Temptation: a billionaire erotic romance (10 page)

“I think, Serena, we learned that things are far more serious than I thought they were.”

*****

Serena dressed again the next night with Ellen’s help, this time in an evening gown of navy blue dotted with glittering jewels.  That night was the grand ball that Val had arranged, a special occasion that would see every socialite and businessman worth their salt schmoozing on the dance floor.  Spencer and Edwards would be back, as well as a few dozen of their associates.  Serena was happy to discover that Jacques would be there as well (to help Val with the negotiations), and she looked forward to seeing him the rest of the day.  At least one person there would be on her side.

But more than that, she was looking forward to the Spencer and Edwards crowd.  They knew something.  It was something big, and she knew it.  They were close to Harlow, and Harlow was planning something.  Val was in trouble.

In her head, she rationalized it by telling herself she was protecting her paycheck.  If there was no Val to pay her, there was no pay, and if there was no pay, there was no way to get Harry out.  She had to protect Val, otherwise how would she save Harry?  It wasn’t anything personal, it was just financial.

But in her heart, she knew that wasn’t the whole truth.  Val was something special to her.  Every time she imagined a world without Val, it hurt so much she wanted to curl up on her bed and cry.  She was totally, pathetically his already.  She couldn’t rationalize it, if she was honest with herself.  This wasn’t about money, it was about Serena’s obsession with Val.

Val was in danger, and he was too ridiculous to admit it.  Ellen and Serena were the only ones who could keep him alive.

The party began a little after eight, with paper lanterns lighting up the gardens in the front and black suited servants running around carrying plates of hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes.  Ellen presided over them all with an iron fist, wearing her best red gown and ensuring that not a fork was out of place in the dining hall.  Val was in the main ballroom, watching the guests file in with their dates on their arm.  It was beautiful—the mansion looked like a fairytale castle, and Serena felt like Cinderella.

Serena took a flute of champagne and sipped at it nervously, searching the crowd for someone she knew.  If only she could find Jacques, she might feel comfortable.  She could never feel scared or worried around him, especially with his terrible jokes polluting the conversation.

“You look lovely,” a voice murmured behind her.  She whipped around to see Val, impeccably dressed in a tuxedo with his hands clasped behind him.  His hair was slicked back, and his eyes were shining as they looked down on her.

“Good evening, Sir.”

“No Sirs for tonight, Serena.  Call me Val.”

“Good evening … Val.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t use the vibrator tonight,” said Val, watching his guests pour in.  “But some of these people I respect, unlike Spencer and Edwards.  It would be dishonorable to include them in our little game.”

“Yes, S—I mean Val.”

A hand grabbed her ass, squeezing appreciatively.  “We can save that for later tonight, darling.” 

Serena’s heart skipped a beat.  Val walked off and melted into the crowd.  He would be the death of her, she swore.

Serena spent the night as a wallflower, avoiding the strange guests and sipping glass after glass of champagne.  Val was busy talking to people—a famous opera soprano, a man who had invented some kind of bottle opener, a head chef of New York’s hottest restaurant—which left her alone with the booze.  Once or twice she saw Jacques, dressed dashingly in his tuxedo, sweeping some young thing off her feet.  It made her smile, but then made her frown, remembering the way Harry used to act the same foolish way at parties.  She drowned her worries with more champagne.

About midnight, she saw Spencer in the corner, downing another glass of sherry.  It reminded her of the dinner and how quickly he had gotten drunk.  But more importantly, it reminded her of the strange conversation she had overheard.  And that gave her an idea.  She chewed her lip, considering what she was about to do.  It was unethical. 

But then again, in vino veritas.

“Ellen,” Serena said, beckoning her with a finger.  Ellen approached, her red skirts swishing in front of her.  “Do you have something strong?”

“Strong for you?”

“No.  Strong for him.”  She pointed to the corner, where Spencer was grabbing himself another drink.

“Ah,” said Ellen simply, as if she was used to this.  “Don’t worry dear, I have something much better.  Stay here, sweetie.”

Serena kept her eyes on Spencer, watching him attempt to awkwardly flirt with a few women and fail miserably.  She remembered the night before, when his stares had lingered just a few moments too long.  She remembered how Val had reacted with such overprotective dominance.  She smiled to herself.  For the first time in forever, she may have a chance.

“Here you are,” said Ellen, tapping her on the shoulder.  She slipped into Serena’s hand a small plastic bag filled with a fine white powder.  Serena’s fist closed over it, her heartbeat picking up.  She hoped to God no one noticed. 

“My own concoction,” Ellen said, winking at her.  “Mr. Marquette uses it quite often.  Won’t quite put them out, but it’ll definitely put them out of their right mind.  Make sure you only put a pinch in, though, unless you want them comatose.”

“Thank you, Ellen.”

“Of course, Ms. Nicoletti,” she said, reaching forward and kissing her on the cheek.  Serena touched the place she had been kissed as Ellen gracefully floated away into the crowd.  Some days she felt more like Ellen’s daughter-in-law than her boss’s slave.  Strange, but she could save the wondering about what that meant for later.  She had something more important to think about right now.

Checking to make sure no one was watching, Serena grabbed a glass of sherry from a nearby table.  Into it, she tapped a bit of powder, then swirled it around until the powder had totally dissolved.  No one would be the wiser.  She took a deep breath, then began to walk to Spencer.

She tapped him on the shoulder lightly, and he turned a little too fast, losing his balance.  Quickly, she grabbed his shoulder, helping him right himself. 

