A Billionaire's Revenge

Ch. 25: Let's Dance

Corden

If my mother is known for anything in the Upper East Side, it's that she can throw a party. After parking in the wraparound driveway, I drop my keys off with the valet and stand beside the tall hedges lining the lit pathway to the house to prepare myself. Socializing can be taxing, but it's even more strenuous when you're trying to hide an entire operation your father entrusted you with before he was murdered. It's why I stopped attending events like these. And now, not only am I stressed about slipping up, but now I have the added pressure of trying to convince my mother Carmen has been a serious girlfriend of mine for months now. The task will be nearly impossible since I haven't told Carmen about this arrangement. Every time I tried, I chickened out. How could I ask something so big of her when I'm already putting her in danger by communicating with me?

Classical holiday music fills the cathedral ceilings of the family home I grew up in. Garland is wrapped impeccably around the railings of staircases, and mistletoes are hung strategically above various entryways. A golden chandelier glistens in the foyer—one my father purchased for her as a surprise after she saw it in an antique shop and fell in love with it.

The memory has me letting out a ragged breath while I pass my coat to the attendant. This entire event screams luxury, but most attendees tonight are anything but. I've learned during my time navigating both worlds that the most trustworthy people often don't come from money. The rich kids' parents who can afford to get them out of any scandal they find themselves in are the ones to watch out for.

"Jett, you made it." My mother grins from ear to ear as she grips me by the elbows and kisses me on both cheeks. She's the perfection of elegance with pearls draping from her neck and ears. "Carmen isn't with you?"

"She arrived with Sienna earlier," I lie smoothly, unsure if it's true. "They wanted to travel together."

Her scrutinizing gaze always had me confessing my lies as a child within seconds, but I've got a hard exterior now. The horrors I've seen and committed have forced me to grow a backbone and become stellar at lying. "I'll see if I can find her then," she hums.

Not if I get to her first.

Parting ways, I make my rounds with people I haven't seen in years. Lincoln is speaking to a few men I recognize from the financial district, and I only know this because they've been linked to plenty of dirty schemes that haven't yet reached the surface. I make a mental note to remind Lincoln to steer clear of them before continuing to scan the remainder of the crowd.

Maybe Carmen decided not to come. I can't blame her considering I threw myself at her via text message two nights ago. I begged her to please her when she was dating Archer, and the thought has irked me for forty-eight hours. I had no right to put her in that situation, but I'm a selfish bastard who can't get enough of her. She's the main person I should stay away from, yet I'm scanning the crowd, hoping to see her face so I can apologize to her in person.

But a flash of orange has the breath hitching in my throat. There, in the corner, Carmen looks just as tempting in Balmain in person as she did in those photos she sent. And I wish I could say it's purely attraction between us, but it's far more than that. After spending time with her at The Harbor and getting to know her and her heart, it's not the dress wearing the woman, it's the woman wearing the dress.

And I'm not worthy of her. Not in the slightest when I waltz up to her with a confidence I have to fake. I can't be Corden to her here. I have to be Jett, the sleazeball everyone has grown accustomed to so they don't grow suspicious.

"Carmen," I practically purr, "you look absolutely delectable."

I expect a dirty look, or at the very least a snarky comeback, but Carmen tenses beneath my gaze, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.