by Marie James
I’d have to settle for one of the little black dresses I had in my closet. There was one I’d bought on a whim but once I got it home I decided it’s a little too racy for a funeral. It was slightly too short, and the mild sparkle the fabric had was too showy for grieving the dead.
I hated to admit it but I’d have to give into Alexa and her standing offer to take me clothes shopping so I could ‘join the current world of fashion’ as she’s always said to me.
It’s not like my wardrobe is dated, it’s just simple and understated. Why buy new things when I’ve a closet full of clothes? Never made any sense to me, but now I realize I’d be at various events, and maybe a more polished, refined look would be necessary to ‘fit in’ with the people who grace the front page of the Lifestyle section. I certainly don’t want to stand out, looking like I don’t take care of myself when everyone else will be coiffed and regal.
The weather’s perfect today so I hit the pavement for a quick run before showering and getting ready for the night. Caving, I go ahead and let Alexa do my hair and makeup. It saves me the argument and the time I’d spend trying to get it right, knowing I wouldn’t come close to what she could do it in less than half the time.
While she’s pampering me I let it slip that I tried clothes shopping and found nothing today, and before I knew it I’d agreed to go shopping with her and Josie tomorrow. I acted put out by it, but being honest with myself I know I need it and Alexa has her fashion shit together, so I know it’ll be a very productive, and probably expensive, day. So I smile at her and find myself thankful for living so frugally and hoarding most of my money away. I have a feeling come sundown tomorrow my bank account will be crying and my closet will be full of the latest fashion.
I commend myself for always loving shoes, because the thin spaghetti strapped dress I’m wearing tonight wouldn’t go well with a pair of ballerina flats. I may not have the most stylish clothes but I always rock a pair of beautiful heels, bought on clearance with a coupon of course. Being economical is always on the forefront, because of growing up so modestly. Besides it just means I have even more to put into savings.
The shimmery black dress accentuates every curve of my lean runner’s body. The cowl neckline has a mild droop but covers my chest entirely, keeping me very modest. This is a work event after all. The strappy shoes have a four inch heel and look fabulous, but I know my toes will be frozen within minutes of stepping outside. Oh the price you pay for cute shoes! She’s left my hair down in beautiful waves and it cascades down my back and over my shoulders. I insisted she keep it down because I’ve got to attend two events this evening and it’ll help to keep my ears warm while I transition from one event to the next.
“You look fantastic! The rich hotties will be all over you tonight!” Alexa exclaims as I make my way out of my bathroom. She’s sitting on my bed thumbing through a magazine. I know she’s there to check and make sure I’ve not made any adjustments to her masterpiece. Her smile means I must’ve successfully passed her scrutiny.
“Thanks. I feel phenomenal, but I doubt that. They’ll see the press pass around my neck and be polite but avoid me as best they can, afraid that they’ll say something while in a drunken stupor that’ll land them in hot water once it makes it into tomorrow’s edition.” I grab a silver necklace and matching tear drop earrings out of my jewelry box and put them on. I find the night’s necessities and put them in my clutch. Lipstick, check. Cell phone, check. Driver’s License, check. I turn back to Alexa, once I have everything I need.
“Don’t forget the condoms!” Alexa tells me as I close up my purse.
“No need for that tonight, Alexa. Besides, I just bought a new pack of batteries, so I’m good to go for a while!” I grin, daring her to say something else. She knows for a fact I’m not the type of girl to pick up a random one night stand.
She gives me an exasperated look, rolls her eyes and leaves the room.
Chapter 6
Ian
My workout did exactly what I’d wanted it to; it exhausted me to the point that after I grabbed a quick shower last night I crashed in bed. I was sound asleep mere minutes after my head hit the pillow. What it didn’t do, however, was keep that beautiful woman out of my mind. She’s now effectively taken over my dreams.
I wake from another restless night of sleep with a raging hard on, courtesy of a woman I’ll never see again. I’m hopeful in time her face will fade from my memory because this uncontrolled obsession is driving me insane. But, since that gorgeous face and those ridiculously plush lips are far from a memory, I hit the shower with cock in hand.
***
Since my stimulating shower left me mildly sated, I spent the remainder of the day fielding phone calls to make sure the benefit for Safe House goes off without a hitch. An issue with the champagne has come up and I’d made a few phone calls to get it straightened out.
Although I always pride myself on my punctuality, I’m still surprised when I find myself dressed in my tuxedo and ready to head to the convention center two hours before it begins. I head out anyways since I know I’ll have to put out small fires that always seem to pop up when you’re dealing with an event this large.
I hate to even consider it a hassle since it’s for such a great cause, but it seems these parties have to be bigger and better every year just to draw in the same amount of donations as the previous year. This year in particular has taken so much out of me. I may have to give the reins to a team of coordinators next year and take a step back from it; give myself a smaller role, allowing Sloane, the owner of Party Panache to work more independently with her team.
