A Deal With The Billionaire

Brielle I can’t believe he’s here. He never comes to these things unless a friend hosts it…” “Did you see he bumped Ryder Sullivan down a spot on the Forbes Billionaires list? Poor Ryder nearly had a meltdown in the middle of his event when he found out…” The whispers started halfway through the Odyssey Wildlife Trust’s annual fundraiser for homeless animals. This year, the small, ash-colored piping columbidae was the alleged star of the show, but none of the gala’s two hundred guests were discussing the bird’s welfare over their Nicolas Feuillatte. “I heard his family’s villa in Silvercrest Lake is undergoing a one-hundred-million-dollar renovation. The place is centuries old, so I suppose it’s time…” Each whisper grew in intensity, accompanied by furtive glances and the occasional dreamy sigh. I didn’t turn to see who had the normally cool-as-ice members of Vernon high society in such a tizzy. I didn’t really care. I was too focused on a certain department store heiress as she tottered toward the swag table in sky-high heels. She quickly glanced around before swiping one of the personalized gift bags and dropping it in her purse. The minute she walked off, I spoke into my earpiece. “ Ava, Code Pink at the swag table. Find out whose bag she took and replace it.” Tonight’s bags each contained over five thousand dollars’ worth of swag, but it was easier to fold the cost into the event budget than confront the Reeds’ heiress. My assistant groaned over the line. “Aria Reed again? Does she not have enough money to buy everything on that table and have billions left over?” “Yes, but it’s not about the money for her. It’s the adrenaline rush,” I said. “Go. I’ll order chicken sauce from Magnolia Diner tomorrow to make up for the severe task of replacing the gift bag. And for God’s sake, find out where Harper is. She’s supposed to be manning the gift station.” “Ha ha,” Ava said, obviously picking up on my sarcasm. “Fine. I’ll check on the gift bags and Harper, but I expect a huge plate of chicken sauce tomorrow.” I laughed and shook my head as the line cut off. While she took care of the gift bag problem, I pivoted the room and kept an eye out for other conflagrations, large or small. When I first went into business, it felt odd working events I would otherwise be invited to as a guest. But I’d gotten used to it over the years, and the earnings allowed me a small degree of liberation and independence from my parents. It wasn’t part of my trust fund, nor was it my inheritance. It was money I’d earned, fair and square, as a luxury event planner in Vernon. I loved the challenge of creating stunning events from scratch, and rich people loved beautiful things. It was a win-win. I was double-checking the sound setup for the speech later that night when Ava rushed toward me. “Brielle! You didn’t tell me he was here!” she hissed. “Who?” “Tristan Carter .” All ideas of swag bags and sound checks flew out of my head. I jerked my gaze to Ava’s, taking in her colorful eyes and washed cheeks. “ Tristan Carter ?” My heart thudded for no apparent reason. “But he wasn't on the guest list.” “Well, the rules of the guest lists don’t apply to him.” She practically shook with excitement. “I can’t believe he showed up. People will be speaking about this for weeks.” The earlier whispers suddenly made sense. Tristan Carter, the impenetrable CEO of the luxury goods conglomerate the Carter Group, rarely attended public events that weren’t hosted by himself, one of his close friends, or one of his significant business associates. The Odyssey Wildlife Trust didn’t fall under any of those categories. He was also one of the wealthiest and, therefore, most watched men in New York. Ava was right. People would be droning about his attendance for weeks, if not months. “Good,” I said, trying to catch my sudden runaway heartbeat. “Maybe it’ll bring more awareness to the piping columbidae issue.” She rolled her eyes. “Brielle, no one cares” She stopped, glanced around, and decreased her voice “No one actually cares about the columbidae. I mean, I’m sad they’re endangered, but let’s be truthful. The people are here for the scene only.” Once again, she was right. Still, no matter their reason for attending, the guests were raising money for a reasonable cause, and the events kept my business driving. “The real topic of the night,” Ava said, “is how fine Tristan looks. I’ve never seen a man fill out a tuxedo so well.” “You have a boyfriend, Ava.” “So? We’re permitted to admire other people’s beauty.” “Yes, well, I think you’ve appreciated it enough. We’re here to work, not ogle the guests.” I gently pushed her toward the dessert table. “Can you bring out more Baileys Tiramisu? We’re running low.” “Buzzkill,” she whined, but she did as I said. I tried to refocus on the sound arrangement, but I couldn’t resist surveying the room for the surprise guest of the night. My gaze skimmed past the DJ and the 3D Columbidae display and rested on the crowd by the entrance. It was so thick I couldn’t see beyond the exterior edges, but I’d bet my entire bank account that Tristan was the center of their attention. My suspicions were verified when the crowd shifted briefly to reveal a peek of brown hair and broad shoulders. A rush of awareness ran the length of my spine. Tristan and I belonged to different social circles, but we’d never officially met. From what I’d heard of his reputation, I was happy keeping it that way. Still, his presence was magnetic, and I felt the tug of it all the way across the room. An insistent ring against my hip washed away the tingles smudging my skin and drew my attention away from Tristan’s fan club. My stomach sank when I fumbled my personal cell out of my purse and saw who was calling. I shouldn’t take personal calls in the middle of a work event, but one simply couldn’t ignore a summons from Marcus Cole. I double-checked to make sure there were no emergencies needing my immediate attention before I slipped into the closest restroom. “Hello, Father.” The formal greeting rolled off my tongue easily after almost twenty years of practice. I used to call him Dad, but after Cole Construction Company took off and we moved out of our cramped two-bedroom into a South End mansion, he insisted on being called Father instead. Apparently, it sounded more“refined” and “upper class.” “Where are you?” His deep voice rolled over the line. “Why is it so echoey?” “I’m at work. I snuck into a restroom to take your call.” I leaned my hip against the counter and felt compelled to add, “It’s a fundraiser for the endangered columbidae” I beamed at his heavy sigh. My father had little tolerance for the obscure causes people used as a reason to party, though he attended the events donated anyway. It was the proper thing to do. “Every day, I learn about a new endangered animal,” he grumbled. “Your mother is on a fundraising committee for some fish or other, like we don’t eat seafood every week.” My mother, formerly a stylist, was now a proficient socialite and charity committee member. “Since you’re at work, I’ll keep this short,” my father said. “We’d like you to join us for dinner on Friday night. We have important news.” Despite his wording, it wasn't a proposal. My smile faded. “This Friday night?” It was Tuesday, and I lived in New York while my parents lived in Boston. It was a last-minute request even by their standards. “Yes.” My father didn’t elaborate. “Dinner is at seven sharp. Don’t be late.” He hung up. My phone stayed rigid on my ear for an extra beat before I removed it. It slipped against my damp palm and almost clattered to the floor before I shoved it back into my purse. It was funny how one sentence could send me into an anxiety wave. We have important news. Did something happen with the company? Was someone sick or dying? Were my parents selling their house and moving to New York as they’d once threatened to do? My mind dashed through with a million questions and possibilities. I didn’t have an answer, but I knew one thing. An emergency summons to the Cole manor never ended well.