Masquerade Read online

  “Thank you for that, Ms. Patel.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with one finger, the light of desire flickering in his eyes. “That was...exquisite.”

  The way he looked at her now made the air catch in her throat. Was he going to pull her into his arms for another kiss? God, she hoped so. Her whole body vibrated with desire for his mouth against hers once more.

  “I’m afraid, however, that you can’t stay at my party,” he said, voice low. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  A WEEK LATER, Durand found himself staring out of his office window in his well-heeled Sphinx Society office, with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower rising up from the Paris skyline. The breathtaking view, especially with a cloudless summer sky behind it, and his window open to the warm French sunshine, normally calmed him, but today all he could think about was the taste of Asha Patel’s lips. He couldn’t understand why a simple kiss would linger with him so long. But the invitation in the woman’s dark eyes, the way she’d looked at him, lingered in his mind. For a split second, he’d seen right through her expert attempt at seduction, seen her true desire there on her face and felt it in her lips. The memory made his groin tighten.

  “Mr. Durand?” The voice of his assistant, Madelyn, broke his reverie. The stunning blonde with her hair neatly up, carried a tray with his morning espresso. He nodded swiftly, and she moved in, leaving the tray on the small table between the two Queen Anne chairs sitting near the window. “Do you need anything else at the moment?”

  She waited, red lips pursed, her hands clasped in front of her. She’d changed quite a bit since he’d first hired her, a college dropout who’d been disinherited by her father, a prominent Parisian whose wife disapproved of him supporting his illegitimate daughter. In some ways, Durand had saved her, though Madelyn was resourceful and would’ve done just fine on her own. Madelyn, he knew, was grateful for the chance to work with him and had, over the last five years, grown to have feelings for him. Though she’d never acknowledged them, and he’d never take advantage, he felt them there all the same.

  A sticky situation, to be sure, but Durand never mixed business with pleasure. He always looked elsewhere for distraction and felt it was unseemly to take advantage of an unfair power dynamic. Many of his colleagues had been taken by surprise with #MeToo. But Durand always thought it had been wrong to abuse one’s power. He always believed a woman was not truly free to consent if her paycheck was being signed by the man who invited her into his bed.

  Durand picked up the small espresso cup, keeping his eyes on the tower. He thought about Asha’s cheating boyfriend, that actor, Connor. “Yes. I’ll need to revoke the membership of Connor Henry.”

  Madelyn raised a single blond eyebrow, the only evidence of surprise. “What should I tell him is the reason?”

  He thought about the fact that Connor cheated on Asha. Normally this wasn’t something that rose to Durand’s interest. Men cheated all the time. It wasn’t his job to police their behaviors. But...when a member’s behavior brought chaos to his society, or to one of the parties, then it became his business. Connor should’ve known Asha would take it personally. He should’ve guessed Asha would follow him or should’ve simply taken better care to keep his whereabouts secret.

  And Connor hadn’t even bothered to try to clean it up with Durand himself. No, he’d taken one look at Asha and fled. The coward. Durand had heard from security that the action star had bolted out the kitchen door, his model date in tow, the second he’d seen Asha in the ballroom.

  He could cancel Connor’s membership for simply causing this little headache. He’d revoked memberships for less. He told himself getting rid of Connor was simply a smart move, and the one way to avoid inviting Asha and another outburst to a future party. But in reality, he simply didn’t like the man. Didn’t like that he took Asha for granted, and that he’d be stupid enough to cheat on her in plain sight.

  “Ungentlemanly conduct,” Durand said at last, turning from the window. It was a broad enough category that could include revealing society secrets, such as the location of one of the society’s events.

  “He might challenge your decision,” Madelyn suggested.

