ear. I nearly leap out of my skin, whirling to face the suave-looking gentleman who emerges from the shadows. His face is handsome, striking, with warm, tan skin and dark brows. His mask is no more than a thin black ribbon, the perfect setting for his black eyes.
“W-what?” I stutter.
“The constellations.” Without looking away, he sweeps a hand at the ceiling. I look up and my mouth drops open. The entire ceiling is swathed in dark blue fabric dotted with tiny lights meant to resemble stars. “A clever use of fairy lights.”
He studies the ceiling, his profile limned in shadow. He’s prettier than I am. Most of the men here are.
I steady myself. I belong here, just the same as him. Even if I don’t feel like it. “It’s beautiful.”
“Worth the thousand dollar ticket?” He raises a brow.
I narrow my eyes. “I know you.” The name flashes in my memory. “Armand!” I’ve met the flashy spa magnate several times at galas like these. He’s close friends with the Ubelis. Stylish, charming, and usually up to mischief of some sort or other if the rumors can be believed.
“The one and only.” He bows.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” I blurt, then wince, wishing I could control my mouth. But he only laughs.
“Thank you, darling. You know how to flatter a guy.”
“It’s true.” He looks the same as he always has, other than a touch of grey at his temples. “Not everyone can pull off a jacket like that.”
“Shall I return the favor? Not everyone can pull off a…shall we call it a dress? like that. Now who or what are you supposed to be?” He pulls out a monocle and peers through it, studying me like a strange bug under a magnifying glass. “Green fabric with brown at the edges. And is that…bark on your bodice?”
I stifle a groan. “I’m Daphne of the myth. She turned into a laurel tree.”
“Hmm,” Armand murmurs.
“I was trying to be clever,” I mumble.
Two beautiful women traipse past us, one blonde, one brunette. Both dressed in togas that hug their butts and plunge between their breasts. Sexy Aphrodite and Slutty Athena. The blonde flutters her fingers at Armand. He smiles but gives a small shake of his head, and she turns away with a pout.
Rachel was right. Dressing like a tree was a mistake. I hold my chin up, pretending I don’t care.
“You are clever, darling.” Unbelievably, Armand turns back to me. I wrack my brain for what I know about him. Owner of a chain of spas, a top fashion line, and hair and skin treatment products shipped all over the world. “I would expect nothing less from you…Dr. Laurel.” He tweaks my leafy crown of laurels.
“Oh, call me Daphne. Dr. Laurel is my father.”
“Daphne.” He inclines his head. “How is your father?”
“Much better, thank you,” I repeat the company line. His stroke is common knowledge, widely reported, much to the board’s dismay.
“And you, the youngest CEO in New Olympus.” Armand is back to studying me with his monocle. “Perhaps ever.”
“Not quite. Adam Archer claimed that title when he took over Archer Industries for his father.”
“But that was years ago. Now you ascend to the throne. I wonder if Adam will be jealous.”
“Not of me.” I blush.
“Mmmm,” Armand purrs, tucking the monocle away. “I think you underestimate yourself.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? Young, beautiful, successful.”
“Acting like a wallflower. Which is fitting, because I’m dressed as shrubbery.” I spread my hands to present my sartorial faux pas.
Armand’s laugh lights tingles up and down my spine. I don’t mind his flirting—I know I’m not his type—but he certainly is handsome.
“We can’t have that, beautiful Daphne. Come.” He takes my hand and draws me away from the column. My options are to protest and make a scene, or follow.
I choose to follow. “Where are you taking me?” My stomach rumbles. I put a hand over it, mortified.
Armand pauses. “Perhaps I should get you something from the buffet?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. I’m afraid I’ll spill something on myself. I get clumsy when I’m nervous.” Then I slam my mouth shut. Argh, must engage brain before talking! This is why I shouldn’t socialize.
But Armand only chuckles. “Very well.” He draws me into his embrace. “Do you dance?”
“Not really.” My limbs are wooden.
“Sway with me then.” His eyes mesmerize me, and I grow supple in his arms. “That’s it.”
At one end of the ballroom, a full piece orchestra plays a jazzy version of the Sleeping Beauty waltz. Armand leads