“I didn’t really come here tonight planning to pitch for work.” I gave what I hoped was a modest shrug.
“Whyever not?” She held out her hand. “Come with me. We’ll have them all handed out before the charity auction. It will give me something to do. These things are such a bore.”
I nodded in feigned sympathy. “Dahling, I couldn’t agree more.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
?Simone introduced me to her friends while Jack was off doing mysterious Jack things. Rich people were just like me except they had a lot more money, wore fancier clothes, couldn’t get good staff, and shouldn’t have bought little Amanda that third horse because she could only stable two horses at her private school. Imagine. Where was all that tuition money going?
Rich people also had a place in the Hamptons, a place in Italy, a place in Florida, and thank God “Jim” finally got a private jet. First class is so congested. Shudder. Like me, they found there were simply just not enough hours in the day. Unlike me, it was because their days were spent with personal trainers, stylists, therapists, and Reiki practitioners, and their nights were spent at galas, balls, banquets, charity events, operas, symphonies, and fundraisers. Then there was the shopping. Honestly. Jim/Richard/David/John just couldn’t understand that it was impossible to wear the same dress twice. Everyone was run ragged. Exhausted. What about me time? Who wanted to fly up to New York to spend a day at the spa? Jim’s treat.
Me! Me!
I smiled and tried to appear fun and friendly but couldn’t score an invitation. Maybe “Jim” didn’t like desperate debt-ridden brown girls who were planning a heist. Or maybe his jet couldn’t take the extra weight. I’d eaten my way through two plates of hors d’oeuvres and four bowls of bar snacks. No matter. Private jets were such a bore. Shudder.
Jack found me before I found him. “Have you found Bella?”
“No, but I made a new friend.” I pointed out Simone talking to two women near the bar. “She was wearing a hideous necklace and I helped her—”
“It’s dancing time,” he said abruptly, cutting me off. Without so much as a “by-your-leave,” he put a hand around my waist and swirled me onto the dance floor.
My God. The man could dance. I didn’t know whether to look down at his fancy footwork, a little higher at his swinging hips, or into his eyes as he searched the room, no doubt for someone who didn’t have two left feet.
“You’re pretty good,” I offered. “Where did you learn to dance?”
“Self-taught,” he said. “I had foster parents who were fans of old movies. I must have watched Singin’ in the Rain a dozen times.”
Foster parents. I filed that little tidbit about his life away for later.
“I’ve seen it. Gene Kelly smiled the whole time he was dancing.”
“No one can dance like that today. He’s a legend.” He twirled me around. “I found a pair of tap shoes in a thrift store and saved up my paper route money to buy them. I watched the movie over and over, learned the steps online, and practiced until I had blisters. I was pretty good.”
He held me so firmly, moved so fast, I felt like I was floating. “Why didn’t you go to a proper dance school? Become a professional?”
“Life had other plans for me.” Jack leaned in, his lips pressed against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. For a moment I thought it was “hide my face” time again, or maybe the seduction was real. Instead, he whispered in my ear. “Ten o’clock. The man at the bar holding his jacket over his arm is Angelini. The two dudes with him are his bodyguards. His wife and daughter are beside him talking to the CEO of the Chicagoland Chamber of Commerce and his wife.”
Jack spun me around so I could surreptitiously check them out. I recognized Bella and her mother from our botched surveillance mission. Mr. Angelini was just shy of six feet and solidly built. He had a strong jaw, gray-flecked brown hair, and a slightly crooked nose. At first glance, he didn’t look much different from most of the other tuxedoed men around him, but something about him sent a shiver down my spine.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” Jack said.
Exasperated, I blew out a breath. “I can’t just go up to them and ask if they want to hire me because I stalked his daughter on social media and know she just fired her wedding planner.”
“You’re resourceful. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He caressed my cheek, my jaw, a quick slide of his thumb over my lips, and then he released me. “Watch your back.”
“I thought that was your job.” I looked over my shoulder, only to catch Jack’s gaze on my ass.
“It’s more of a hobby right now,” he said.
I pretended to be searching for someone while considering my approach. Academic life and entry-level jobs don’t prepare you for the real world. They don’t teach you how to hobnob with Chicago’s elite or convince the daughter of a rich real estate dude slash fence to hire you to plan her wedding. They teach you about late nights and deadlines, partying until dawn, and writing exams when you’re hungover. They teach you about staving off boredom when you’re inputting endless streams of data into spreadsheets and how to calculate the number of seconds before lunch. I needed help.
Help came in the form of Simone, who must have seen me standing alone.
“I’ve given out the rest of your cards,” she said, joining me at the edge of the dance floor. “Do you have more?”
“Just a few.” I lifted my chin toward the Angelinis. “I was hoping to give one to them. I heard their daughter is looking for a wedding planner.”
“You don’t want that gig.” She sipped her drink, something pink and fruity with a cherry on the bottom. “She puts the zilla in bridezilla. She started planning her wedding two years ago and they’ve been through all the top event planners in the city. No one wants to work with her.”
“I grew up with three brothers,” I said. “I’m up for the challenge.”
Her face brightened. “I’ve never had a chance to speak to the Angelinis. They aren’t in my circle. How exciting. Moira is going to die. Dead. It will kill her that she wasn’t here.”
I didn’t know who Moira was, but I sent her a silent thank-you for not showing up so Simone could be my guide. Without a moment of hesitation, she walked up to the group and started a round of introductions. She knew the CEO and his wife, and within moments I was shaking Bella’s hand.
I guessed Bella to be around twenty-five years old. Up close, she looked like she’d just stepped off the runway in Milan. Tall and willowy with long dark hair that reached her waist, and wearing a simple white dress, she looked out of place among the middle-aged mavens in their ostentatious sequined bodycon gowns.
“Simi is new to the gala circuit,” Simone said. “I’ve been introducing her around. She’s a wedding planner. One of the best. I’ve recommended her to just about everyone.”
“Thank you, dahling.” I offered a card to Bella. “Simply Elegant Events. We’re all about effortlessness and authenticity. Whether it’s an iconic twenties-style ballroom in a historic hotel, a rustic barn on the Apple River, a romantic fairy-tale hideaway in a reclaimed courtyard, an enchanting tropical paradise in the heart of the city, or a beautiful lakeside garden, we help clients find the most talented vendors to bring their visions to life.” I’d never been to any of those places, but I’d trawled the Internet for a marketing pitch that I thought sounded pretty good.