In quiet moments, she’d wondered if he was the reason she chose to date flighty, flaky types. She could never have Damian, so she went for the opposite—the loose cannons and the jokers. The guys who would never tempt her into falling in love.

“Let me revise that,” Imogen said, narrowing her eyes. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Lainey admitted. Her eyes snagged on the empty doorway where Damian had exited a few minutes ago.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” Imogen asked, tracking Lainey’s gaze. “Not a good idea.”

“Please, Immie,” she said. “He won’t know it’s me. I’ll keep my mask on and I’ll get out of there if things go bad.”

“I thought you were only trying to wind Corinna up.” Her friend gripped her drink, her hand hovering in midair as though she’d forgotten about it. “Were you serious about him this whole time?”

“I was,” she admitted. “But he never treated me as anything more than a little sister type. Please. This might be my only chance. Once I’m gone...that’s it.”

After a moment, Imogen threw her hands in the air. “Fine. But I will not take sides if this blows up.”

Lainey bit her lip, trying to trap the excitement inside her. One night to see if her fantasies could come true. Then she’d move on and pretend it never happened.

CHAPTER TWO

DAMIAN’S WEEK HAD started bad and ended in a steaming pile of crap. Seeing Lainey over the weekend had distracted him with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts, which made him guilty and snappy. He was like Snow White’s rejected eighth dwarf.

Distraction he could handle. Failure, on the other hand...that was not tolerable.

“How’d the meeting go?” Aaron reached for his gin and tonic. They’d arranged to meet at their usual place, an older bar that was no longer trendy, which therefore meant you could get decent service. Plus, with the Carmina Ball happening tomorrow night, Damian was sure he’d need to store up all his energy. Parties weren’t really his thing, but getting an invite was akin to being accepted by people who mattered. And while everyone would be in masquerade dress, he’d been told a lot of business was conducted if you knew the right people and asked the right questions.

It all sounded a little secret society to him.

He grunted. “Don’t ask.”

“That good, huh?”

Damian tossed back his drink, trying to drown the sick feeling in his stomach. Tonight’s meeting was supposed to have been the start of a new era for his management consulting business. Another rung climbed toward the shining carrot dangling a hairbreadth out of reach. Validation. Retribution.

Instead he’d gotten a big fat face-to-face rejection. In under five minutes, which was salt in the wound. Not that Damian had ever been frightened of the word no. People had knocked him back left, right and centre when he’d first struck out on his own. But this client was different.

This client was personal.

“He said he didn’t want to have his family-friendly image associated with someone like me. Like I’m a fucking social pariah. It was one reality show, for Chrissakes.”

He regretted going on Australia’s Most Eligible more than any other cock-up he’d ever made in his career. He hadn’t been looking for love, like the show proclaimed—none of the contestants were. They wanted publicity. Name recognition. At the time, his PR person had assured him it would bring his fledgling Melbourne-based business to a national level...and it had. Damian had come across well on-screen, and his business had seen a hearty boost in attention after the show aired.

But mostly it was small stuff. And Damian wasn’t happy with bread crumbs—he wanted the whole damn loaf.

Only hard work had allowed him to take his business to the next level. He’d put in long hours and hustled to get clients. Now he was operating at a level most people could only aspire to, but his reality TV show days still hung around like a bad smell.

“And the damn thing is scripted. They turn you into a character—everyone knows that.” Damian shook his head. “But he said people who used ‘cheap tricks’ to get ahead were not the kind of people he wants to do business with. Oh, and apparently those kinds of shows are the reason our society is falling to pieces. Because nobody has ‘good, old-fashioned values’ anymore.”

“He sounds like a dick. Anyway, you always land on your feet,” Aaron replied with a shrug. “You’ll get another client.”

“Of course I will. But I want this one.” He turned the empty whisky glass over in his hands. “I just need to figure out how to look more family friendly.”

“You?” Aaron laughed. “No offence, mate, but you’re not exactly the family-friendly type.”

Irritation prickled under Damian’s skin. He knew that. Getting divorced six months before he turned thirty had put a sour taste in his mouth when it came to families. And relationships. Which meant he dated with an immovable expiry. It worked for him, kept things mess-free, but after his TV stint, more people took notice of his dating habits. Potential clients included.