Once at the convention center, I take a quick look at the ballroom. The transformation from my last visit on Thursday is spectacular. The white table cloths are a perfect contrast to all of the purple, green, and gold decorations. It’ll look amazing once the lights are turned down and the hurricane lanterns are lit everywhere.
“What do you think Mr. Hale?” Sloane asks as she makes her way across the room.
“Call me Ian, please. This is quite the transformation!” I continue to look around, not able to find any issues. “Champagne delivery?”
“Taken care of. I straightened them out once I got your message this afternoon.” Sloane replies calmly, knowing how agitated I was this afternoon after receiving a call that the wrong vintage had been ordered. “The wine company apologized for the confusion, and after I told them that their apologies were less than accepted, they proceeded to destroy the invoice and donated the entire order. So an additional fifteen grand can be taken off the bill and applied towards the total for Safe House.”
“Really?” I ask very surprised. “They’re not a very big company, but their desire to make it right will ensure my business in the future.” It’s actually a very commendable thing for them to do; very good business practices.
“I’m sure that’s what they were hoping for sir.” Sloane replies.
“Please make sure to add their information to the Thank You gifts going out next week to the attendees. Let see if we can get them the business they’re looking for.” I know my gesture will be well received.
“That’s very generous of you.” She fully understands what a simple gesture on my part would mean for them. For some reason people take what I say to heart and if I even mention a company in the positive, their stock tends to grow, an actual recognition in the Thank You gifts will ensure they’ll get tremendous amounts of business.
“Well fifteen thousand dollars in free alcohol is very generous of them.” I say as we walk around the room making sure everything’s ready for tonight.
“Well, we’re all set for the evening to proceed smoothly. Don’t forget to head down the hall to get your mask for the evening,” she reminds me before heading over to a member of her staff to discuss and finalize the details.
Before I know it the guests start to arrive and I put on my award winning smile, hoping it and idle chatter for the rest of the evening is enough to
bring in the much needed funding for Safe House and a new addition that’s needed to fully serve it patrons.
Chapter 7
Lorali
The art opening is the first event I’m working tonight. I leave the apartment early so I can make it through traffic and across town. Saturday traffic in Denver is temperamental at best. I’ll not have much time to spend at this event as the gala is considered more prestigious, therefore garnering more attention for Sunday’s edition.
My older model Toyota Corolla takes a bit longer to warm up. It’s been a super cold week. With the exception of last week, we haven’t had much snow, but what was left hasn’t had the opportunity to melt yet. Having lived in Colorado all my life, this type of weather has never really bothered me, but I’m looking forward to spring.
At the art gallery Adama D’Amore’s artistic ability focuses on the photography of different scenic landscapes, brought to life by his lens and perception of importance. I walk quickly through the exhibit noting who’s in attendance and jotting down quick notes about the pieces that seem to be getting the most attention. There are more events around town this evening and although there are quite a number of people here, this event didn’t pull the bigger names it could’ve if tonight had been less busy around town.
Man, I think to myself, I sure would love to be able to spend a few hours looking at his work in earnest. I don’t really know much about art. I’ve no idea who paints what or which sculptor sculpts what statue, but I can appreciate beauty, and boy does D’Amore know what he’s doing. By the buzz in the room I can tell that not only will he have a great night in sales, but it looks as though his success will extend beyond this one show.
After roaming around and grabbing a few snapshots of the crowds and venue I head out to my car. The masquerade ball began an hour ago, so it should be in full swing by the time I make it across town.
Pulling up to the Trade Street Convention Center I avoid the valet line and drive into the parking garage. Apparently everyone has intentions of being fashionably late tonight. I self-park and walk for what seems like forever to get inside. My feet are already beginning to hurt from having to take extra care avoiding patches of ice. After showing my press pass and being checked off of the guest list, I’m allowed to enter the facility.
I make my way to the Versailles Ballroom and gasp. This place is magnificent! The lights have been turned down low and there are hurricane lanterns all over the place, providing most of the light in the room. The purple, green, and gold mardi gras theme connects all the decorations. The white cloth-covered tables are each decorated with smaller accent cloths in coordinating colors and have flat, wide vases with floating votive candles in them. It’s absolutely stunning!
I’m actually appalled by the number of people who just shove past me into the ballroom, not even stopping to take in the beauty and obvious hard work put into the event. Ugh, rich people. Taking everything for granted. Whoever threw this event together shouldn’t have even bothered to make it so appealing because apparently no one even notices it. I bet they’d sure as hell notice it if it was just an empty room with some blank tables thrown in the mix. The tables surround the dance floor on three sides and at the front of the dance floor is the stage where the band is playing right now.
The floor to ceiling walls are actually LCD screens. They’re showcasing scenes of peaceful, serene landscapes. It’s very tranquil and calming. I look down to the rectangle piece of cardstock I was handed at the door, which happens to be a donation form for Safe House. I know the place. It’s a refuge for battered women looking to escape the abusive situations they’re currently in. Nothing peaceful and tranquil about abused women. Surely flashing pictures of injured women wouldn’t go over well with this crowd, I think as I continue to take in my environment.
“What a waste of money,” I say under my breath. All of the money used to glitz this place up could’ve gone directly to Safe House. Sure the five thousand dollars per plate price tag will help pay for the event, but then what goes towards Safe House? What happens if they only break even? It just seems like a waste to me.
***
I do my best to stay on the periphery. I thought it’d look unprofessional to bring in a pen and notepad, so I’m doing my best to commit everything to memory, and I’ll jot down notes as soon as I’m back in my car.
Not wanting to look even more out of place I take a flute of champagne which is offered by an exquisitely dressed waiter in a tuxedo. I’ve no intention of drinking it, since drinking hasn’t been cleared by Tom, but having it in my hands calms my nerves slightly.
I feel underdressed even though Alexa assured me my attire would be appropriate for tonight’s event. Even though this is technically a masquerade ball, I didn’t have a mask to wear. I’m glad I didn’t because apparently the ‘in’ thing to do is to not wear a physical mask but to have your face painted, and I’m not talking about a six year olds birthday party paint either. These women have some of the most beautiful, exquisite masks painted on their faces, each one matching their expensive dresses perfectly. If I’d I worn a mask I would’ve stood out more than I do now with nothing on my face. I make a mental note to go back through the photo archives to find out if this is a new trend or if there have been other events where this was done. I can’t remember seeing it yesterday while skimming through the photos. If I’m honest with myself I didn’t see much past the picture of Ian ‘do- you-wanna-be-my-friend-with-benefits’ Hale.
I absently wonder if he’d be here tonight, knowing full well I’ve been looking for his magnificent hazel eyes in every black painted mask I’ve passed by since arriving.
Settling in close to the wall near the entrance, I continue to watch the crowd intently. I’m grateful that it seems no one even notices me. They’re not rude, more indifferent to my being here. Most of the women are wearing floor length gowns with simple but elegant trains. There are quite a few black dresses which I’m sure is popular so they won’t clash with the decorations. I’m glad I wore black as well even though my dress is substantially shorter than most at this party.
The average age for the attendees at the event seems to be fifties and sixties for the men and quite a bit younger for the women. It could be more that these women are so well preserved and possibly have surgical enhancements to look younger rather than being of the gold digging variety. I did, however, see one woman who couldn’t have been older than I am hanging on the arm of a rather geriatric man. I was determined to think she was his granddaughter, but then realized you don’t kiss a grandfather the way she laid one on him. I had to clear my throat to keep from gagging. To each their own I guess.
Sweeping the room, my eyes land on the tuxedoed body of a statuesque man. My gaze only briefly pauses on him. He seems to be looking my way; I discard that thought and continue looking around. Once I take in the whole room, my line of sight goes right back to that man across the room. He holds a tumbler, half full of golden liquid, close to his body. He’s surrounded on both sides by other men who are clearly vying for his attention, yet he continues to glare at me.
Surely not, I think as I break eye contact to look around me, knowing there has to be something close to me that I’m just not aware of to garner such a look. I see nothing out of the ordinary. Small groups of people are all around chatting, but nothing peculiar. I look down and make sure I haven’t fallen out of my dress or that there’s something stuck to me.
I shift my eyes back in his direction, feigning nonchalance as I do. He’s gone. His little group of party goers has broken up. Somewhat distraught I glance around quickly, trying to find him. Hell, what am I thinking every man here looks the same, black designer tuxedos-black painted masks.
I absently bring the champagne flute to my mouth, and stop. It’s only for show, I chastise myself. “Spill anymore fabric softener on innocent bystanders this week?” someone purrs in my ear.
Chapter 8
Lorali
I gasp and turn my head slowly to
wards the husky voice. I have to look up to make eye contact with none other than my beautiful stranger, Mr. Ian Hale. His magnificent hazel eyes shine down on me. They seem even more intense and questioning than they did before due to the black mask that has been painted around them, greener like the color of moss, with specks of amber. I lose myself in them briefly.
“Y...You remember me?” I finally stammer as I take a few steps back, putting some space between us. He’s way too close and I feel like a child having to crane my neck back so far to look up at him.
“How could I forget you? I’ll never forget how you looked on your knees before me.” I know he heard the noise from the sharp intake of air I made at his words. “I’ll also always wonder what those red lips of yours would feel like wrapped around my cock.”
My body sways when I hear his words. My eyes close of their own free will as his words glide over me and settle at the bottom of my stomach. They’re heavy and electric, sending bolts of need to my core.
When I open my eyes he’s once again gone. Did I just imagine that or did that brief encounter even happen? Surely I must’ve fantasized the super-hot, incredibly delicious Mr. Hale verbally acknowledging a desire for me. Shit. I’ve been obsessing over him, allowing him to star in activities involving those batteries I talked to Alexa about and now my mind is hallucinating. I eventually come to terms with the fact that it did just happen because I can still feel his hot breath on my exposed shoulder. Mmm. Wait. Who the fuck did he think he was?
