A Diva in Manhattan

by Aubrie Dionne

  “Okay.” He nodded slowly, convincing himself in the process. “Count me in.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tea

  Alaina straightened her red, Valentino lace dress and walked into the lobby of the Met. The board had decorated the dual spiral staircases with roses, and the who’s who of New York mingled holding glasses of champagne.

  She wanted her own glass of bubbly while soaking naked in lilac scented water. But no, here she was in this snoozefest raising money for…what was Project Wish anyway?

  “Alaina, so nice of you to come.” Altez Vior took her hand and kissed the back.

  Alaina smiled despite the irritation rising within her. I’m only here because you held a knife to my throat. “Anything to ensure the opera goes well.”

  The conductor glanced around the room. “There are a few people I’d like to you meet, namely the founders of Project Wish, along with the other members of the board.”

  She swallowed a yawn. “I can’t wait.”

  Worry crossed his face as he scanned the crowd. “We’re missing Grace DeBarr, the largest donor for both Project Wish and the opera. I wonder if something held her up.”

  Opportunity rang in Alaina’s ears. This was her excuse to make herself scarce. “Maybe you should call her, just in case.”

  “Of course.” He checked his watch. “Excuse me.”

  “Absolutely.” She ushered him toward the coatroom. As he dug in his coat for his cell phone, she slipped back into the crowd.

  Now where were those appetizers?

  The front door opened, and an older woman in black velvet walked in with the hottest date Alaina had ever seen. Dressed in a sleek, black Armani suit, this man towered a head above most with wide shoulders, a square jaw, and perfectly rugged features that oozed masculinity. Long, luscious waves of dark brown hair were slicked back from his face, curling around his ears. Dark brown eyes simmered as he scanned the room. He settled on her and interest sparked in his gaze.

  Too bad he was a gold digger preying on an older woman who should know better.

  Alaina elbowed a man in his fifties picking an egg roll off a waiter’s tray. “Who’s that lovely couple?”

  He popped the egg roll in his mouth and stepped toward her. His eyes rolled over the spots on her dress where the bare skin showed through the lace. “That’s Grace DeBarr, the richest woman in New York and one of the project’s biggest donors.”

  She didn’t care if he gawked, as long as he provided information. “And who’s the arm candy?”

  The man frowned as if shocked by her bluntness. Or was he jealous of her interest in the other man? “I’m not sure. Her son is scheduled for the auction block at eight. I suppose that’s him.”

  “Her son?” Alaina searched the older woman’s face for even a fraction of that hotness but found no resemblance. What did it matter as long as he wasn’t her date?

  Mr. Egg Roll provided his hand. “Alan Hardy, vice president of the board. And you are?”

  She took his hand and dropped it after one shake. “Alaina Amaldi. I’m sorry. There’s something I have to be getting to…” She turned and cut through the crowd.

  Mrs. DeBarr had found the conductor, and the two of them were chatting up a storm. Alaina turned around and hid behind a waiter. She couldn’t get caught up in that conversation right now. Not when there was a hot guy walking around without a date. Her evening just got a whole hell of a lot more interesting.

  Mr. Hottie stood alone and aloof by the punch table.

  Alaina had a sudden craving for punch. She leaned over and reached for the serving spoon, making sure her breasts were on full display as her diamond pendant dangled over the pink liquid.

  She had to use her attributes to her advantage. Long ago, she gave up trying to be pencil thin and went down the curvy route. Those models could nibble on lettuce, but a lyric soprano needed a hearty meal to belt out those high A’s.

  She dipped the large serving spoon in and trickled the liquid in her glass. She glanced over in his direction and -sure enough- caught him staring.

  Alaina raised an eyebrow as she sipped her drink, leaving red lipstick on the rim. She wished she could leave some on his cleanly shaven cheek. “Enjoying your evening?”

  He shrugged uncomfortably. For someone with a billion- dollar inheritance, he seemed like a country bumpkin out of his element. “I just got here.”

