Chapter 1
Masquerade pt I
Brinleystaredatherpainted reflection in the rearview mirror once again and pushed out a slow, not helpful breath. She couldn’t believe she was going through with it. But the car was parked, the engine cut, the dress strapped onto her body, and the paint painstakingly applied to her face. There was no backing out. She studied what she could see of her face one more time.
The structure was still visible, of course, but those online tutorials had really paid off. She’d done a great job of applying shadow and contouring in a way that tricked the eye into seeing subtly different sculpting to her cheeks, which would help to disguise her identity. Not that anyone at this purportedly high-society soiree would know her from any other face in a random crowd. Brinley just preferred being able to blend in.
That thought firmly in mind, she picked up the final touch—her carefully decorated mask—and set it over her eyes. The mask rested atop the bridge of her nose and a thin silver string wound around her head, tying at the back to hold it in place. She paused again, examining the way the bedazzled and feather-adorned, silk-soft party mask complimented the special paint on what remained visible of her face. Two layers of obscurity was probably overkill, but it was a masquerade party, and the invitation had specifically said anonymity and masks were a must.
Brinley quickly swept her naturally wavy blonde hair up into the final twist she’d planned, scooped the necessary clip out of the cupholder, and let go. With her hair up in the curly, fancy-ish messy-bun like style, it hid the string holding her mask in place. Somehow, that felt safer. It also felt more freeing. She tilted her head side to side, making sure her hair didn’t shift, fixed the positioning of her rearview mirror, and forced herself from the car. The party had already started. It was best not to make more of a scene than necessary.
I still can’t believe I let either of them talk me into this.
The words played like a mantra in her mind as she walked too stiffly through the private, underground parking area and into the elevator. Where she promptly balked at the unexpected sight of an actual bellman standing in the corner.
“Here for the party, ma’am?” he asked with a smile.
Brinley continued to gape like a moron. She knew she wasn’t well-traveled, but she was still surprised to learn this was even occasionally still a thing.
“Ma’am?”
She clamped her lips shut, embarrassment rushing through her, and nodded sharply. One more step took her fully into the box and she awkwardly put her back to the opposite wall, both hands gripping her clutch.That raise better be so good.It was one thing for the weird, moody girl at the raffle to have pushed the ticket on her—at least that was her job—but for Brinley’s own boss to have been so insistent was entirely another.
Although she certainly wouldn’t have managed such a nice quality dress without his credit card, she supposed. There was that. She would have to be sure not to spill anything on it.
The elevator doors slid open again with a soft ding, assuring her as easily as the wafting music that followed that they’d reached the main floor.
Brinley pulled her lips into a smile and aimed it at the bellman. “Thanks.” She scampered off, nearly forgetting she was wearing three-inch heels, and wobbled for a precarious moment as her ears guided her to the main event. She’d never been to this hotel before, of course. It was well beyond her means and equally above anything her cheapskate employer typically sprang for. But there was no mistaking the direction of the ballroom, where the invitation had specified the party was being held, or the fact that it was an actual for real ballroom.
She almost pinched herself.
Instead, Brinley squared her shoulders and took a beat to extract the invitation from her clutch. It was little more than a laminated index card, on reflective gold paper with shiny, swirling lettering, but the damn thing would probably have paid her utility bill if she’d tried selling it instead of telling her boss about it.Too late now.
A stony-faced man in an impeccable pinstriped suit that strained, just a little, around his biceps stood at the entrance. He held a scanning device in his hand and used his other to motion for her to stop. His face was partially obscured by a Phantom of the Opera style mask that almost looked like an afterthought. “Invitation, ma’am?”
Brinley managed an easier smile and tilted her precious golden ticket at him. “Do you need to search my purse?” She’d chosen the clutch purposefully. Of course her phone was tucked inside, along with several bills of cash, but as per the instructions, she’d brought no identification. That remained in her car.Really taking the anonymity thing seriously.
The man shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he said. He made no effort to pilfer her invitation, either, but rather, lifted the scanner. “Please hold still a moment.” Without waiting for her response, he tapped a button near his thumb and proceeded to sweep the outfacing side over her from head to ankle. He straightened smoothly, stepped to the side, and repeated this motion once before reclaiming his post. “You’re all clear. Enjoy your evening.”
Okay, that’s interesting.“Does that scan for, like, weapons or something?” Brinley asked, batting her eyes carefully as she tucked away her invite.
He inclined his head. “Just a precaution. No weapons allowed.”
He was a real conversationalist, this one. She smiled anyway and thanked him before continuing inside. It wasn’t like she had any interest in smuggling in a gun or anything of the sort. Nor did she believe that every weapon under the sun could be detected by that little handheld device. It hardly mattered. A quick glance around the wide, expansive ballroom and she could tell violence was not at the forefront of the partygoers’ minds.
Bodies in expensive suits and gowns dotted the room, standing off to the side and swaying in the center of the space. More than a few already appeared intoxicated. Masks much more elaborate than Brinley’s home-decorated one adorned the faces she could see. Some even used the old-fashioned type that had to be held up by a stick.
The scene was like something out of a movie, and in that way shockingly surreal.
I really can’t believe I’m doing this…But it was far too late to back out now.
Theoretically she was one of three lucky winners, randomly selected from across the East Coast, trying desperately to blend in amongst this crowd of the flamboyantly wealthy. It wasn’t a party for a cause and paparazzi was not permitted anywhere on the hotel’s premises. This masquerade was entirely for fun. For everyone else.
Brinley tucked her clutch under her arm and surreptitiously fidgeted with the fringe of her hair, swiftly triggering the fancy little switch that activated the camera feature in her earrings. They were only connected to her phone, which would be loaded down with who-knew-how-many photos before she could slip back into her car and disconnect them. But this was the best way she could safely and subtly collect images and mingle at the same time.
“I want to know everything,”her boss had said, speaking with such intensity he was leaning into her space.“What’s the space like? The ambiance? Is it really as magnificent as rumors say? Who actually goes to that kind of thing? How seriously do they take it? What are they wearing? Don’t forget that. The people eat that shit up. Detail the masks or whatever, too. Get designers. And definitely ID any celebrities, politicians, or CEO bigwigs you can.”Her boss believed the people would be both enamored over the entire concept and enraged at yet another frivolous thing that important people with busy jobs were wasting time and money on. Neither reaction mattered to him. What mattered to him was that they read the article with his brand attached to it.
Brinley both understood and didn’t. But she knew what was expected of her, and it wasn’t to stand around like a statue and watch from a distance.