“Oh, pardon me!” he chuckled.  “I must not be used to being around such lovely women.  It puts me out of sorts.”

Serena gave her best beauty pageant smile and laughed lightly, hoping to put on her best airhead voice.  “No trouble!  I’m not used to being around such handsome men.”  She gave him a very unsubtle wink, and he seemed to take notice.  She held out the glass.  “Sherry, Mr. Spencer?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking it from her and taking a long sip.  “Valentine is very lucky to have such a wonderful woman on his arm.”

“Oh no,” Serena cooed, surprised at how easy this came to her.  “He may have me, but I’d say you’re even luckier.  I mean, look at you!  You’re such a successful businessman.”  She worked the next few words over in her head, wondering how to introduce the subject of Harlow delicately.  She gave up and decided to dive straight into it.  “And especially so high up in your business.  You must be close to your boss.”

“Oh yes,” Spencer said, his face growing redder.  “I
am
quite important, I suppose.”  He puffed his chest out.

Serena gave a vapid giggle and ran a finger down his arm.  “What was his name again?  You’ll have to forgive me, my memory is terrible.  I’m such a scatterbrain.”

“No, no trouble, especially for such a lovely woman,” he jabbered on.  “I and Mr. Harlow are quite close, especially on the Belladonna deal.”

“Really?  What’s Belladonna?” she asked eagerly.

Spencer paused, something about her demeanor getting through his drunk stupor.  His eyes fixed on her, and he examined her up and down.  Serena stopped.  Shit.  She had to put on the dumb girl disguise again.

Serena cocked her head and began twirling her hair.  She flashed him a brilliant, vacant smile.  “Because it sounds so pretty, like a flower!” she gushed.  “Or maybe a perfume!”

Spencer’s eyes became blank again and he nodded, losing any suspicion he may have had.

“It
is
a flower,” he said.  Serena stopped, not sure if he was teasing her.  But he was too blank and drunk to lie.  “Also known as Deadly Nightshade, but the name ‘Belladonna’ means ‘beautiful woman.’  Good name, no?”  He took a swig of sherry.  “You see, the Belladonna plant sprouts beautiful, juicy black berries.  Very tempting, like a beautiful woman.  But deadly, very deadly—a single bite, and you would be dead within the hour.  It attracts you, then it kills you.” 

“Ah,” said Serena, not getting it.

Spencer smiled.  “It’s a quite apt description.”

“How so?” said Serena.

“Well—”

“Spencer!” called someone.  Edwards came marching out of the crowd, his expression furious.  His glare was focused on Serena.  “I called you earlier, I’m surprised you didn’t hear.”

“Ah, my fault, I’m very sorry,” blathered Spencer.  “I was busy talking to this charming creature.”

“Yes,” spat Edwards, “I did see you speaking to Valentine’s whore.”

Spencer stopped, then fixed his eyes on Serena.  He focused on her, examining her like he was really seeing her for the first time.  His eyes widened.  “Oh, I—”

“It’s nothing,” Edwards snarled.  He grabbed his colleague’s arm and began dragging him away.  “I’m sure Ian will love to hear about this.”

Serena shivered when she saw the distraught look on Spencer’s face.  As he walked away, he struck her strangely as looking as if he was walking off to the electric chair.

The change in atmosphere got to her.  Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe, it was too hot and stuffy.  Serena grabbed her skirts and began heading as fast as she could for the stairs to her bedroom.  It was against Val’s orders, but she had to get out of here, especially with the way Spencer and Edwards had acted.  Something was wrong, she knew it.

When she reached her bedroom, she threw open the door and rushed it.  She slammed it behind her, locking it and resting against the door.  Her breath was fast and hard, and she tried desperately to slow it, afraid that someone might hear despite how ridiculous that was.

Spencer had obviously told her something very, very important.  She wasn’t supposed to have heard it.  So what was it that she wasn’t supposed to have heard?

Harlow was the one going after Val.  That was obvious at this point.  But what wasn’t obvious was how he was planning to do that, and it frustrated her to no end that she had just lost her best source of information to the over cautious Edwards.

And what was up with Belladonna?

Beautiful woman?  There were no beautiful women around.  Spencer seemed to think she was beautiful, but she obviously wasn’t working for Harlow or any of them.  There were the secretaries at work and the maids in the house, but they barely spoke to Valentine, if ever.  And she knew them—they were all fiercely loyal, all of them willing to praise Val to no end, even when there was no chance of him finding out about what they said.  And there was Ellen, but she was Ellen.  Very beautiful, definitely not evil.

Serena groaned and threw herself on the bed.  She would have to talk to someone about this soon.  Someone who would know what to do.  Ellen, maybe.  Or Jacques.

She sat up suddenly.

Jacques.  Jacques was still here, chatting away downstairs.  He would know what to do, wouldn’t he? 

Serena began pulling on her pumps.  It was worth a shot.

*****

Serena ran down the stairs, grasping the rails as best she could so she wouldn’t trip over her massive heels.  She had to find Jacques.  Something big was happening, she could just feel it, and if she didn’t find Jacques, who knows what would happen.  All she knew was that it would be something terrible.

She caught sight of Ellen tidying up a rose plant in the corner and swept towards her.  “Ellen!”

“Sweetheart?” Ellen asked, turning to her.

“Ellen, quick, this is important,” she said, breathless.  “Have you seen Jacques?  I need to know where he is.”

“Mr. Lepin?  Hm.  I think I saw him in the dining room, chatting to a few of those jewelry heiresses.  Or was it oil heiresses?  Dear me, I can never remember.”