  Alaina stepped forward, claiming the space beside him. “Yes, I saw you come in with your…mother?”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around the room as if spies were lurking everywhere. “Yes, my…mother.”

  He wasn’t a conversation starter, that’s for certain. But, Alaina found his reluctance delightful. So many sleaze balls openly hit on her and this guy was playing hard to get.

  She curled her toes in her heels. A challenge. She liked that.

  “Alaina Amaldi.” She offered her hand.

  He took his hand out of his pocket. “Lance DeBarr.”

  His skin was warm and dry, his hands rough with calluses. Why would someone as rich as him have calluses?

  “So, I hear you’re on the auction block tonight.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Please, don’t remind me.”

  “Your mother put you up to it?”

  “You could say that.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “What are they auctioning you for?”

  Was that a blush in his cheeks? This guy was so damn cute.

  “A dinner date for two.”

  “Oh.” Had she brought the checkbook? Perhaps she’d want to make a bid. All in the name of charity, of course. She still didn’t know which charity, but that didn’t matter. “So you’re afraid one of these older ladies will buy you off and you’ll have to spend your night talking about knitting and tea?”

  He leaned in and smiled. “Maybe I like tea.”

  Was he flirting? Alaina trailed her finger across the pocket of his suit. “I’m a black tea type of gal.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “So you like it strong?”

  “Strong and dark.” Man this party was heating up. She leaned in closer. He smelled like woodsy aftershave with a hint of mint, ringing all of her pheromone bells. “How about you?”

  He touched a lock of her hair. “Red and sweet.”

  If that wasn’t an invitation, then she didn’t know what was. This night was turning out miraculously better than a naked bubble bath.

  Something behind her stole his attention. Alaina whirled around to the horror freak show that was her soprano rival, Bianca Pool.

  “Look what the conductor dragged in.” Bianca flung her bleached blonde hair over her shoulder. She wore a pink dress with an even lower neckline, revealing her assets to the point of a wardrobe malfunction. “Nice to see you again, Alaina.”

  “What are you doing here?” Alaina almost dropped her glass. “I thought you were in Germany.”

  “Altez offered me the Queen of the Night, and you know I can’t turn that role up.”

  “You are very good at being wicked.” Alaina tightened her grip on her glass. They’d be singing together. Ironically, the Queen of the night was her character’s antagonist, and antagonize her, Bianca would.

  Her rival stepped between her and Lance. “I came over to meet the famous Mr. DeBarr.” She touched his arm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Lance shifted away from the two of them as if outnumbered. “What have you heard?”

  “Only that you’re the most successful stoke broker in New York. I read the article about you in Forbes last year. Your ideas for optimizing trading options are ingenious. Funny, the picture in the magazine didn’t do you justice. You look even more gorgeous in real life.”

  “Thanks.” He seemed more uncomfortable than impressed by her flattery. What a modest guy.

  Alaina opened her mouth to compliment him on his modesty when Bianca angled her body in front of her and put her hand on his chest. “I want you to know I’m going
to do everything it takes to be your highest bidder.”

  Alaina gagged silently.

  “You are?” Was that fear or excitement flashing through his eyes?

  She tapped her purse. “I love donating to people in need.”

  Like hell she did. Bianca was more likely to kick a homeless man out of her way. Not that Alaina was much better, walking by them and pretending they weren’t there.

  Frustration built inside Alaina like a volcano heating up. Bianca had butted her out of the conversation. To make matters worse, Altez came over with Mrs. DeBarr on his arm. “Here she is; our new talent. Alaina, I’d like you to meet Mrs. DeBarr.”

  Alaina turned and shook her hand. “The pleasure is mine.” Beside her, Bianca had entwined her arm in Lance’s and turned him around toward the appetizers.

  Damn it!

  Alaina stifled a current of jealousy. Bianca may have won round one, but one thing was for sure. She wasn’t letting that harlot win the bid.