  “Let him.” Durand waved a hand, dismissive, as he sipped at his rich espresso. He wasn’t afraid of a man who lacked the balls to face his girlfriend and own up to his bad behavior. Besides, ultimately, this was, and always would be, his club, and he made the rules. There was no board, no oversight committee, no appeals court. He was judge and jury, and that’s the way he liked it. He’d spent his entire life trailing after his successful but distant father, hoping for approval, which he’d never get. It had taken most of his life to realize that sad truth.

  So instead, he spent his time working on proving his father wrong. He wasn’t the disappointment his dour father believed, even though he’d tried hard to forget all about him after he had a string of new children with various mistresses and second and third and fourth wives across the globe. One of those other sons was named heir to his billion-dollar shipping and logistics business. Durand and his mother were left nearly penniless after his parents divorced when Durand was just fourteen. Durand made back all of his father’s fortune—and more—using his connections and his wit to take over the Sphinx Society. Members paid handsomely, not only for the privilege to socialize, but also for the powerful business and political connections Durand offered. More than one billionaire-dollar deal had been struck in a Sphinx Society cigar room. He’d started as a board member—as one of the only things his father gave his mother in the divorce settlement—and had consolidated his power, updated the once aging group into a coveted invitation once more. He wouldn’t let some lowly action star like Connor Henry be a distraction.

  “And we have more important things to worry about. I’ll be sending you potential venues for the Masquerade Ball. That’ll be all.”

  “Yes, sir.” Madelyn bowed her head and ducked out of his office.

  The Masquerade Ball. This most opulent, most extravagant gathering of the society all year. It also happened to be one of the worst kept secrets among the upper echelon. Old money and new money vied for invitations to the ball, and not every society member received a black-and-gold envelope. Only certain members would know of the super-secret location of this year’s most coveted event. Planning the event took months and poring over the society’s ample membership list for the best and most deserving candidates. At the Masquerade, nearly anything was possible. Once, a live elephant mingled with the guests in Bali. In Milan, each guest received an engraved platinum bracelet designed by one of the brightest figures in fashion. In Egypt, guests sipped champagne in the shadow of the Pyramid of Giza.

  Each year became more extravagant, more dazzling than the last, the guests working hard to top their extravagant costumes each year. But it wasn’t just the stunts of the party that occupied Durand’s mind. It was also the delicate balance of guests, the way he worked hard to deliberately pair together the right people. Sure, there was the spectacle, but the Masquerade was also where billion-dollar business deals got struck, love stories were made, and feuding families reconciled. That was the part that Durand loved the most.

  Durand turned away from the window, glancing at the original Monet hanging above his polished, ornate gold-and-black antique desk, once used by King Louis XV in the Palace of Versailles. The golden clawed feet and ornate golden figures of women on either side, holding up pitchers and grapes, was ostentatious to be sure, but Durand liked exactly that about it. He also very much liked the fact that it stood as a reminder to him not to grow too egotistical, or too lazy. King Louis XV’s extravagances and his weak rule, after all, helped sow the seeds of discord in France and led to the French Revolution.

  As he took a seat behind the massive desk, loud voices from behind his office door captured his attention. There were at least two of them, and they were angry. Madelyn, h
e heard, was doing her best to shoo them out, but Durand felt the need to intervene. He wouldn’t let his assistant be abused like this.

  He swung open his door only to see Asha Patel, dressed in a fetching white linen strapless A-line sundress and matching strappy wedges, a large-brimmed straw hat shielding half of her face. She looked more like a starlet ready for her movie debut than an heiress. Most of them lacked Asha’s striking natural beauty. They often used money to hide their flaws, but from Durand’s watchful eye, he didn’t see any. Her beauty, in fact, took his breath away—a cliché to be sure, one that he’d never believed possible, but the breath caught in his throat as his eyes roved her generous curves, her golden-almond-colored skin, her flawlessly lined dark, soulful eyes—a lighter brown than he remembered, a rich golden brown.