“What company is it?” Aaron asked.

“McPartlin & Co.”

The company had started out with a single restaurant and now owned seven fine dining establishments across the country, plus another recently launched in New Zealand. The owner had also signed a lucrative deal with Coles supermarkets. They even had plans for expansion into Singapore, Hong Kong and Dubai, all within the next five years.

But the owner of the company was notoriously uptight and traditional. Hell, he’d fired one of the best chefs in the world for swearing in the kitchen, because “foul language” shouldn’t be tolerated. Given it wasn’t unusual for chefs to have a colourful vernacular, the news had made headlines.

“Jerry McPartlin’s company.” Realisation seeped into Aaron’s features. “Your old boss’s client?”

“That would be the one.”

“Okay, buddy. You need to take a breath and think about this.” Aaron put his drink down and planted a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I know you’re pissed about what happened, but—”

“He was screwing my wife, Aaron.”

That was what this was about. Revenge. The McPartlin & Co. deal had launched Ben’s boutique consulting firm into the big leagues. They were his flagship client.

And Damian was going to do everything in his power to take the business from him, the way Ben had taken something precious from Damian.

The memory made red flash before his eyes like a matador’s cape. “Then he had the audacity to tell me I’d never make it. That I’d never even come close to playing at his level.”

“He’s a prick, that’s a fact well established.” Aaron shook his head. “But you need to let it go. It was four years ago. It’s not healthy to hang on to this shit for so long.”

“Are you done, Oprah?”

“Sticks and stones, mate. I’m only saying this because you’re like a brother to me.” He sighed. “Have a few drinks, find a woman and forget about Ben. Forget about Jenny while you’re at it. They’re not worth the energy.”

Aaron was the only person outside his family who knew what’d happened with his divorce and his abrupt departure from Ben’s firm. Trust wasn’t something Damian had in large supply, especially these days, but he’d put his life in Aaron’s hands if the situation called for it.

However, the guy had married his teenage sweetheart and lived a life of sunshine and roses. He didn’t understand Damian’s need to settle the score.

“Having a few drinks and finding a woman is exactly why McPartlin & Co. thinks I’m wrong for them. I need a change of image.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Maybe I should get engaged. That’ll make me look like family material.” Damian drummed his fingers on the bar, his mind whirring. Searching for a solution. “I could be the guy who finally settled down for the right woman.”

Aaron looked at him like he was crazy. “And who would you get engaged to?”

“Someone I don’t care about.” In other words, someone who wouldn’t be able to screw him over.

* * *

“I’d always assumed if I was going to be in a barn naked, there’d at least be a sexy cowboy involved.” Lainey shimmied on the spot, pulling the dress over her hips. It was a touch too tight, but it was a loaner, so she’d have to make do.

“Are you saying I’m not good enough for a roll in the hay?” Imogen grinned. “Now, quit complaining and zip me up.”

Both dresses had come from a friend of Imogen’s who owned a boutique in Malvern. The sizing options for borrowed dresses had been limited. But since Lainey couldn’t afford to shell out a few thousand dollars for a fancy dress, she had to suck in her stomach and avoid eating. One, because the boning in the bodice wouldn’t allow for any expansion, and two, because the dresses could not get dirty under any circumstances.

And yet they were changing in a stable. Go figure.

Lainey reached for the zip at Imogen’s back and tugged. It stuck at the halfway point for a moment, then slid up. It was a snug fit, but it would do.

“How do I look?” she asked.

Imogen’s dress was all black lace and vampy satin—a far cry from her usually sedate approach to fashion. Her jewelled mask hid most of her face, and with a plummy stain coating her usually bare lips, Imogen was transformed.

“Incredible.”

“And you...” Imogen squealed. “That hair makes you look like a totally new person.”

Lainey had spent years trying to get her naturally dark blond hair to the perfect shade of Gwen Stefani platinum. But earlier that week she’d thrown years of careful bleaching and maintenance down the drain to turn herself into a fiery redhead.