  ***

  As Brett talked to the blonde Barbie princess in front of him, he realized how little he knew about the stock market. The more he opened his mouth, the more he risked being found out for the poser that he was.

  “What do you suggest I invest in this month?” She twirled the strap of her purse around her fingers. Even her nails were pink.

  “With the market the way it is, it’s hard to tell.” Brett glanced around the room, distracted. Where was Alaina? When he’d first seen her at the party, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The woman from the curb had been staring at him with interest. He had to remind himself she thought he was a billion dollars richer.

  When he’d talked to her, their chemistry heated the room. He couldn’t deny the way his body pulled toward her, aching to touch her sunset hair. She smelled like roses and lavender, reminding him of the meadow beyond the log cabin.

  Even if he had to assume someone’s identity to meet her, the embarrassment was totally worth it.

  Mrs. DeBarr clinked her spoon on her glass, muting everyone’s conversation. Brett turned toward the older woman with relief. The less he said tonight, the better, if he was ever going to get out of this alive.

  “I want to thank you all for coming. Your generosity will bring happiness to those in need and support this wonderful opera in the process. Let’s see this partnership of Project Wish and the Metropolitan Opera Fund flourish, and let’s have some fun in the process. We begin tonight with our first annual auction.”

  As the crowd applauded, nervous jitters spiraled through him. He wasn’t used to being the center of attention, never mind the grand prize of a million dollar auction. He had to remind himself this was for a charity he believed in, a charity he probably needed himself.

  But, Brett would never take handouts. If he had to work extra hours to rebuild his life, so be it.

  A man with white hair which stuck up like weeds introduced himself as Altez Vior and escorted Brett to a backroom. He was supposed to sit and wait for his turn while they started with smaller prizes like vintage wine and chocolate.

  Hopefully one of those older ladies would outbid Ms. Barbie. He didn’t want to talk about stock portfolios all night long. In any case, he’d have to do some homework on the real Lance DeBarr before this so called date.

  The door opened, and Mrs. DeBarr snuck in. “How’s my adopted son?”

  “A little nervous.” He’d lied so many times already; he figured he’d be honest with something. “Why couldn’t I just be myself?”

  She took a seat beside him and adjusted her velvet scarf. “Sadly enough, no one is going to pay thousands of dollars to go out with a construction worker.”

  He smiled. She was probably right. He wouldn’t want to pay to hang around with half the men at work. “I can’t imagine why.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure you’re a great bunch. Look at you- such a gentleman, helping me raise money for this good cause.”

  He shrugged. He still felt like a schmuck assuming her son’s identity. “What if someone who knows your real son sees me tonight?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t worry. My son is rarely seen in public. He keeps to himself and travels the world half the time. I see him maybe once a year. Besides, you do look kind of like him, plus a few pounds of muscle.”

  Did he pick up on a strain of melancholy in her voice? “Once a year?”

  She nodded, tight lipped. All of a sudden she looked frail and vulnerable, her fancy velvet a façade for an aging, lonely woman. Brett took her hand. He was glad he’d come.

  She placed her other hand over his and squeezed. “I’ll have to thank your parents for allowing me to borrow you.”

  Brett sighed. How much should he tell her? “They’re both gone.”

  She covered her heart with her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re so young, I guess I thought…”

  “They died before they should have.”

  Silence fell. His chest tightened, and no words would come. Brett wanted to tell her more, but he always closed up when anyone asked him about his family. It was as if talking about the fire made it more real. Better to live in denial, pretending his folks were still in the log cabin in Maine, his dad cutting firewood, and his mom stitching her embroidery pattern for the windowsills.

  The door opened, and Altez poked his head in. “You’re up next.”

  Brett jumped to his feet. Nervous energy coursed through him like that night a few years ago at the talent show in college, when he had stood backstage with his guitar. Only this was worse. They weren’t judging him; they were buying him.

