I couldn’t get him out of my mind, which wasn’t like me at all. I prided myself on being extremely sensible, especially when it came to my love life. I liked nice, normal men who brought me flowers, could carry on an intelligent conversation, and didn’t wish I had bigger boobs, smaller hips, and smoother hair.
Debonair was not a nice man. And it would not be at all sensible to get involved with him. He’d propositioned me twice in less than a week. He was a thief. A lout. And he wore blue-black leather. Three big turn-offs. I couldn’t possibly like him.
The grandfather clock down the hall chimed out the hour. Two in the morning. It was time to go to bed, whether I thought I could sleep or not. It wouldn’t do to be auctioned off with bags under my eyes.
I sighed and glanced down at my sketch. My pencil froze in mid-stroke.
Debonair’s masked face smiled up at me.
*
“Let’s start the bidding at one thousand dollars. Do I hear one thousand dollars? One thousand from the gentleman in the back.”
I squinted into the bright lights, but I couldn’t tell who’d bid to go to dinner with me. The night of the benefit had arrived, and the bachelor auction was in full swing at Quicke’s. Joanne and the others insisted I should be the first one auctioned off, since I was the chairperson. So here I was, standing on a stage next to the long bar, trying to look nice and friendly, instead of scrunching my face up against the hot glare of the spotlights.
“Two thousand? Do I hear two thousand dollars?”
The auctioneer’s loud voice spurred the crowd into further action. A flurry of bids filled the air, and my worth quickly increased to just under five thousand dollars. Not too bad. More than I’d hoped for, actually. I didn’t have a rep for being a boozy party girl like some of the other fashion designers in town.
“Ten thousand dollars. I bid ten thousand dollars.” Bobby’s booming voice cut through the murmurs of conversation and clink of glasses and silverware.
I hid a smile. Trust Grandfather to drive up my price, even if he had to do the bidding himself.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” a male voice called out.
“Twenty thousand!” the auctioneer crowed. “A very lovely offer for this very lovely lady. Do I hear twenty-one? Anyone? Anyone? No? All right, twenty thousand dollars. Going once…going twice…sold! To the gentleman in the front.”
I squinted through the lights to see Devlin Dash holding up a numbered placard. Devlin was another one of Bigtime’s wealthy businessmen, having half a dozen companies under his command. But Devlin didn’t quite look or act the part. His ink-black hair had more cowlicks than a little boy’s, while thick, silver-rimmed glasses obscured his eyes. Devlin also had a habit of pulling at his tie, as if it was always just a bit too tight. He wasn’t nearly as suave as the other billionaire playboys. In fact, he sort of reminded me of Henry Harris, the technological whiz for the Fearless Five. Henry had a nasty habit of wearing polka-dot bow ties with plaid sweater vests, something Fiona and I were trying to change, with a little help from Lulu.
Devlin also happened to be Grace Caleb’s grandson, along with Kyle Quicke, the restaurant owner. She’d probably told him to bid on me. During our time working together, Grace had dropped more than a few hints to Abby and me about what a nice young man Devlin was and what a good family he came from. She’d also gone through all the bachelor files, looking for someone for Kelly. Kyle had recently broken up with Piper Perez, Fiona’s chief financial officer, so he was off the market. For the moment. Still, it was pretty clear Grace wanted some grandchildren. The sooner, the better.
I actually liked Devlin. We’d chaired an art auction together earlier this year and had dinner once. He was a sweet guy, very quiet and almost painfully shy. And a real, old-fashioned gentleman, the kind who hurried to open doors and asked before he even thought about kissing you. I wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to paw me at the end of the night. Twenty thousand dollars could buy a lot of things, but it did not get you an all-expenses-paid trip around the world with Bella Bulluci.
I left the stage to polite applause and stopped to let my eyes adjust to the light. Abby Appleby stood just to the right of the stage. In keeping with the costume-ball theme, she’d come dressed as a rock ’n’ roll queen and wore tight, black leather pants, spiked heels, and a paint-splattered, shredded white T-shirt with a lacy black camisole underneath. At least, I thought that’s what she had on. It was tough to tell with the khaki vest covering most of her torso. Not to mention the massive clipboard she held in her hands and the many pens stuck in her teased hair. I’d told Abby to just relax tonight and enjoy the benefit, but obviously, she hadn’t listened to me.
