Page 20 of The Billionaire's Masquerade Ball

It sent a thrill through him that she knew the purpose of the charity, though it always chilled him to hear the words “pancreatic cancer.” They weren’t just words to him. He tasted them, bitter and metallic. They came in heavy, with a slew of potent memories he didn’t want to let overwhelm him again as they had a few minutes before. He shoved them back. Not tonight.

“I care,” Xander said. His voice sounded a lot more emotional than he had hoped. Maybe she wouldn’t notice, but she turned her full attention to him. Without letting go of his hand, she scooted her chair so that it was turned more, almost facing him. He did the same. Their knees were close to touching, but not quite. He fought the urge to bridge that inch-gap. But he still got the sense she might run.

For a few moments she was silent. “I care too. Yet here we both are: hiding out at a several-hundred-thousand-dollar masquerade ball. What does that say about us? About them? About this?”

She turned her head toward the balcony, looking down again. Xander didn’t have an answer. He studied her profile. She was gazing on his world. But was it, really? Did he belong there?

For the past dozen years since he started making real money, he had seen this as his world. More every year and with every zero added to his bank account. But was this ever really his world? Was it now?

Xan had fully embraced his identity as a business genius climbing the ranks, making something out of nothing. Wasn’t that the American dream—a self-made man? He was an entrepreneur. One of the Billionaire Land Barons, a title used both in support and in criticism of what he had built.

Was it losing Jake, the other Billionaire Land Baron, that had changed things for him? It had been hard to see his partner and protégé resign. But maybe Jake was wise beyond his years, seeing the emptiness that had just now revealed itself to Xander. Jake and Shelby were down there somewhere, probably making out behind a column or in a hallway. They were almost impossible to be around because they were so sappy-sweet in love.

It reminded Xander of days when he couldn’t wait to race home, the very thought of Sarah on the other side of the door enough to keep his foot on the pedal of his beat-up Nissan Sentra. His stomach clenched.

Would Sarah even recognize me now? What would she want for me?

Her voice saved him from going dark and deep in his thoughts. “Fun fact: the price of one of those ice sculptures could probably cover chemo for single person.”

Xander swallowed, thankful for the interruption.

“How much could ice sculptures possibly cost?”

He thought back to his conversation with Judy. Spare no expense, he’d said. Now he was dying to know how much ice sculptures cost. There were six massive custom sculptures, spread out over the tables in the room. No, eight. He had jokingly told Judy to add two more and as he counted, Xander realized that she had taken him at his word. He grimaced.

She didn’t so much as glance at the ones around the room. “I guess I was exaggerating, at least a little. These were probably around two thousand each. That wouldn’t cover chemo. But it could help.”

Two thousand?For something that melted? He felt aware suddenly of how out of touch he was with what things cost. “Is that normal? It seems high.”

“My estimate might be a little off. They cost more when they’re custom or if they’re hand-carved. These look to be both. Plus, they are enormous.”

Xander pulled at the collar of his suit and made a mental note to look over the itemized bill for the party when he got back to the office Monday. A thought struck him suddenly. He should match the cost to throw the gala as his donation. Whatever it was, he could do that. Now that he really looked around the room, he felt sick thinking of the waste. Matching the cost would be like a form of penance. An apology.

She squeezed his hand gently. The light touch surprised him with its warmth and the way it sent a thread of desire curling around his heart. He stiffened with the intensity of feelings. With the thoughts of Sarah so close to his mind, it felt strange to be with another woman. Not bad. For the first time in a long time, he could think about another woman without guilt.

She tilted her head. “Sorry—I just had a thought. You’re not like the best friend of the guy throwing this ball, are you? I probably just totally put my foot in my mouth. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“We’re not friends,” Xander said. He appreciated the way she worded the question. It meant he didn’t have to lie. He took a sip of the club soda he had brought up with him. He had forgotten all about the drink on the small table next to his chair, but his mouth was suddenly dry.

“Good,” she said. “Because from what I’ve heard he loves to flash his money around. And his women.” She made a disgusted sound. “I have no desire to meet that jerk. No matter how much money he raises for cancer research. But I should have made sure I wasn’t talking to his best friend first. Glad I’m safe. Are you okay?”

Xander had choked on his drink somewhere in the middle of her tirade. He sputtered and coughed. “Just went down the wrong way. So, a womanizer, huh?”

“Different woman every week, so the rumors go. I guess when you’re filthy rich, you can have women like accessories. A different one for each suit. I’m sure they throw themselves at him. Not that it matters who chases whom. It’s gross.”

Xander hoped that his mask covered enough of his face that she couldn’t see his face blooming red. “Do you have a filter? Or a low setting?”

She slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. “Normally, yes. Well, at least more of a filter than the one I’m using right now. I’m sorry. Something about these masks. I feel a little different tonight. I’d be in so much trouble if my boss could hear me.”

Xander didn’t miss the bitterness in her voice and wondered again where she worked. Was she here working tonight? Gail had introduced her full staff, but there were other venders and also reporters. Please not a reporter … having Olivia breathing down his neck was bad enough.

“Unhealthy work environment?”

“You could say that.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it? I know a little something about business. Maybe I could help.”

She swung her legs over the arm of the chair casually, her bare feet swinging playfully. It was not the kind of move he expected from someone at a ball. She had none of the artifice of the women downstairs and he found it refreshingly attractive.

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