The shade was a vibrant ruby colour that made her fair skin seem even more porcelain. It also warmed up her hazel eyes and gave her total Little Mermaid vibes. So much that she was starting to wonder why she’d never been a redhead before.

Imogen reached up to adjust the glittering fabric on Lainey’s dress. “You’re going to cause trouble for every man in that ballroom.”

The skimpy straps and plunging neckline left no room for a bra. And there was a slit up the side of the twinkling silver skirt, which made her feel all kinds of exposed. But that was exactly why she’d picked it. If she was going to do something stupid and reckless, then she was damn well going to look hot while she did it.

“One wrong move and I’m going to flash my boobs,” she said with a rueful grin. “Chances are Damian will totally ignore me and I’ll end up scandalising Melbourne’s society crowd.”

“At least you’re here for a positive reason,” Imogen said. She sounded stressed, though it was hard to tell with the mask covering her face.

“Everything will work out okay. You’ve thought this plan through. You’re looking after your sister,” Lainey said. “But you’re not doing anything wrong.”

Imogen nodded. “Exactly. I just want to get evidence that he’s cheating.”

“Wouldn’t you’d rather find out he’s not cheating?” Lainey raised a brow.

Imogen pressed her lips into a flat line. “Don’t judge my plans and I won’t judge yours, okay?”

“Fair enough.” Lainey held her hands up. “I solemnly swear not to mention it again.”

“Good.” Imogen nodded and scooped up the uniforms they’d worn to sneak into the venue with the owner of the catering company. “We can leave these here and Marie will pick them up later.”

Lainey nodded. “What’s she getting out of this, by the way?”

“I’m putting her on the preferred suppliers list at work,” Imogen said. “We use caterers all the time, so it would be a big chunk of business for her. We’re supposed to put all new suppliers through a panel vetting process, but I just told my boss we should use her and he said okay.”

“Privilege of being the CEO’s right-hand lady?”

“Exactly, and I know she’s amazing at her job so I don’t feel too bad about doing it. You know I don’t normally bend the rules, but I figure she’s going out on a limb for me...” Guilt flickered across Imogen’s expression, but she quickly refocused. “Anyway, let’s get this show on the road.”

“Knock ’em dead.” Lainey gave Imogen’s hands a squeeze and then hung back while her friend headed along the building toward the side entrance.

Imogen paused at the corner, where a path curved through the garden, and peeked around. She held up her hem, a handful of black lace and satin exposing some strappy silver sandals with a sensible midheight heel. Lainey smiled. So there was a hint of the real Imogen under her costume.

A second later, Imogen flashed Lainey a thumbs-up. And then she was gone. The plan was for Lainey to count to thirty and then make her way down the same path.

Digging into her clutch, she pulled out a round compact mirror. Unlike the sleek dress, fancy shoes and glamorous mask, the compact was rough around the edges. Well loved. The gold clasp was tarnished and the embroidered rose on the lid had seen better days. But tonight it was her talisman. The compact had belonged to Lainey’s grandmother, a woman who’d done fearless things in the name of love. Like giving up marriage to a wealthy aristocrat and forgoing a life of privilege, causing her family to cut her off and cast her out. She’d given it all up for him—her comfort, her security, her family.

She would understand why Lainey was doing something outrageous to have one night with the guy of her dreams.

“One cat dog, two cat dog, three cat dog,” Lainey murmured, forcing herself not to speed through her count using the technique her mother had taught her when she was little. “Four cat dog, five cat dog...”

Around twenty cat dogs, she couldn’t take it anymore. Touching her fingertips to the black lace mask, she stifled a nervous giggle. Glimmering beads brushed her cheeks every time she moved her head. Combined with the scandalous dress, it made her feel fiercely powerful. Sexy in a way she hadn’t ever experienced.

Lainey’s high heels made clicking sounds against the stone path. As she turned the corner, a courtyard opened in front of her. The area was large, surrounded by standard white roses and gardenia trees. The scent was intoxicating. Two large glass doors opened to the ballroom, and music spilled out into the air. Lainey’s stomach fluttered.