Abby nodded her head. “Way to start things off, Bella. Let’s hope everybody goes for as much as you did.” She ticked something off her board and started doing some calculations, probably trying to guess the final tally already.
I shook my head and moved off into the crowded restaurant. Quicke’s had some of the best food in the city, and their cheese fries were to die for, but I didn’t really like coming to the restaurant for one reason—it was a shrine to all things superhero.
During normal business hours, framed posters, newspaper clippings, and autographed pictures of heroes and villains covered the red brick walls from floor to ceiling. Plastic action figures posed in mock-battle positions lined the shelves behind the bar, along with liquor bottles. Board games, miniature cars, die cast models, and every other merchandising tie-in you could dream of peeked out from windowsills and the rest of the available space. Superheroes might be dedicated to saving the city and the world, but most of them weren’t above making a few bucks doing it. Along with Oodles o’ Stuff, Quicke’s was a great place to have their products showcased.
Several menu items were even named after Bigtime’s various heroes and villains, like the Caveman Stan Steak or the Wynter Cosmopolitan. When I was in the mood for Quicke’s, I always got takeout. I couldn’t stomach actually eating inside the building. Especially since more than a few Johnny Angel posters decorated the walls—one each of my grandfather, father, and brother.
But everybody else loved Quicke’s, even ubervillains, which was why, along with its close proximity to the museum, we’d decided to have the bachelor auction here. Tonight, the restaurant had packed up its superhero stuff and been transformed into a fairyland. Ropes of glossy ivy, white roses, and baby’s breath crisscrossed overhead, creating a green canopy that contrasted with the rust-colored walls. More greenery curled around the edges of the bar, partially obscuring the brassy railing. White lights entwined with the ivy twinkled like small stars while Chinese-style lanterns perched on every table, adding more illumination to the scene. Jazz music played in the background, softening the harsh buzz of conversations and the clink and rattle of dishes. Grace had really done a wonderful job on the decorations.
“Bella! Bella! Over here!”
Speaking of Grace Caleb, the old woman fluttered her hand, and I walked over to her table.
“Devlin, Grace. You’re both looking wonderful tonight,” I said.
Grace had dressed like a flapper from the Roaring Twenties. She wore a knee-length silver dress, ropes of fake pearls, and chunky heels. Her silver hair lay in waves against her head, held back with a pearl-studded headband, while a lacy white shawl covered her arms. Devlin wore a dull, gray jumpsuit with matching boots and gloves. I think he was supposed to be a race-car driver. Either that or an astronaut, but I didn’t want to be rude and ask.
“So do you, Bella,” Grace replied. “Even if you’re not wearing a proper costume.”
There was no way I was dressing up in costume—especially one that involved spandex or leather. Instead, I’d opted for a long-sleeved, powder-blue dress with a flowing skirt that reached to my ankles. The scooped-out neck showed off my angel charm and silver chain. My only concession to tonight’s party theme had been the silver-tinsel halo I’d placed on top of my head. I’d plucked it out of the very
first box of Christmas decorations I’d looked in out of the dozens that gathered dust in the attic. The halo had been right on top too.
“Bella is so lovely she doesn’t need a costume, Grams,” Devlin said, shooting me a shy smile.
“Why, thank you, Devlin. What a sweet thing to say.”
I smiled back, and Devlin’s cheeks exploded with color. He took a long swig of his champagne, but it must have gone down the wrong way, because he started coughing. Grace whacked him on the back a few times, and Devlin managed to catch his breath.
I couldn’t help but compare his awkward behavior with Debonair’s smooth surety. The thief wouldn’t be flustered by giving or getting such a simple compliment. He’d probably start talking about all the sweet things we could do together. With handcuffs. More than once tonight, I’d scanned the crowd, wondering if the handsome thief was here—and who he might be masquerading as.
