Shadow Billionaire by Lucee Lovett Page A

through school, and other social functions,
in fact, none of the invitees selected impressed her much.
    Enfranchised
men seemed to think the answer to everything included golf, polo
and possibly a day at the races. Should she dare add shooting to
the mix, either way none of which she found particularly
stimulating. Men with money are perfumed with expensive cologne,
stinking of arrogance. Give her soccer, football or ice hockey,
real men sports. Where men smelt the way they're supposed to smell,
musky, dripping in virility
    On cue, her
stomach gave a loud gurgle, which drew the glares of both her
mother and Rita. Sasha thought better of complaining about being
hungry, despite the fact she'd last eaten hours ago, her mother
would have a fit if anything past her lips before the ball,
considering she'd already ‘gained an inch’.
    The large group
of convening attendants continued to fuss over her hair and makeup,
Sasha peeked into the mirror to try and understand exactly what
disappointed them so much. Nowhere near as model-thin like her
mother or the majority of her friends, neither did she consider
herself overweight. In fact, she'd overheard many of her peers at
Berkeley mentioning (albeit lewdly), her figure had been voted the
embodiment of the song “Brick House”.
    Indeed, with a
small waist, curvaceous hips, and a more than ample bosom.
    Sasha was quite
fond of her figure. What she most liked, however, were her deep
blue eyes she'd inherited from her long dead grandmother. Sasha
remembered with fondness how her grandmother had been one of the
only women she'd known who hadn’t had a word to say about her
weight. Sophie Trenton thought her granddaughter the most beautiful
girl alive, Sasha still found herself missing her at times like
this.
    “Angel, don't
slouch. An awful habit, and terrible for your posture.” Sasha
straightened, winced as two young maids began to take combs and
brushes to her voluminous auburn locks. In an attempt to tame them
into submission, in anticipation of the evening to come. Christ,
her mother was like some sort of entitled ninja. You never knew if
she was paying attention or not.
    Sasha repressed
a groan as the reality of the night's plans hit her for what must
have been the umpteenth time. At twenty-five, her mother decided
the time had come to start looking for a suitable husband.
    All because she
feared Sasha may take after her when the time came for her to
procreate.
    Eleanor had
said she wanted to be of an age where she'd be able to enjoy her
grandchildren when they arrived.
    Her mother
didn't want history to repeat itself.
    She had been
younger than Sasha when she married Malcolm at the age of
twenty-two. Still, she didn't get pregnant until her thirties.
Eleanor had lived with the fear, Malcolm would leave her for a
younger woman, someone more capable of giving him the children he
wanted. Sasha’s conception had been a welcome distraction to a
failing marriage. Her birth a reconciliation.
    This fear of
her past experience resonated in her, Eleanor's answer; to plan the
elaborate masked ball, soon to take place.
    Despite being
brought up in an indulgent atmosphere, Sasha hadn't even been aware
they still had masked balls. Such an old fashion concept didn't
bode well, she thought it an unnecessary medieval way to meet
people, but didn't dare mention her opinion on this to her mother.
Once she wanted something, Eleanor Trenton could not be dissuaded
until satisfied.
    Nevertheless,
an unfortunate for Sasha, her current unshakable project involved
Sasha's happiness as well, somehow Sasha didn't think her mother
invested the same level of importance to her happiness as she
did.
    If it were up
to Sasha, she'd go about her life content to be single until
meeting the right man. He'd be smart, charming, funny, articulate,
and most of all, he wouldn't be moneyed. Why the hell would she
need him to be rich? She was rich enough for five husbands.
    Eleanor
believed the best way to find a