The company’s annual masquerade Halloween party was always a big hit with everybody except Dante Frost—which was really too bad because, as the CEO, he was expected to make an appearance. And he did, every year, in the same mask, and the same costume. It seemed like everybody else made about as much effort as he did when it came to finding a costume. They weren’t there to dazzle their coworkers with originality; they were there to eat their weight in expensive caviar and drink enough wine to make a Frenchman blush.
Except, one woman apparently did not get the memo that the masquerade party was less about the masquerade and more about the party. And Dante couldn’t stop staring at her. She moved through the revelers and the drinkers with ease, and occasionally, she would get close enough he
