Vivian

Chapter 1:

"I

Vivian

can't believe he's here. He never comes to these things

unless it's hosted by a friend…"

"Did you see he bumped Arno Reinhart down a spot

on the Forbes Billionaires list? Poor Arnie nearly had a meltdown

in the middle of Jean-Georges when he found out…"

The whispers started halfway through the Frederick Wildlife

Trust's annual fundraiser for endangered animals.

This year, the small, sand-colored piping plover was the

alleged star of the show, but none of the gala's two hundred

guests were discussing the bird's welfare over their Veuve

Clicquot and caviar cannoli.

"I heard his family's villa in Lake Como is undergoing a one-

hundred-million dollar renovation. The place is centuries old, so I

suppose it's time…"

Each whisper grew in intensity, accompanied by furtive

glances and the occasional dreamy sigh.

I didn't turn to see who had the normally cool-as-ice members

of Manhattan high society in such a tizzy. I didn't really care. I was

too focused on a certain department store heiress as she tottered

toward the swag table in sky-high heels. She quickly glanced

around before swiping one of the personalized gift bags and

dropping it in her purse.

The minute she walked off, I spoke into my earpiece.

"Shannon, Code Pink at the swag table. Find out whose bag she

took and replace it."

Tonight's bags each contained over eight thousand dollars'

worth of swag, but it was easier to fold the cost into the event

budget than confront the Denman's heiress.

My assistant groaned over the line. "Tilly Denman again?

Doesn't she have enough money to buy everything on that table

and have millions left over?"

"Yes, but it's not about the money for her. It's the adrenaline

rush," I said. "Go. I'll order bread pudding from Magnolia Bakery

tomorrow to make up for the strenuous task of replacing the gift

bag. And for God's sake, find out where Penelope is. She's

supposed to be manning the gift station."

"Ha ha," Shannon said, obviously picking up on my sarcasm.

"Fine. I'll check on the gift bags and Penelope, but I expect a big

tub of bread pudding tomorrow."

I laughed and shook my head as the line cut off.

While she took care of the gift bag situation, I circled the room

and kept an eye out for other fires, large or small.

When I first went into business, it felt weird working events I

would otherwise be invited to as a guest. But I'd gotten used to it

over the years, and the income allowed me a small degree of

independence from my parents.

It wasn't part of my trust fund, nor was it my inheritance. It was

money I'd earned, fair and square, as a luxury event planner in

Manhattan.

I loved the challenge of creating beautiful events from scratch,

and wealthy people loved beautiful things. It was a win-win.

I was double-checking the sound setup for the keynote speech

later that night when Shannon rushed toward me. "Vivian! You

didn't tell me he was here!" she hissed.

"Who?"

"Dante Russo."

All thoughts of swag bags and sound checks flew out of my

head.

I jerked my gaze to Shannon's, taking in her bright eyes and

flushed cheeks.

"Dante Russo?" My heart thudded for no apparent reason. "But

he didn't RSVP yes."

"Well, the rules of RSVPs don't apply to him." She practically

vibrated with excitement. "I can't believe he showed up. People

will be talking about this for weeks."

The earlier whispers suddenly made sense.

Dante Russo, the enigmatic CEO of the luxury goods

conglomerate the Russo Group, rarely attended public events that

weren't hosted by himself, one of his close friends, or one of his

important business associates. The Frederick Wildlife Trust didn't

fall under any of those categories.

He was also one of the wealthiest and, therefore, most

watched men in New York.

Shannon was right. People would be buzzing about his

attendance for weeks, if not months.

"Good," I said, trying to rein in my sudden runaway heartbeat.

"Maybe it'll bring more awareness to the piping plover issue."

She rolled her eyes. "Vivian, no one cares"—she stopped,

looked around, and lowered her voice— "no one actually cares

about the piping plovers. I mean, I'm sad they're endangered, but

let's be honest. The people are here for the scene only."

Once again, she was right. Still, no matter their reason for

attending, the guests were raising money for a good cause, and

the events kept my business running.

"The real topic of the night," Shannon said, "is how good Dante

looks. I've never seen a man fill out a tuxedo so well."

"You have a boyfriend, Shan."

"So? We're allowed to appreciate other people's beauty."

"Yes, well, I think you've appreciated enough. We're here to

work, not ogle the guests." I gently pushed her toward the dessert

table. "Can you bring out more Viennese tartlets? We're running

low."

"Buzzkill," she grumbled, but she did as I said.

I tried to refocus on the sound setup, but I couldn't resist

scanning the room for the surprise guest of the night. My gaze

skimmed past the DJ and the 3D piping plover display and rested

on the crowd by the entrance.

It was so thick I couldn't see beyond the outer edges, but I'd

bet my entire bank account Dante was the center of their

attention.

My suspicions were confirmed when the crowd shifted briefly

to reveal a glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders.

A rush of awareness ran the length of my spine.

Dante and I belonged to tangential social circles, but we'd

never officially met. From what I'd heard of his reputation, I was

happy keeping it that way.

Still, his presence was magnetic, and I felt the pull of it all the

way across the room.

An insistent buzz against my hip washed away the tingles

coating my skin and drew my attention away from Dante's fan

club. My stomach sank when I fished my personal cell out of my

purse and saw who was calling.

I shouldn't take personal calls in the middle of a work event,

but one simply didn't ignore a summons from Francis Lau.

I double-checked to make sure there were no emergencies

requiring my immediate attention before I slipped into the nearest

restroom.

"Hello, Father." The formal greeting rolled off my tongue easily

after almost twenty years of practice.

I used to call him Dad, but after Lau Jewels took off and we

moved out of our cramped two-bedroom into a Beacon Hill mansion, he insisted on being called Father instead. Apparently, it

sounded more "sophisticated" and "upper class."

"Where are you?" His deep voice rumbled over the line. "Why

is it so echoey?"

"I'm at work. I snuck into a bathroom to take your call." I leaned

my hip against the counter and felt compelled to add, "It's a

fundraiser for the endangered piping plover."

I smiled at his heavy sigh. My father had little patience for the

obscure causes people used as an excuse to party, though he

attended the events donated anyway. It was the proper thing to

do.

"Every day, I learn about a new endangered animal," he

grumbled. "Your mother is on a fundraising committee for some

fish or other, like we don't eat seafood every week."

My mother, formerly an aesthetician, was now a professional

socialite and charity committee member.

"Since you're at work, I'll keep this short," my father said.

"We'd like you to join us for dinner on Friday night. We have

important news."

Despite his wording, it wasn't a request.

My smile faded. "This Friday night?" It was Tuesday, and I

lived in New York while my parents lived in Boston.

It was a last-minute request even by their standards.

"Yes." My father didn't elaborate. "Dinner is at seven sharp.

Don't be late."

He hung up.

My phone stayed frozen on my ear for an extra beat before I

removed it. It slipped against my clammy palm and almost

clattered to the floor before I shoved it back into my purse.

It was funny how one sentence could send me into an anxiety

spiral.

We have important news.

Did something happen with the company? Was someone sick

or dying? Were my parents selling their house and moving to New

York like they'd once threatened to do?

My mind raced through with a thousand questions and

possibilities.

I didn't have an answer, but I knew one thing.

An emergency summons to the Lau manor never boded well.

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