  Two men in expensive suits flanked her, both carrying briefcases and the egotistical air of attorneys looking to sue. They were middle-aged and graying, with pudgy middles and faces fleshy from too much expensive wine, which meant they relished fights just like these. He’d met their kind before.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Durand demanded, but kept his eyes on Asha. Asha met his gaze and lifted her chin in good old-fashioned defiance. Resentment flashed in her eyes. So, it seemed, she still had sore feelings about him for escorting her out of his party.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Madelyn cried, eyes wide, a phone receiver in her hand, as she no doubt prepared to dial security. A blond hair fell loose from her normally pristinely pinned chignon. “They are insisting on seeing you. I told them you have many appointments today.”

  Durand eyed Asha, who glared at him, eyes flashing. He loved the way her bottom lip trembled just slightly—nerves? Anger? He wondered.

  “I have come with my attorneys,” she said. “And I’d like to discuss the issue of membership in the Sphinx Society.”

  So little Miss Disruption was back, and demanding entry into his club? He ought to throw her and her attorneys out on the street. Yet something about the defiant rise of her chin made him hesitate. Perhaps he could toy with her a little first. If she wanted to play a little game, maybe he’d indulge her. Cat and mouse was one of his favorite pastimes.

  Durand chuckled low in his throat.

  “You really think you can bully your way into my club, Ms. Patel?” He smiled slowly, almost relishing the challenge. It had been years since someone was bold enough to defy him openly. Perhaps she didn’t know who she was dealing with. Yet.

  “You owe me a meeting, Mr. Durand.” Asha’s dark eyes flashed. Look at that sense of entitlement. It was almost sexy, if it wasn’t so obviously the temper tantrum of a spoiled heiress used to bullying people to get what she wanted.

  “Oh, I assure you that I don’t owe you anything.” Durand made sure that people who demanded things from him regretted that decision. Even gorgeous heiresses. Or maybe, especially gorgeous heiresses.

  Madelyn hovered in the background, still holding the receiver of the phone. “Shall I notify security, sir?” Her blue eyes were filled with concern as she clutched the phone.

  Durand glanced at his assistant, and then back at Asha.

  “I’ll see Ms. Patel, but without her entourage.” He met the gaze of each of the lawyers, who blinked back at him coldly with their nearly lifeless eyes.

  “Ms. Patel,” protested one of the pudgy, middle-aged men in their overpriced suits. “I strongly advise—”

  She held up a perfectly manicured hand and the attorney instantly fell silent. “No, Robert. I’ll allow it.”

  Allow it, as if she was royalty and not a new money tech heiress. Oh, my. Durand would enjoy this. New money so often lived under the mistaken impression that money, once made, lasted forever. Only heirs of vanishing old money knew the truth: you were always one or two bad investments away from losing it all. Or a single divorce, in Durand’s case. A divorce that diverted his father’s attention and resources to other children.

  Madelyn slowly returned the receiver to the cradle, expressionless, although Durand suspected she would’ve preferred to kick out the beautiful heiress. Did she suspect Durand’s interest?

  And, so what if she did? Madelyn knew to keep her feelings under control. He’d never encouraged her, though technically, he hadn’t disabused her of the notion either. He thought they understood that their working relationship had no room for tender feelings.

  Durand stepped back from his ornately carved door and swept out his arm as Asha moved past, her Louis Vuitton purse clasped beneath one elbow, a trail of expensive perfume stretching out behind her. Madelyn sent him a worried glance before focusing on the attorneys in the waiting room.

  “If those two so much as sneeze, feel free to call security,” Durand instructed. The lawyers glowered at him quietly, but eventually sat on the gold antique love seats near the front door of his office. Madelyn gave him a reassuring nod and went back to her computer. Durand stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. Asha stood at the oversized window, staring at the Eiffel Tower.

  “That’s quite a view,” she said, turning around slowly, soaking it in.

  “The view, mademoiselle, pales to your beauty,” he said, easily. It was the truth. She glanced at him, suddenly, color rising in her cheeks. She wasn’t expecting a compliment, though it was easy enough to give. She was far more beautiful than a metal tower in the distance, no matter how famous that tower might be.