Grace cleared her throat, and I realized that she and Devlin were staring at me.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Devlin looked at me. “I asked when you might want to have dinner. How about Monday?”
“Oh, just about any night is fine with me. Give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll set it up.” My social calendar wasn’t exactly full these days. Unlike Debonair, who probably had a different woman penciled in every night of the week. Maybe two or three.
“Oh. Okay.”
Through the crowd, Joanne James crooked her finger at me in a clear come-here-right-now gesture.
“Please excuse me.”
I flashed Devlin and Grace another smile and headed for Joanne. Unlike me, she’d gone all-out for the costume part of the evening. Joanne wore a bustier, miniskirt, and four-inch, leather boots that reached up to her thighs. All of which were a bright lavender. The material was shiny, almost like vinyl, and clung to her body like wet cotton. It seemed like Joanne was going for the dominatrix look tonight. All she needed was a whip and some chains and she’d be Debonair’s dream woman.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to pretend I couldn’t see Joanne’s pale cleavage yet again. What was it with this woman flashing her chest at me?
Joanne jerked her head toward the stage. “I think we’re going to have a problem. No one’s bidding on Hannah, and she seems to be getting rather upset about it.”
Hannah Harmon stood in the middle of the stage, her hands on her hips. She’d come dressed as a she-devil, with a long, red, flowing cape and a headband topped with tiny horns.
“Do I hear one thousand dollars? One thousand? Anyone?” the auctioneer asked. “Anyone at all?”
Hannah glared at him, and he edged away from her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Hannah’s rich and attractive. What’s the problem?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Joanne asked.
“Heard what?”
She shook her head, her black curls spilling over her bare shoulder. “Bella, sometimes, you’re so sweet and naïve you make my teeth hurt. Hannah made an offer on DCQ Enterprises yesterday. She went before the board and pretty much demanded they accept the bid, or she’d take over the company, split it up, and sell off the pieces just like she always does.”
“DCQ? But that’s—”
“Devlin Dash’s company. Dash-Caleb-Quicke. Grace is on the board too, along with Kyle Quicke and Kelly Caleb. Hannah’s tirade didn’t please any of them.”
“Oh.” I looked at her. “How do you know this?”
“Berkley’s on the board, of course. And so am I.”
“So Grace decided to have Hannah blackballed because of the takeover? She told people not to bid on Hannah tonight?”
That didn’t seem like Grace. If anything, the society matron would kill you with kindness, no matter how rude you were to her.
Joanne laughed. “Of course not. Grace would never do anything like that. She’s far too nice and generous.” She smiled. “But I would.”
“Why?”
Joanne looked toward the stage, where Hannah glared at the auctioneer. “Because Hannah Harmon is nothing but a bully in a short skirt and high heels. She thinks just because she has a little money she can do whatever she wants—and that everyone should love her.”
I wanted to point out Joanne was wearing a shorter skirt and higher heels than Hannah. And that she had more money. And that she pretty much did whatever she wanted to, whenever she wanted to. But Joanne wasn’t through with her rant.
“The woman’s an egotistical ass. I know. I’ve been married to a few.” Joanne turned her violet eyes to me. “Did you know she made a play for Berkley while we were engaged? She practically took off her clothes and danced around naked in front of him. She still hits on him every time she sees him, and she’s always calling and asking for his advice on business deals or wanting to see his art collection. Like I don’t know what that means.”
Ah, now we’d gotten to the real reason Joanne had sabotaged Hannah—she’d tried to horn in on Joanne’s man. Her prize possession, as it were, just like the Star Sapphire was Berkley’s. I rubbed my temple and tried to talk some sense into Joanne.
“So Hannah’s not the nicest person around. So she made a couple of passes at Berkley. That’s not a crime. Besides, it’s not like he reciprocated. Everyone knows he’s crazy about you, Joanne. So why did you have to do this tonight of all nights? You know how important the benefit is to the museum. Pissing off Hannah won’t help our cause one bit.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to write the museum a check that will cover whatever pitiful amount Hannah might have raised tonight.”
