The Pretend Girlfriend (A Billionaire Love Story #1)(6)

"Posh," Gwen said, "Who is this guy, anyway?"

"The guy who owns the condo? Ben something. Astor? Yeah, that's it."

"And he invited you?"

"No, it was someone else. What's with the third degree? It's just a party; enjoy yourself! I know how hard that is for you, but just make the effort."

The elevator ran so smooth and silently that Gwen hadn't noticed it until the car stopped, the music muting while the doors chimed. "Do you know which apartment it is?" she said.

She didn't need to ask that question. The elevator doors opened directly into the most opulent room she'd ever personally visited. Marble everywhere, big paintings on the walls, and an enormous doorway at the far end with a bay window that gave a stunning view of the park. The sky had turned from blue to a bruised purple as evening stole away the daylight.

As soon as they stepped through the threshold, a man in a tuxedo offered them champagne. Still awestruck, Gwen took the glass without saying anything. Beside her, Beatrice started going on about how great the place was, how it probably cost more than she'd see in her whole life, that sort of thing.

This room turned out to be some sort of entrance hall, apparently. Stunning, really, seeing as Gwen knew her whole two-bedroom apartment could fit comfortably within. They followed the sounds of music coming from deeper within this modern day palace, and soon found the rest of the partygoers.


The room had to be about the size of her old high school's gymnasium, at least. Three honest-to-God crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the entire space. It's a ballroom, Gwen realized.

Again, Gwen experienced some culture shock. Many of the men, all in tuxes or other expensive suits, crowded around a bar, while the women on the dance floor wore the latest fashions while shifting their bodies to the beats the DJ off in the corner spun out.

Definitely underdressed, she knew. Her little black dress would have served her well if Beatrice just took her out to a normal club where normal twenty-somethings went, but this place was anything but normal.

Meanwhile, Beatrice eyed the bar hungrily. Gwen didn't know if her interest lay in the alcohol, the men, or both. But suddenly she realized just how bad an idea this all was. There were probably bottles of champagne in that bar worth more than her debt to Patterson Holdings.

Gwen bit down on her lip, unable to keep her eyes from fixing on that thread on her shoulder. I should have looked more closely! she thought. An overwhelming urge to find the bathroom where she could pluck it out in private took over.

"What do you think of Mr. Handsome over at the corner?" Beatrice said, nodding towards a penguin-suited man sitting at the corner stool sipping from a martini, doing his best Bond impression, "Think he's Mr. My First Number of the Night? Come on."

They're all so pretty, Gwen thought, her eyes glued to the women swaying on the dance floor. Perfect skin, perfect bodies, $100 (or more) hairdos. They probably all had personal trainers and dietitians and all that. The feeling of smallness, of insignificance, welling up inside her reminded her the way she felt sometimes if she looked up at the stars on clear nights, at their incomprehensible vastness and age. Her throat started closing up.

"Gwen? Let's go! Time's a-wasten'!" Beatrice said, trying to tow her along by the arm.

"I'm sorry, I just... I have to find the bathroom," Gwen said, pulling away from Beatrice's grip. She moved so hastily that she stumbled her first step, but managed to keep it from turning into a full-on fall.

Picking one of the doorways exiting the ballroom at random, she found herself in a library, the bookcases towering up towards the ceiling. Continuing on, her pulse and breathing coming more under control the farther away she got, she ended up in what she could only guess was a billiards room, judging by the green-carpeted tables occupying the space. There was another bar in the corner.

She wouldn't have noticed the man sitting at the bar if he hadn't turned around. He looked just as startled to see her as she did to see him.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry. I was just looking for the restroom," Gwen said.

This guy seemed different, somehow. Sure, he wore a tux just like the rest of them, and his well-defined and handsome face with its high cheekbones and strong jaw spoke to good breeding, but Gwen couldn't quite figure it out. He looked around her age, early to mid twenties, but who could be sure?

"See that door there beside the bar?" he gestured.

She did. "Thanks."

Gwen pushed the door open, then locked it behind her. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the paneling. She went up to the sink, meaning to splash her face with some cold water, but stopped. It would definitely ruin her makeup. If she could hardly show her face now, how could she if she washed everything off?

So she settled for just resting for a few moments, looking herself in the eyes in the mirror, trying to find some semblance of self-confidence.

Back out in the billiards room, the handsome man watched her from his seat at the bar. Gwen couldn't quite bring herself to go back out to the party yet, so she stood nervously beside the billiards table closest to the door into that huge library.

"Not the partying type?" he asked.

"Not really. You aren't either, I guess?"

He left his drink at the bar when he came over and leaned against the billiards table, his hands in his pockets. This close, she saw her earlier assessment was right: he was a handsome man. And here, too, she saw the difference she'd noted earlier. A reserve rested behind his eyes, something other people might even call a cold aloofness.