  “Do you think flattery will get you somewhere?” she challenged, recovering her composure. Durand liked to watch the struggle, liked to watch her try to keep her balance. This was going to be fun.

  “I am simply being honest, mademoiselle,” he said. “French men appreciate natural beauty.”

  “Do they? Is that all they appreciate?” She raised an eyebrow in challenge as she took off her sunhat, freeing her long dark locks. He watched as they cascaded down her bare shoulders, soft enough and silky enough to beg for his touch. The sunlight danced in her hair, revealing merlot highlights. He could feel the power in her beauty calling to him, a siren’s song, no doubt, an invitation to crash himself against the rocks. He’d need to keep his head. He’d need to be careful.

  “Please, won’t you have a seat?” he asked.

  She picked one of his red velvet Queen Anne chairs, her white dress stark against its bloodred fabric and painted gold accents.

  “Quite the office you have here.”

  “I’m partial to antiques—to furniture with history,” Durand said, indifferent, as he perched on the edge of his ornate desk, made over 250 years ago. “History is everything. Those who ignore history do so at their own peril.”

  “I do not care for history,” Asha told him boldly. “I care about the future. Making my own path.”

  “And you think you can make your own path in a vacuum? Without knowing where you came from?”

  She smiled at him but did not answer. Instead, she studied the golden accented desk. “Did that desk...belong to... King Louis XV?”

  Durand couldn’t help but be impressed. “You know antiques?”

  She smiled, switching tacks, away from annoyed, entitled heiress and to...coy, flirty one. “Perhaps I just know you, Mr. Durand. I did a little research on you.”

  “About my proclivities in furnishing my office?”

  “Among other things.” She raised a solitary dark and perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You like to leave a trail of hearts in your wake.”

  He laughed a little. “That is not my fault if one is offered to me. I do not steal them, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “So you just use your charms until you get what you want and throw women away like disposable towels?” Asha shook her head slowly. “That is so...old-fashioned. Maybe you are a little too obsessed with history. You act like a relict, a playboy of the 1950s.”

  Durand laughed, unable to stop himself. Since when had a woman
openly insulted him so? Not that he could recall. “You think I’m a relic?” An amused smile danced on his face. “And you believe that insulting me will get you what you want?”

  Asha shrugged one shoulder. “I do not believe in flattery, as you do. Flattery is kissing someone’s ass. I believe in a more direct approach.”

  “Is that so? Is that why you lied to me in Sweden? About being Connor’s date.”

  Asha swept her black hair off one shoulder. “I didn’t say I never lied. I said I don’t believe in kissing asses.”

  He almost laughed but caught himself. “So you are trying to insult me?”

  “Wouldn’t you have to have shame to be insulted, monsieur?” She grinned.

  She was using her wiles again, just like that night at the party on the balcony. The way she sat now, her head tilted just so, leaning forward just a tad so he could see the hint of cleavage in her square neckline. Leaning forward to give him the best possible view, that she no doubt practiced before one of her mirrors in her hotel room. He tried not to linger too long there. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. He needed to stay on his toes. She wasn’t going to get the best of him. He’d make sure of that.

  “You have a reputation, too.” He met her dark-eyed gaze. “A man-eater. A woman who leaves broken hearts in her wake. How many pop stars have written heartbreak songs about you? Too many to count, and on at least three continents.”

  She picked a piece of lint off her skirt, looking nonplussed. “And?”

  “And... I’m not sure how much of the gossip should be believed, but I’ve read you are a woman who has appetites even...greater than most men.”

  A small flush colored her cheekbones, a bit of color that most might have missed, but Durand prided himself on reading people, on being able to detect even the slightest hint of emotion. She was...embarrassed. Not quite the reaction he’d expected from the world’s most famous and unapologetic party girl. But she was quickly trying to hide the shame with bravado. She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye.