Page 19 of The Billionaire's Masquerade Ball

“So, what else are you escaping, then, besides reality?”

She made a face, looking over the crowd again. “This isn’t really my scene. I don’t really belong at these big fancy galas. Not like this.”

“I would never know. You’re certainly dressed for the part,” he said.

She looked down at her gown and smoothed a hand over the fabric. “I have to blend in. I can do that. But it’s not really me. I borrowed this dress.” She touched her ears, where simple diamond studs adorned her ears. “These too. Even my shoes aren’t mine. Killing my feet, in case you were wondering.”

As if realizing that she could, she kicked off her shoes and made a small groan. He smiled. “You look amazing. Borrowed or not.”

“Thank you. But even if I look the part, that’s just the surface.”

“What’s below the surface?” he asked. “If not here, where do you belong?”

“That’s a loaded question. This isn’t my social sector,” she said.

She glanced at him as though to gauge his reaction. Xander tried to keep his face neutral. He was surprised, wondering how she got in. Was she someone’s guest? Hopefully not someone’s date. Not that he minded whatever her social standing was. But the list of invitations was exclusive, since the purpose was to raise money. There was security at the door, ensuring people were on the guest list.

“Party crashing?” he asked with a smile.

“Only slightly. It’s not that I shouldn’t be here, but I shouldn’t be here like this.” She gestured again to the dress and the jewelry.

He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. “You don’t feel like you belong. You’re up here hiding. So why are you here, exactly?”

“It’s a long story, but suffice to say I have to be.”

“I’ve got time for long stories,” he said. She shrugged but didn’t say more. He tried another approach. “It seems like it bothers you. Is that just because you feel like you don’t belong?”

“I think I just see things differently. Look at how much money is right here in this room. From the food to the space to what people dropped just to be dressed up tonight.”

Xander shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The amount raised will surpass it.” She stared at him and he realized that the statement might give away his identity. “Uh, probably. I mean, I imagine that’s how it works.”

“Maybe. But what if people stayed home and wrote the check for the amount they were planning to donate? Plus, what they would throw down for clothes. And if the organizer donated the cost of throwing this party in the first place? It would be at least double the amount.”

Judy had said the same thing. Xander had thought it himself on multiple occasions at other events just like this. Still, when it came down to launching the Foundation, all the advisors recommended something like this. Xander understood why they worked, but it did bother him as well. He didn’t mind regular, lavish parties as much. At least those had no pretense. In most of his conversations tonight, he had been struck with how little people actually cared about the Foundation. Many didn’t know what the charity was about. They came and gave money, but it didn’t matter to them.

“There’s a whole psychology behind charity events,” Xander said. “Right or wrong, good or bad, people respond better to something like this. They give more. Events bring awareness and allow the big donors to invite their friends.”

“And to show off,” she said. “I think that’s what bothers me about all this: the show.”

The comment stung. But she wasn’t wrong. Hearing someone else criticize it made him surprisingly defensive. Especially since the project was so personal to him. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sarah would have felt the same way about this gala.

“Sponsors cover a lot,” he said. “Plus, people give more at events like this than they would otherwise. No matter why they’re giving.”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, turning her eyes toward him and away from the room below. “Three times as much, according to the research.”

“You’ve read the research on fundraising?”

“Part of my job,” she said.

“Your job? Don’t take this the wrong way, but it sounds like you hate this kind of thing. What exactly do you do?”

She made a face. With the mask, all he could really see was her button nose scrunching up and her mouth turning down at one corner. It was adorable.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m probably about to lose my job anyway.” She smiled as she said it and he couldn’t tell if she was kidding.

“Maybe because of your attitude?” He smiled, hoping that she was, in fact, joking. No one needed to lose their job around Christmas. He had a feeling that she wasn’t.

“Hey,” she said, jabbing a finger into his shoulder. He grabbed her hand and kept it. She didn’t resist or pull away this time and it made him feel giddy. “My attitude is fine. I just am a little … sensitive about money being wasted. I mean, how many people do you think really care about pancreatic cancer?”

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