The Millionaire's Masquerade (Erotic Romance Novella) by Amelia Calhan Page B
Authors: Amelia Calhan
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you has taught me a lot about hard work and running a successful business."
He quirked an eyebrow, and a smile played on his lips. "Is that so?"
"Oh, God, that's not what I meant. I meant—"
Aidan chuckled. "Don't worry yourself. I knew what you meant."
He leaned closer; his grinning lips showing off his perfect teeth, and the scent of his ever-familiar woodsy cologne intoxicated her until there was no air left in her lungs.
"If my replacement needs help, call me." She lifted her pen holder with great care and placed it inside her box of belongings.
"I'm thinking she'll be grand. Sure you trained her, didn't you."
Meg sighed heavily, resigned to Aidan not declaring his undying love for her. "But
really
, if you need anything,
anything
at all. You have my number."
"I think we'll be fine." A muscle in his shadowed jaw twitched.
She mentally counted how many blue pens she was taking with her—ten. "I guess I'll see you around."
"I suppose you will. I'm heading out for my meetings. Watch yourself, Meghan." He stood, giving her a faint smile before walking away.
She pressed her cheek onto the cold desk and watched his sweet ass walk out of the office, and out of her life. When he was halfway down the hallway, a garnet-colored envelope fluttered from the jacket still draped over his arm and landed on the floor. He didn't stop to pick it up.
"Mr. Forrester," she called, scurrying after him, but by the time she made it to the envelope, the elevator doors had closed.
She scooped up the envelope. Silver wax pressed with the initial
M
sealed the opening. Meg turned it around in her hand and ran back to her desk. She dialed Aidan's cell, but after ten rings, it went to voicemail.
In the past, she'd opened every piece of mail he'd received, including the vomit-inducing valentine's cards from his girl-of-the-month. She wasn't sure if she should open this one. It was different. Expensive.
What the hell.
She ran her fingers under the flap, and snapped the seal. The aroma of cinnamon and sandalwood drifted upward, and a gold-trimmed square of white vellum paper floated onto her desk. She lifted the paper, then brushed her fingers over the swashed and swirled silver font, which read,
Masquerade, December 23 rd , 7 p.m.
, with a series of numbers printed beneath it. Transfixed, Meg turned the card repeatedly, searching for more information.
"What'cha got there?" Ellory called from her desk.
"Not sure," Meg answered slowly. "An invitation for something that's happening tomorrow. Aidan dropped it." She stuffed everything back inside the envelope. "I'll put it on his desk. I probably shouldn't have opened it."
Ellory sauntered over to Meg's desk, snatched the envelope from her fingers, and pulled out the contents with a grin. "You got invited."
"To what? You know what it's for?" Meg asked, snatching it back.
"You mean you don't know?"
"No, and if you don't tell me, I'm going to kill you."
Ellory gave a throaty laugh. "It's an invitation to a pop-up party."
"A what now?"
"A very exclusive and very secretive club that pops up somewhere different at certain times during the year, and you, my dear, just got invited."
A surge of longing sent Meg's heart soaring to the stars, but there was no point getting her hopes up. She was invited nowhere. "Aidan was the one invited, not me. How do you know so much about it anyway?"
"Honey,
you
got invited. Your initial sealed the flap. I should know because I went to one last year as Harrison Matthews' guest."
"Harrison Matthews as in our number one client?"
"The very same."
Meg laughed. "Tell me, Ms. Femme Fatale, what do the numbers beneath the date mean?"
"Coordinates to where the party's being held. Google them."
Meg tapped the numbers into the search engine. "It's in Brooklyn." She pulled up the satellite view. "An abandoned sugar refinery that looks like it needs demolished."
"You can bet your ass that the inside is anything but abandoned. Promise me you'll keep an open mind
He quirked an eyebrow, and a smile played on his lips. "Is that so?"
"Oh, God, that's not what I meant. I meant—"
Aidan chuckled. "Don't worry yourself. I knew what you meant."
He leaned closer; his grinning lips showing off his perfect teeth, and the scent of his ever-familiar woodsy cologne intoxicated her until there was no air left in her lungs.
"If my replacement needs help, call me." She lifted her pen holder with great care and placed it inside her box of belongings.
"I'm thinking she'll be grand. Sure you trained her, didn't you."
Meg sighed heavily, resigned to Aidan not declaring his undying love for her. "But
really
, if you need anything,
anything
at all. You have my number."
"I think we'll be fine." A muscle in his shadowed jaw twitched.
She mentally counted how many blue pens she was taking with her—ten. "I guess I'll see you around."
"I suppose you will. I'm heading out for my meetings. Watch yourself, Meghan." He stood, giving her a faint smile before walking away.
She pressed her cheek onto the cold desk and watched his sweet ass walk out of the office, and out of her life. When he was halfway down the hallway, a garnet-colored envelope fluttered from the jacket still draped over his arm and landed on the floor. He didn't stop to pick it up.
"Mr. Forrester," she called, scurrying after him, but by the time she made it to the envelope, the elevator doors had closed.
She scooped up the envelope. Silver wax pressed with the initial
M
sealed the opening. Meg turned it around in her hand and ran back to her desk. She dialed Aidan's cell, but after ten rings, it went to voicemail.
In the past, she'd opened every piece of mail he'd received, including the vomit-inducing valentine's cards from his girl-of-the-month. She wasn't sure if she should open this one. It was different. Expensive.
What the hell.
She ran her fingers under the flap, and snapped the seal. The aroma of cinnamon and sandalwood drifted upward, and a gold-trimmed square of white vellum paper floated onto her desk. She lifted the paper, then brushed her fingers over the swashed and swirled silver font, which read,
Masquerade, December 23 rd , 7 p.m.
, with a series of numbers printed beneath it. Transfixed, Meg turned the card repeatedly, searching for more information.
"What'cha got there?" Ellory called from her desk.
"Not sure," Meg answered slowly. "An invitation for something that's happening tomorrow. Aidan dropped it." She stuffed everything back inside the envelope. "I'll put it on his desk. I probably shouldn't have opened it."
Ellory sauntered over to Meg's desk, snatched the envelope from her fingers, and pulled out the contents with a grin. "You got invited."
"To what? You know what it's for?" Meg asked, snatching it back.
"You mean you don't know?"
"No, and if you don't tell me, I'm going to kill you."
Ellory gave a throaty laugh. "It's an invitation to a pop-up party."
"A what now?"
"A very exclusive and very secretive club that pops up somewhere different at certain times during the year, and you, my dear, just got invited."
A surge of longing sent Meg's heart soaring to the stars, but there was no point getting her hopes up. She was invited nowhere. "Aidan was the one invited, not me. How do you know so much about it anyway?"
"Honey,
you
got invited. Your initial sealed the flap. I should know because I went to one last year as Harrison Matthews' guest."
"Harrison Matthews as in our number one client?"
"The very same."
Meg laughed. "Tell me, Ms. Femme Fatale, what do the numbers beneath the date mean?"
"Coordinates to where the party's being held. Google them."
Meg tapped the numbers into the search engine. "It's in Brooklyn." She pulled up the satellite view. "An abandoned sugar refinery that looks like it needs demolished."
"You can bet your ass that the inside is anything but abandoned. Promise me you'll keep an open mind
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