Page 1 of The Billionaire's Masquerade Ball

Chapter 1

“Spare no expense,” Xander Callahan said with a smirk. Even with his gaze on the Chicago skyline, he sensed an eye roll coming from Judy, his executive assistant. It was two weeks before Christmas, and though there was no snow on the ground, the gray sky seemed poised with the promise of it any moment.

He spun in time to see Judy shaking her head with the slightest hint of a smile. He grinned, feeling like he had won. As the CEO of Obsidian Development and a self-made billionaire, Xander could use that kind of clichéd phrase and actually put the money behind it. But he only used it to get under Judy’s skin. His personal assistant, Wyatt, smiled from his seat at the conference table, but when Xander sent him a stern look, he immediately went back to looking serious.

Judy muttered something under her breath.

“What was that you said?” Xander asked.

“Nothing I care to repeat if you didn’t hear it the first time,” Judy said.

“I think what Judy meant is that she’ll get right on it,” Wyatt offered. Now Judy glared at him.

“I don’t need you to speak for me, boy,” Judy said.

Xander clapped his hands. Judy lowered her chin and gave him a scorching look over the rim of her glasses. “Let’s focus, please.”

They were putting together the final details for the gala launching his new charity. All jokes aside, Xander wanted everything to be perfect. The Sarah Ryder Foundation would benefit pancreatic cancer research and also offer support for families going through treatment and recovery. It was much more important to Xander than anything he’d worked on, even though this wouldn’t bring in any income. Not that he needed any since he and his former partner Jake had taken Obsidian public the previous year.

Xander planned to give substantial amounts from his personal fortune, but starting a charity was a dream he’d had for a long time. Using his business contacts and the masquerade gala as a starting-off point, Xander hoped that within a year the charity would move into phase two, where they could start building some support centers similar to the Ronald McDonald House. These would offer lodging for all kinds of cancer patients and their families, though the bulk of research funds and support would still go to pancreatic cancer. It was about time that he did something good with his money.

Judy sighed. “Can you be more specific? ‘Spare no expense’ is a little broad. Since we’ve received so many donations and sponsorships, there isn’t much need for you to dump more into this ball.”

Xander smiled at Judy, who had one eyebrow arched. “I wouldn’t exactly call putting money towards a charity gala dumping it.”

“If this were money simply for the charity, I would agree. But you’re talking about what is essentially a massive party for the who’s who of Chicago.”

“A massive party that will get donors opening up their wallets,” Xander said.

“He’s right,” Wyatt said. In a quieter tone, he said, “Even if it is a disgusting display of excess.”

“Wyatt?” Xander said. “How important is this job to you? I mean, in the grand scheme of things.”

Wyatt swallowed. “Very, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Xander beamed. “Then we understand each other?”

Wyatt nodded and bent his head as though he could hide behind his laptop and his shaggy blond hair. Judy shook her head but made notes on her legal pad. Though some CEOs wouldn’t put up with assistants who spoke this way, Xander relished in Judy’s sharp tongue and Wyatt’s honesty. People constantly buttered him up and told him what he wanted to hear, just hoping to get on his good side. Too bad they didn’t know the key to his good side was cutting through the fluff and being honest.

Wyatt hadn’t quite earned the right to talk to him the way Judy did. He’d only worked at Obsidian for two years, starting right after he’d graduated from Northwestern. He was brilliant and loyal, but still had a lot to learn. Xander enjoyed goading him. Every emotion showed right on his boyish face. Mostly he looked terrified of Xander, but he was slipping more and more into a softer version of Judy. He was starting to understand that Xander had a lot more bark than bite. But he was still easy to scare into silence with just a look.

Judy had worked for Xander since the beginning and was the closest thing to a mother that he had. A mother who also had keen business acumen. While many people saw his former partner and young real estate phenom, Jake, as Xander’s biggest asset, Xander would have said that it was really Judy. She was his best-kept secret and vastly underestimated because of her age. People seemed to treat older people as though they had an expiration date on usefulness, especially women. They couldn’t be more wrong.

It had been hard to move forward when Jake resigned and moved to Texas after meeting his now-wife Shelby, but Obsidian kept right on rolling. Whenever Judy retired though, Xan might as well. He couldn’t imagine coming to work without her.

Judy’s face remained impassive as she wrote.

“Judy, dear—don’t you think that I know how to get the social elite of Chicago to part with their money?” Xander asked. He clucked his tongue at her. “I had no idea you were such a pessimist. Or had so little faith in me.”

She huffed. “Don’t make me come over there and smack that grin off your face, son. I think this is the best thing you’ve done with your business. It’s just that you’ve had sponsors cover most of the gala costs already. At this point, you’re dropping cash to pretty things up that may not need to be prettied. I’m thinking of your ROI. Are you going to get more money for the Foundation by having—” She paused to look at her notes. “—six ice sculptures?”

“Do you have any idea how attractive it is when you use words like ROI?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. Wyatt laughed, then ducked again behind the computer.

Judy chuckled as well. “Don’t get fresh with me, boy.”

“You’re right to worry about return on investment, though,” Xander said, putting a hand to his chin as though thinking hard. “Let’s make it eight ice sculptures.”

“You are completely impossible,” Judy said.

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