  He followed Mrs. DeBarr and Altez onto the stage. Bright lights shone down, blacking out the audience for a second as his eyes adjusted. Most of the front and center seats were filled, everyone holding their numbered paddles. Ms. Barbie sat in the front row.

  His pulse quickened.

  He scanned the audience, but he couldn’t find Alaina. She probably wasn’t even bidding.

  Altez took the podium. “The next item up for bid is the handsome Mr. DeBarr, and one luxurious night out for two. Bidding starts at one thousand.”

  Brett almost choked. One thousand? Dollars?

  Five paddles went up- four older ladies and Barbie’s.

  Altez raised both eyebrows as if impressed. “Do I hear two thousand?”

  Come on older ladies. Hold your ground.

  They all held up their paddles.

  “Three thousand?”

  Everyone was still in.

  His collar tightened around his neck as Altez raised the bid as high as ten thousand. Three of the older women dropped out, leaving one older lady with blue-gray hair and Barbie.

  The thought of disappointing the blonde princess weighed heavily on his shoulders. He was no stockbroker. He couldn’t help her with her finances any more than he could wear her pink dress. If she knew who he really was, she’d be disgusted.

  “I’ll raise the bid to fifteen thousand.” A voice called from the back.

  Brett shielded his eyes against the light. Alaina stood from her seat, raising her bidding paddle over her head. Where did she come from? And why was she after him?

  What did it matter? Somehow, he believed what had sparked between him and Alaina transcended any social barriers. He could feel her draw to him deep within his gut.

  Or maybe he was just crazy and didn’t want to go out with a pink nightmare.

  The last older lady dropped out, leaving Barbie. She turned and sneered at Alaina. Then she held up her sign. “Sixteen thousand.”

  Alaina didn’t blink an eye. “Twenty.”

  The audience collectively gasped. Barbie’s face grew red and a vein at her temple pulsed as she slowly brought down her paddle.

  Altez scanned the audience. “Twenty thousand going once, going twice…sold to Alaina Amaldi.”

  As the crowd clapped, Brett walked off stage in a daze. He was going on a date with Alaina Amaldi, the unattainable vision of beauty he’d seen from the street only hours before. An
d she’d paid for it. In big bucks.

  Had he died and gone to heaven?

  Trying not to burst his own bubble, he reminded himself, again, that she thought he was Lance DeBarr, sole inheritor to the DeBarr fortune. Did his status really matter to her?

  Brett plopped in his seat as Altez and Mrs. DeBarr came in and congratulated him for attaining the biggest donation of the night. Seeing Mrs. DeBarr happy made posing as her son worth every risk.

  He brought Mrs. DeBarr aside. “What do you know about Alaina Amaldi?”

  Mrs. DeBarr looked away as if she was afraid to tell him the truth. “Only that she’s the biggest diva who ever walked the stage of the Met.”

  “Great.” He refused to believe her. The woman he’d met in the cocktail room had seemed like a lot of fun. Brett peered out the curtains to the audience. He was going to find out just what Alaina was looking for one way or the other.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Prize

  Alaina leaned back in her seat in the audience, trying not to look too smug. Twenty thousand was like pennies to her. Thanks to the accounts her parents had set up for her future, she made more in interest every month.

  Besides, it was for charity.

  And anything was worth beating Bianca, no matter the cost. Not to mention she had the man of her choice, Lance DeBarr.

  The auction ended with a few closing remarks. Afterwards, the audience mingled, congratulating each other on their winning bids. Alaina felt like queen of the universe as she cut through the crowd towards the backstage. She wanted to catch Lance before he left so they could solidify their plans.

  A sly voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “Just because you can buy your men doesn’t mean you’ll be able to buy your tenure here at the Met.” Bianca crumpled her auction number underneath her pink nails. Some people were just sore losers.

  Alaina stifled the rising current of anger. So what if she had to buy a date? Bianca would have done the same thing. If she could have afforded it. “What do you care? Don’t you have a contract with some opera in Germany?”