I sighed. “Joanne—”
“Oh, there’s Berkley. Gotta run, Bella. See you later.”
I tried to grab Joanne’s arm, to stop her and demand she find a way to fix this. But my power flared, and a waiter chose that exact moment to step between us. I just barely managed not to slam into him. Joanne darted through the swirling crowd.
“…sold! To the gentlemen at the bar for one thousand dollars!”
The auctioneer brought down his gavel. Hannah clomped off the stage, grabbed a drink from the closest server, and downed it in one gulp. Her fingers tightened around the empty glass, and she looked like she wanted to throw it at somebody. Joanne was right. Hannah looked pissed. I’d never liked dealing with angry people, but I, being the diplomat, decided to go over and see if I could cheer her up.
“Hi, Hannah.” I plastered a smile on face. “Are you having a good time? I love your costume.”
Hannah looked down at me over the rim of her champagne flute. “A good time? Of course, I’m having a good time, Bella. I was just humiliated in front of five hundred of Bigtime’s wealthiest citizens. And now I have to go have dinner with Milton Moore for a measly thousand bucks.”
“What’s wrong with Milton?”
My eyes flicked to the man in question. Milton Moore sat at the bar, a nurse on either side of him. They were real-life nurses, dressed in flowered scrubs and sensible, thick-soled shoes. Milton never went anywhere without at least two of them by his side. It cut down on his trips to the emergency room. Sensing our stares, Milton took a hit off his oxygen tank and waved his aged hand in our direction. A glass of Scotch trembled in his fingers.
“The man’s ninety-five years old, and he smells like mothballs,” Hannah snapped. “That’s what’s wrong with him.”
She grabbed another drink from a passing waiter and chugged it down too. “I’m so sick of the people in this town. They think they’re so special just because they’ve had money for a couple of generations. They try to pretend like they never had to work. Or if they did, that everything was always by the book and perfectly legal. They’re nothing but a bunch of phonies. Fakes. Liars. They’ve all got skeletons and secrets in their closets. They’re no better than me. Not a single one of them. One day, they’ll realize it.”
Hannah wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but I’d never heard her talk this way before. Her voice was so harsh, so angry that
I took a step back.
“It just takes time,” I said. “They’ll come around eventually. I think most people—”
“Oh, I don’t care what you think, Bulluci. You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”
Hannah turned on her heel, leaving me to stare at her retreating back. The businesswoman stormed through the crowd, right past Joanne.
Joanne watched her go, a smile playing across her lips. She spied me staring at her and raised a glass, as though she’d just won some great victory.
All I could do was just sigh.
Chapter Seven
Thankfully, the rest of the bachelors and bachelorettes were auctioned off without incident. SNN news reporter Kelly Caleb, Grace’s granddaughter, raised the most money, bringing in a bid of just over forty thousand dollars for a night of drinks, dinner, and dancing.
Once the crowd exhausted the food and liquor at Quicke’s, everyone trekked to the museum a block away, hurrying up the flat, wide steps. Spotlights at the bottom of the stairs pointed upward and highlighted the Whimsical Wonders banner that stretched over the massive columns framing the entrance. More lights picked up the pink and blue and green flecks in the white marble, and the stone shimmered in the dark night.
The crowd stampeded into the new wing. Several squeals of delight rippled through the room as people saw what everyone else had donated and where all the items had been positioned. Folks rushed from one side of the room to the other, trying to look at everything at once, and people clustered three-deep around the Star Sapphire, which looked even more dazzling tonight. I stood to one side of the wing, watching the scene unfold. Everyone seemed impressed by the exhibit, and Arthur Anders flashed me a discrete thumbs-up.
I hadn’t thought it possible, given all the catastrophes of yesterday, but the exhibit looked marvelous. Round, white globes hung from the high, glass ceiling while potted palms twined with lights perched in the corners. The soft light made the colors in the cars and dolls and crystal figurines that much more vibrant. Everything gleamed and glistened and glowed, from the items on display to the sequined-covered costumes of the people surrounding them. Classical music trilled in the background, adding a finishing note to the festivities.