Page 24 of Seducing the Billionaire

“What the hell am I going to wear?” I mutter as I search through my closet for the third time. Not that I expect to find anything. I don’t own nice clothes.

It’s like the case of the cobbler not having shoes for himself. I’ve made plenty of dresses for others through my Etsy shop, even a couple of wedding gowns, but those were people paying me to make those. There’s no money for something special for me.

I slump down in my desk chair, pushing my sewing machine out of the way to rest my head on my arms. It seemed like a stroke of brilliance earlier to offer to accompany Connor tomorrow night. A chance to get closer to him, to prove myself indispensable, to gain his trust. But what do I know about attending some fancy event?

Okay, first things first. I need to find a dress. And there technicallyaredresses in this house, they’re just not mine.

I quietly open my bedroom door, tiptoeing down the hall toward Mom’s room, and knock softly, the sound barely audible. I turn the knob and peek in, spying her sleeping form on the bed, the ever-present tightness in her face relaxed.

I should wake her up. She’s supposed to limit daytime napping so she gets more restful sleep at night, but maybe this one time I can let it slide. If she catches me rifling through her stuff, I’ll have to explain why I’m doing it to begin with.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as I open the bifold closet, praying the hinges don’t squeak. Pushed in the back behind her winter coats are three floor-length gowns Dad bought her ages ago. She’s never allowed me to touch them, barely even let me look at them, but I need one now. The green sequins are too sparkly for my taste and the blue sateen’s style is ridiculously outdated considering it’s over two decades old. But the red silk… yeah, I can work with this.

I slip it off the hanger, freezing as Mom stirs in her sleep, and hightail it out of there before she wakes, carrying it back to my room. I try it on, standing in front of my mirror, and twist around to view it from all angles. It fits pretty well considering it’s not mine, though it’s a tad longer than I’d like. I could shorten the hem, but I don’t feel like going through all the extra effort.

If anything, I should be concerned about the gaping neckline. Unfortunately for me, Mom was always one to show off her assets, and this dress is no exception. It’s constructed in such a way that I can’t easily alter it, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. If Connor sees me in this, he might… What am I thinking? He couldn’t wait to get away from me in that elevator. Seduction is off the table. I’ll have to dazzle him with my wit and brains.

Oh God, I’m doomed.

* * *

My eyes widenas we walk underneath the elaborate chandelier in the center of the ballroom, the crystal sparkling beautifully in the dim light of the room, and I’m unable to help gawking at the extravagance surrounding us. Grandiose floral displays on every table, servers in black-tie milling around with trays full of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, attendees dressed luxuriously in their finest as they give air kisses and empty platitudes. We pass by a woman wearing so much jewelry, it’s a wonder she doesn’t keel over from the weight of the heavy stones.

“If they spent all this money to make the event this nice, how much do they expect to raise?” I whisper to Connor as we navigate the room to find our table.

“Probably a few million,” he answers, unfazed by the number.

I clench my jaw so it doesn’t drop, and stop a passing server to grab a flute of champagne. If they’re making that much in donations, they can afford to give me one glass of alcohol.

I may need it to get through the night. Everything about this event is so much more than I expected. More crowded. More elegant. More everything I’m not.

Connor looks right at home, though, among the glitz and glamour in a tux that highlights the breadth of his shoulders and easygoing smile. I pause as a woman stops to greet him, the fabric of her gown expensive, the tailored cut of it practically shoutingI’m rich. I open my clutch, again borrowed from my mom, and check the time on my phone. Damn. This thing lasts two more hours. Why did I think this was a good idea?

“Did I miss anything?” Connor’s deep voice rumbles in my ear.

My eyes shut briefly, ignoring the way my stomach flutters at his nearness. “No.” I paste on a smile and turn toward him, racking my brain trying to place who he was speaking with. I tried to memorize as many attendees as I could get names of earlier, but with the sheer number of people, I ended up focusing just on those Bishop Industries has ties to or are in the same industry. “The woman you were talking to, that was…”

“Talia,” he supplies. “My brother knows her better than me, but we’re friendly enough.”

I nod. Talia… Talia… “Oh, she’s Phillip Doukas’ daughter.” From what I remember, that family is loaded. Then again, nearly everyone here is.

He sticks his hands in his pockets, glancing around. “She’s one of the few I recognize. Angelina was right. I’ve been away too long.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” I point to a man in his mid-fifties with an obvious toupee. “That’s Aaron Sloane. Owner of Fartech Technologies. ThousandWords outsources our content moderating to him. And that guy over there. Preston Kennard.” I gesture to another man about ten feet away who has a beautiful blonde on his arm. “We bought his software company five years ago and now he’s a millionaire.”

He listens as I continue to point others out to him, asking questions occasionally, and my reconnaissance pays off as people finally realize Connor is here and approach him, striking up conversations.

I hover on the edge of the group, unsure if I should stay or fade into the background, watching him in his element as he easily charms them. Friendly. Warm. Reassuring. This is exactly what Angelina wanted, for him to subtly assure everyone that Bishop Industries is in good hands. And even knowing that was his goal in coming here, I find myself falling under his spell as well. Funny stories about his time in the Philippines. Guarantees that he’s fitting into his new role as CEO. Gracious acknowledgment of condolences for his father.

It’s a game as they fish for information, some crafty in how they go about it and others obvious, but Connor knows what he’s doing, dancing around the subject. He gives them just enough to whet their appetite without revealing too much. Is this natural to him or did he learn how to do it?

He excuses himself eventually, indicating with a head signal for me to follow him to a vacant corner, and grabs two more flutes of champagne on the way. He hands me one as he downs the other, and I raise my brows at him as I take a sip.

“I deserve it after that,” he says wryly, gesturing behind him toward the main floor.

“You seemed comfortable enough.”

He shrugs, looking down at his now empty glass. “It’s part of the job.”

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