33. Savannah Surprises
WESLEY
Phillip sometimes deserved morethan the obscene amount of money I already paid him, and pulling off a last minute charity gala for my foundation was probably one of those times. When my father raged about me missing my first day on the legal team, Phillip was able to smooth the whole thing over by providing information for my foundation’s event in Savannah that dozens of celebrities and politicians accepted invitations to attend. It was already established in my Madden Enterprises contract that obligations to modeling companies and Cure, Rise, Hope, my foundation, took precedence over anything my father might want.
What Phillip failed to mention was that this last minute event was actually a costume party.
I groaned. “I don’t want to wear some cheesy costume!”
Phillip shrugged. “Then wear your tux with a mask and a top hat. You can be the Phantom of the Opera.” He continued to clack away on the keyboard next to me on our first class flight.
Long gone were the days when I used Benedict Madden III’s private plane.
It wasn’t the worst idea to add a mask to my tux, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. My hope was to remain as anonymous as possible tonight so that I could slip away and head out to River’s Run. We were going to meet with the attorney early tomorrow afternoon to look over Aunt Shirley’s final Will and Testament, but I couldn’t stomach knowing how close I was to Celeste and not seeing her.
If all of the rich, conceited pricks who normally attended these functions sank their claws into me, I would never leave. Some of those fuckers could drone on and on for hours without saying anything worthwhile.
I liked that Phillip included a number of tickets at a cheaper rate for regular people to purchase. Those all sold out immediately. My guess was that he selected a venue that had some sort of VIP area to separate the society people from the rest. Maybe I could mingle with the non-celebrity guests and avoid everyone altogether.
“Find someone from a local salon who can give me a temporary new look,” I ordered. “I don’t want to be recognized.”
Phillip paused his typing, raising an eyebrow at me.
I sighed. “Just do it. I need a night off from being Wesley Madden, heir to the Madden fortune. I’m too wound up over everything else going on.”
Thankfully that answer satisfied him, and Phillip nodded before going back to his computer.
Technically it wasn’t a lie, either. Law school had been hard work, but it wasn’t what I really wanted to do with my life. Hell, corporate law was my least favorite out of all my classes. If I really had to practice law, I would rather do something like criminal or family law, something where I might have a happy ending down the line. Arguing with other egotistical jackasses in a board room over the various ways to make my billionaire father even more money wasn’t exactly how I envisioned my life going, but then again, nothing had been so far.
Grief was funny like that.
I accepted my father’s job offer because I had become so numb to him over the years that I no longer fought it. We both knew I still hated him with a burning passion—wouldn’t spit on him if he were on fire—but he kept me under his thumb for so long when I served my probation as a teen that it was second nature to me now.
He had to pull all kinds of strings to let me go to Montmeri, the international boarding school in France, while I was facing criminal charges like attempted murder. A whole team of lawyers worked around the clock on my defense, citing my youth, my mental state, and my history as a “troubled kid.” It took nearly a year to reach a plea deal that satisfied the judge, winding up with me on probation until I graduated high school. If my father or my probation officer ever reported poor behavior on my part, even bad grades, I would be sent to prison. That was enough to set me straight and keep my head down.
That, and the fact that I couldn’t access the girl I loved.
A flight attendant came over the intercom and announced we were beginning our descent into Savannah. Phillip snapped the laptop closed, preparing to stow it in his briefcase.
“I have a hairstylist and makeup artist meeting us in your suite,” he said.
Perfect.
By the time the charity gala started, I was unrecognizable. For the past few years I had worn my hair cropped at the sides, with longer, controlled waves at the top. Gone was the shaggy scruff that Cel—that certain people used to prefer. The hairstylist who arrived adjusted a dark brown wig that we slicked back to resemble the Phantom. Rather than wearing a mask that covered one side of my face, I added a white mask that covered the top half, only exposing my mouth and jawline.
