Page 34 of Tricking an Introvert

Tessa

Tessa frequented many wealthy, successful women; although she wasn't one to waste or flaunt it—unless shoes were concerned—she didn't do half bad herself. She knew what it was to be fortunate and comfortable.

Tonight was different. The people attending this gala weren't only rich. They were filthy rich. So affluent they probably shat gold. More than that, they acted like they owned the world. In many ways, they did.

She'd understood that Cole and Michael had grown up well-off from what she'd gathered so far, but she would never have guessed that they were blue bloods.

Tessa found herself glancing at the walls, the corners of the room, wishing she could retreat to the shadows, an alcove, behind some curtains maybe, and observe these people from a better vantage point. Being in the spotlight wasn't her thing. And she undeniably was. Marie Elizabeth Montgomery-Corvin-Westbrook was the queen of the blue bloods. Beautiful and poised, appearing thirty years younger at least, thanks to a strict regimen of opulence and comfort without the need or desire to hold any form of professional occupation, the woman shone with an inner light that permitted no rival. She was the center of attention, and Tessa found herself stuck between her and Cole, at the main table.

There was an auction for art, antique jewelry, and dresses—all in the name of charity. Tessa had attended events like these in the past—as one of Carter Harris’s employees, as Cassie Franklin-Harris’s friend, as a plus one for Piper Stone when Bennet McFinnley was babysitting their daughter—none of them had ever started with bids of a hundred thousand for a blank canvas with a red dot in the middle.

She watched the whole thing with disgust, awe, and amusement. When the first item brought one and a half million, she croaked, swallowed her saliva down the wrong pipe, and coughed so hard she thought she might need someone to perform the Heimlich maneuver. Granted, these people probably had no clue how to do something so very plebian.

“Where did you say you’re from, Tessa?” Marie Elizabeth prompted.

Tessa straightened her spine, attempting to look somewhat composed after that coughing fit.

“The city. Born and raised, ma’am.”

“Your name is somewhat familiar. There are many Michaels, of course.”

“And not so many Montgomery-Corvin-Westbrooks” was implied.

“Well, I’m not sure you’d know my family.”

In fact, she was certain the woman didn’t. Her mother was a school teacher and her father, a divorce lawyer. In his forty-year career, he hadn’t made it to partner, because—his words—he preferred having a life to sucking dicks in the office.

Tessa was half convinced her aunt’s name might not have been unfamiliar to Mrs. MCW, but Tessa found that, not unlike her father, she wasn’t inclined to sucking metaphorical dicks either.

“Hm. And how did you meet my son?”

“At work, Mother.”

“Ah. So, you’re another of his writers. Don’t you have a non-fraternization clause, Cole? It seems unprofessional of you to dally with your clients.”

“Oh please, Marie, who the hell says ‘dally’ anymore?”

The interruption came from the other side of the table. A rather short, elegant woman, at least as beautiful as Marie Elizabeth, had appeared, wrapped in a gold shawl over a white gown.

Tessa blinked. “Mrs. Johnson!”

Arabella Johnson, mother to Finn and Trick Johnson, was a vague acquaintance; Tessa was friends with both of her sons’ partners. She’d met her at Trick and Lucy’s wedding, and Finn and Anna’s engagement; that was about it.

Yet the lady remembered her name. “Tessa, dear. I hope the old crone didn’t bully you too much, my sweet.”

Oh dear. Had she seriously gone there? Tessa’s eyes were wide open in shock, half expecting Marie Elizabeth to breathe fire and growl at her side. But a glance revealed that the woman was…smiling?

Tessa couldn’t read that smile. Either she and Arabella Johnson were great friends who felt comfortable teasing each other like that…or Arabella had fired the first shot and Marie Elizabeth loved a challenge. If so, she did not want to be in the crossfire.

"Bella. Glad you could make it. You and your wallet are always appreciated. You know my son's date, I take it?"

"Quite well," Arabella lied smoothly. "She's a dear friend of my daughters-in-law, and a well-known artist. If you wanted me to open my wallet a bit more, you should have commissioned one of her originals, rather than that boring old dot I found on your website. There's a reason I'm late, dear."

Tessa inched closer to Cole. "Should we run for it?" she whispered.

It felt like crystal champagne flutes, or Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo pumps, would fly through the air at any moment.

"Oh no, don't fret. Arabella and Marie Elizabeth have been at war for years. Society can't have two queens, you see. It calmed down for a while, when Arabella was in California, and now that she's back in New York City, they're back at it. But don't let it fool you. They have a margarita brunch together every week."

---