A waiter holding a tray of wineglasses passed by, and she flagged him down. She’d seen him earlier when they’d entered with the catering assistants. But his eyes swept over her without a hint of recognition.

Phew.

Lainey headed toward the open doors. She wanted to get the lay of the land—see how many people were inside and figure out whether it would be hard to find Damian. The Carmina Ball was in full swing.

Sucking in a breath so big it caused the boning in her dress to dig into her ribs, Lainey stepped into the ballroom. It was like something out of a movie—mysterious masked men in tuxedos, women in incredible gowns, the glittering chandeliers that looked as though they belonged in the castle from Beauty and the Beast. It was all her fairy-tale romance-movie dreams come to life.

Was it even real?

She brought her wineglass to her lips, revelling in the flutter of her heart against her rib cage. Yes, it was real. And tonight, she was going to bring her longest-held fantasy to life.

CHAPTER THREE

DAMIAN DIDN’T MIND wearing a suit. Hell, he didn’t even mind wearing a tux. But being forced to look like a cross between the Phantom of the Opera and an Eyes Wide Shut reject was pushing the limits.

The ballroom of Patterson House stretched out before him, resplendent with gold detailing. The building had been erected in the late 1800s, but the ballroom had been remodelled in the ’30s. It was a fitting location for such an event—heaving with history and old money, blue blood to the very core. The women were dressed in spectacular ballgowns and the men in tuxedos. Everyone wore a mask. Some were simple scraps of lace or filigree, leaving most of the face bare and recognisable. Others were more ornate, heavily beaded and elaborately designed, a feature of a person’s outfit rather than an afterthought.

He tugged at his own black leather mask. It had been designed to resemble a crow, and included sculpted satin feathers. Apparently, it made him look mysterious. That’s what he got for letting Aaron’s wife pick out a mask for him. But he’d made sure to ask her for one that only covered half his face. He didn’t see the point of attending without letting people know he was here, especially since an invite to the Carmina Ball was supposed to be life changing—acceptance from the people who “mattered.” A chance to get in with Melbourne’s power players.

But the invite had come with strings attached...to the tune of five thousand dollars for entry and expected participation in the night’s charitable events. Not that Damian had an issue donating to charity, of course. But he’d told his folks a little white lie about coming tonight so they didn’t worry he was frittering away his recently acquired wealth.

“Don’t you look handsome,” Jessie, Aaron’s wife, said as she placed a hand on his arm. “I knew you’d be a good addition to this circle.”

“Why, because you wanted some eye candy?” Damian smirked when she slapped her palm lightly against his bicep.

“Watch it,” Aaron said, sliding an arm around her waist. “You don’t need to worry about me getting jealous, but Jessie plots revenge in the way only a woman can. Hell hath no fury like a grammar girl scorned.”

Unlike Damian, both Aaron and Jessie had grown up as part of the elite, with expensive private school educations and safety nets padded with zeros. But regardless of their privilege, both were incredibly hardworking people. He’d met Aaron when they were in their early twenties as graduates at a big four consulting firm, doing grunt work and jumping every time a partner made eye contact. They’d learned the ropes together, climbing the corporate ladder in tandem until Damian left to work at Ben’s firm, and he and Aaron had maintained a valuable friendship ever since.

And it was because of Aaron and Jessie that he was here tonight, so he really should try to have fun.

“No denial, huh?” Damian said, nudging her with his elbow.

Jessie laughed. “They wouldn’t have put you on TV if you didn’t look the part.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Aaron muttered. “I had to find an extra ticket so his ego could attend tonight, too.”

Damian chuckled and scanned the room. “So, give me the lowdown. Who’s who around here?”

“That’s Arthur Wentworth and his sons, Parker and Ian,” Jessie said. “They own the Wentworth Group. Department stores, luxury vehicles, couture fashion—you name it.”

“They’re one of my clients,” Aaron added. “Don’t even think about poaching them.”

Damian smiled. Aaron had worked his way up to partner at that firm where they’d started their careers. Some days Damian wondered what might’ve been if he’d stayed there, too, instead of following Ben. Would he still have his positive attitude...or his wife?

“I won’t dip my hand in the cookie jar, I promise,” he drawled.

