so sweet, like honey melting on his tongue, and when she’d clutched his hair between her fingers and came hard against his mouth, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. It was like that every time. Until the haze of lust wore off and she opened her mouth. Then it was like a one-way ticket straight to hell. If only they could just fuck without ever having to speak.
He needed a drink. And not that sparkling crap they were passing around on trays. Cole scanned the room for the nearest bar. When he finally found it, he groaned. The organizers of the event had really outdone themselves with the Casablanca theme. He had to hand it to them, the casino tables were a huge hit and more than offering guests a good time, established a sense of “play money” that would hopefully carry over to both the live and silent auctions. But a bar serving drinks from the side of a propeller plane? That seemed a bit over the top, even by his grandmother’s standards.
“Blue label,” he told the bartender. “Make it a double.”
“Mr. Grant.”
Hearing his name, Cole turned to find a young woman beating a path in his direction. She held a digital recorder in one hand, which could only mean one thing: press. Great, just what he needed. But as he began to plot his escape, Cole remembered that making nice with the press was part of the reason they were there. At least this one was young. With any luck he could charm her into only asking the questions he wanted to answer.
Black Tie Optional (Wild Wedding Series Book 1) Page 12
