The Billionaire's Path to Love

“Where are you going to hide?" This unusual question, asked by one person Reesa didn't know to another such stranger, gave her pause. She certainly wondered where she'd go when it was time for the guests to conceal themselves from Daniela, the woman her boss called best friend, lover, and wife. It was the one detail she hadn't accounted for in her meticulous planning. “Quite the motley crew here, eh, Ms. Tyler?" the board chair of Sartori Group asked. His voice was just loud enough for her to hear him in the crowded elevator. “I know Myko's got some catching up to do in the way of entertaining, but this is ridiculous. Did he have to invite the whole world?" As the person who'd had the unpleasant task of compiling the guest list, which included not only business associates but most of the couple's social circle, Reesa sympathized with this sentiment. Still, she felt the criticism was too harsh. In the months and weeks leading up to this party, she'd seen how Mykonos Sartori lit up at the thought of surprising his wife. That was one of two reasons she'd taken great pains with the prep. Her other, more private motive involved helping Ethan Hayward, the couple's closest friend and Mr. Sartori's personal assistant. “I suppose love sends people to extremes," she said and glanced down at her phone. The slight motion sent streams of black curls flying, and she had to push them out of the way to scan the screen. Not, it so happened, that this was necessary. Her brow creased. There were no new messages. “Sir, did you see Mr. Hayward in the lobby? I didn't get the chance to look for him in the rush to the elevators." There were so many details she wanted to confirm before Daniela's scheduled arrival. And although they had time, she would've preferred having Ethan by her side for it all. Then again, she hadn't known him to be reliable in the past and couldn't remember why she'd expected him to change. “Maybe he took the same lift as Myko," her companion replied. “Really, it's a shame that he settled for an assistant's job. Waste of an Ivy League education. Interesting, the opportunities some of us would die for, others squander." Reesa had no comment for that, nor did she need one. The ding of the elevator let her know that they'd finally reached the penthouse floor. By her calculation, there was a narrow probability of catching Ethan before eighty other people came between them. Presuming that her luck wouldn't improve, at this point she'd cave to probing Mr. Sartori. The irony wasn't lost on her. Though charged with making his life easier, it looked like she'd need his aid. “Pardon me, sir," she said and, without waiting for an answer, strode between gold-plated doors into a hall where everything from ceiling to carpet had gotten the Midas touch. Small talk had already begun. References to children and transactions, compliments on hairstyles and accessories, and good-natured ribbing and schmoozing buzzed around her. Reesa picked up almost none of it. Her senses were trained on finding one of two people, and if she were a betting woman, she'd only put money on one. It didn't take long for her to realize that she would've won that bet. Ethan remained missing in action, while their employer came into sight. “Mr. Sartori!" she called, mildly flinching at the sound of her raised voice. From a post by an elevator at the other end of the hall, he turned. The backs of dark chocolate brown, chin-length waves and a tailored-to-perfection suit gave way to the hazel eyes, sculpted features, and lithe frame they were attached to. As he approached, the smile of a man who has everything he could ever want completed the picture. All but crying with relief, Reesa moved to meet him halfway. “Mareesa," he said in the gentle, deeply resonant voice she knew had clinched so many of his deals. “Good evening. You look lovely." “Thank you, sir. Look, I'm sure you're anxious to get to the festivities, but I'd appreciate a few minutes of your time, preferably before you're torn away to mingle." Soft laughter greeted her statement. “Five Christmas parties." “Excuse me?" “I recall seeing you at the last five Christmas parties, which means you've worked for me for at least five years. At what point do I get a 'Myko'?" For the first time that day, she smiled. “When you start calling me 'Reesa' like the rest of your office does." Myko shook his head. “I'll think about it. Come, we can talk inside. If anyone tries to tear me away, I'll tell them to practice some manners." A significantly calmer Reesa followed Myko inside the white and gold living quarters. Guests spilled in behind them, and enthusiastic murmurs at the decorations and swing jazz selections filled her with pride. While others busied themselves with divesting coats and descending on the living room, Reesa and Myko stepped into a secluded corner of the foyer. A statue of Hera, Greek goddess of marriage and childbirth, was their sole witness. “I sent Ethan the final breakdown of tonight's activities. Did he run it by you?" “No," Myko said. Concern invaded his aspect. “He's been rather distracted lately." “Hmm," Reesa said, fighting back words that would likely be unhelpful. “I can pull it up on my phone for you, then. Most of it should unfold organically, but Mrs. Sartori's special present has a lot of moving parts—" “What is the meaning of this?" The board chair's booming voice sliced through Reesa's train of thought and caused both her and Myko to rush to its source at the heart of the residence. What they and the rest of the party found made Reesa's stomach turn. There, on a white couch littered with designer clothes, was the elusive Ethan, completely undressed, drenched in sweat, and covered from the waist down with a cashmere blanket. And he wasn't alone. Next to him, holding a tasseled cushion to her chest, was none other than Rhode Island's premier interior designer and, more importantly, Myko's guest of honor. “Daniela."