“Who else would be of interest?” Jessie clucked her tongue. “The Allbrook family is here—they own a huge architecture firm that does a lot of high-end residential towers in the city. We’ve got judges, politicians, CEOs, barristers, even a few celebrities. I heard a rumour that Cate Blanchett might be coming.”

“Excellent. I’ll ask for her autograph,” Damian said with a straight face.

Jessie looked horrified for a moment before she realised he was joking. “Damian, please.”

“Your South Yarra is showing,” he said. “You might want to cover that up.”

“Not here.” Aaron chuckled. “It’s practically a requirement for entry.”

Jessie rolled her eyes and pushed on, pointing out people across the room. “Oh, and my friend Amelia told me the restaurateur Jerry McPartlin is going to be here. I ate at his new place, Gilt, last week. It was absolutely divine.”

Damian’s ears pricked up, ignoring Aaron, who was giving him a stern look. “Really?”

Suddenly, the evening had gotten a whole lot more interesting. This would be the perfect opportunity for him to chat with the uptight family man in a social setting and try to figure out exactly what he needed to do to secure the guy’s business.

Did he need a girlfriend? A fiancée? Promise to give up his firstborn? Whatever it was, Damian was ready to sign on the dotted line. Snagging McPartlin & Co. would be the best possible thing he could do, because another big-name client was extra security. Relying only on one or two big fish meant your business balanced on a knife’s edge, and keeping the client happy often overtook the uncomfortable but necessary process of crafting the right solution for them.

The fact was, any big client would help him. But he wanted this one.

Signing McPartlin & Co. would give him the closure he needed to finally shut the door on his past. Or rather, slam it in the faces of those who’d broken his heart.

A while later, Damian stood at the edge of the crowd, watching. He felt like a kid at the zoo, his face pressed against the glass of the reptile enclosure. Everything happening in front of him was foreign. Alien. This wasn’t his world...yet.

Sure, he was rich by most people’s standards. He lived in a luxury hotel that cost more per week than what he’d spent on his first car. But that would be nothing to these people.

And he knew that an evening like this could make or break him. Get the right connections and his business would soar. Piss off the wrong person and...well, he could easily be back to doing grunt work for some asshole.

Damian clenched his fists and let the fantasy of punching his ex-boss in the face roll through him like a wave. The betrayal was no less raw today than it had been four years ago when he’d come back to the office late one night to pick up his laptop and found his wife spread-eagled on Ben’s desk.

The Carmina Ball was the key to it all. To revenge. To closure.

If only he could get close to Jerry McPartlin.

The man stood a few metres away, surrounded by a group of women who wore dresses so large they created a barrier around him. And it looked like he was loving the attention, too. Damian could wait. Patience and determination were two of his greatest strengths, and he would find the perfect moment to strike. Before the night was out, he would have a plan.

“I wasn’t expecting to find such good company playing wallflower,” a silky voice said.

A woman sidled up to him, her shimmering mask of white lace studded with gems that winked at him. Black hair flowed over one shoulder in stark contrast to a floor-length white ballgown. Her full lips were painted red and they curved into an inviting smile.

“That depends. What kind of company are you looking for?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Damian.”

“Hannah,” the woman replied. “You have a familiar face.”

Ugh. He could almost guarantee what was coming next, the one sentence that made him cringe every bloody time.

You’re that guy from Australia’s Most Eligible.

But instead she cocked her head, the gems on her mask shimmering, and said nothing.

He was about to respond when a blur of red stole the words from his mouth. Moisture soaked through Damian’s dress shirt and the sound of glass shattering pierced the subtle din of the ballroom. He’d been hit.

“Oh my God.” A woman with blazing-red hair reached out to touch his chest, her fingertips sending fire through his veins. “I am so sorry.”

Damian looked down. Wine streaked his chest, a slash of angry red against the crisp white cotton. The broken glass glittered in a pool of liquid on the floor, its stem rolling across the parquet.

“You got me good.” He brushed his hands over his chest in a futile attempt to clean himself up.

“Excuse me.” The redhead waved to get the attention of a waiter, but there was already a small army descending to clean up the mess.

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