The hairstylist, whose name I couldn’t remember, had bright pink hair and a mouth lathered in sparkly lipstick, kept shooting longing looks at my dick. When she was done, she leaned over my chair, exposing her cleavage until I could stare right down her shirt, and asked if I was satisfied with my experience. Her breathy voice only added to the invitation she was clearly extending to me.
Fuck that.
“Yep, we’re all good here,” I said, standing upright so abruptly that she fell back on her ass. I didn’t even offer to help her up, just swept from the bathroom into the bedroom of the suite and firmly closed the door. I locked it for good measure.
Women tended to throw themselves at me because money and power made their brains go funny. It was like they couldn’t actually see me as a person beyond me as a figurehead for my father’s corporation. Kinda gross, to be honest. Especially since I was a giant asshole to most people and nothing about my behavior should have been attractive, let alone indicated I was interested in fucking.
Nope, there was only one girl in that department. And if I played my cards right, I just might catch a glimpse of her before the weekend was over.
“Guests have started arriving,” Phillip called through the door. “Are you ready?”
I sighed. I would never be ready for one of these things. “Be out in a minute.”
Heading over to the bar cart tucked into a corner of the room, I poured myself a double shot of whiskey. Galas and parties didn’t make me nervous, but being so close to her did. Just knowing that I was close enough to jump in a car and go made me want to do it. The temptation was nearly bowling me over.
A masochist, however, I was not. I needed to get it through my head that she might very well reject me. And for all I knew, the restraining order had become permanent. I was too chicken shit to actually check the records during law school because learning that truth might have killed me. Dear old Dad certainly never let me forget about it any time I even hinted at wanting to write to her.
This was how to drive a man crazy. Keep his girl an arm’s length away.
Pouring another double, I threw the shot back and headed for the door.
* * *
A costume party benefiting Cure, Rise, Hope was the perfect idea, not that I’d ever tell Phillip. That jackass let every compliment go to his head. Costumes always established a warped sense of freedom at these events, and with the booze flowing and a different DJ in the VIP lounge, the main dance floor, and the roof top deck, there was plenty of opportunity for people to melt away as their inhibitions reigned.
The best part? None of the goons from my father’s society bothered me all night. My disguise was working perfectly so that I could wind through the dancers with ease. No one paid me any attention. Which suited me just fine because my nerves led me to down shot after shot. Alcohol was making my head fuzzy.
What surprised me, however, was that one woman on the main dance floor caught my attention. Her blonde hair was piled into an elaborate mess of curls on her head, sprinkled with blue sparkles that matched the light blue of her dress. It was short, almost showing her ass, but definitely drawing my attention to her long legs. I couldn’t stop my mind from wondering what might be in store for me underneath a costume like that. A traditional masquerade mask with lace, beads, and pale blue feathers obscured her face.
She seemed to be with only one friend, a woman dressed up like an old lady, including a walker and orthotic shoes. The juxtaposition between the two was quite comical, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had met them both before. It was an eerie sense of déjà vu that I hadn’t ever experienced, leaving me unsettled and drinking far more whiskey than I should have been. That was the only reason I hadn’t yet left for River’s Run. I was an asshole, but I wasn’t going to drive drunk. And I refused to be left in that tiny town without a vehicle to get myself back out.
The more that I watched them from my corner of the bar, the more my smile grew. They both were having fun, laughing and dancing to every song, shouting the lyrics to what must have been their favorites. Whiskey made me bolder than ever, and for once Phillip’s advice to move on from Celeste sounded appealing. There was no way I ever would have those thoughts sober, though, which was the only reason I hadn’t yet acted on them.
Still, the stiff drink in my hand was playing with my head. I had to talk to her, even if it was just a hello. It didn’t have to turn into anything more than a conversation, right?
My costume wasn’t the only phantom hallowing these halls tonight. Celeste, in all her ghostly, gorgeous glory, haunted me as I resolutely set my drink down and headed over.