The Billionaire Bad Boy Secret Baby

When the grumpy assistant to whatever rich jerk owns this crazy house called me to help with an expensive masquerade ball, I really thought about turning it down. But when I saw all the zeroes on the big check Samantha said I'd get at the end, I quickly changed my mind. And that was on top of the party budget they had already set. Overall, I was having a great time, which helps me deal with Samantha's rude behavior a little better.

For the simple reason that she's awful. The woman is the stereotypical snobby blonde jerk. Her hair is very straight, and she always has a sneer on her face. I'm not going to let her touch me, though. I'm past that time in my life, even if she makes me think of all the mean girls in high school. I only need to think about the check I'll be stealing from her well-kept hands by the end of the night, and I'll be fine.

Standing at the mansion's entrance, I tilt my head to study the building, trying to see the place as the masked guests will see it. The doorway is a huge circular area with a giant, glittering chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling, and across from the entrance is a long hallway finished in dark woods and antiques my grandmother would drool over. I can nearly see the multimillion-dollar price tag on everything lining the walls. I can't even imagine what having this much money would be like. I would no longer have to miss out on the guacamole at Chipotle.

But the vintage feel of the mansion is actually great for a masquerade ball. When I found out the party was being held by a rich tech guy with a big wallet and an even bigger reputation, I was a little worried about what I'd have to work with. I've put together parties for tech guys before, so I'm familiar with their lives. It's either completely lavish with over-the-top crazy gadgets and top-of-the-line everything, or totally spare and Spartan. You're lucky if you have chairs sometimes. I've seen guys living with a mattress on the floor and one chair, despite being worth billions.

So during my first tour of this place a couple weeks ago, I wasn't sure what to expect. Fortunately, seeing the real building took my breath away and eased my worries. The outside walls were ivy-covered and imposing, with actual turrets reaching into the sky. A sweeping road circled the front of the house, a perfect setting for the Bentleys and Porsches that were sure to pull up.

Inside was even better. The expansive hallway across the entryway had a few doorways going to different parts of the house. Right when you enter, you're welcomed by a giant mirror and an old coat rack that's unnecessary given the number of maids bustling around to take your coat. On either side of the large foyer are two wide, winding stairs. I didn't get to tour the upstairs rooms because Samantha said those were the bedrooms, which wouldn't be part of the festivities-I repressed a snort then, because what kind of extravaganza doesn't end in debauchery and a bit of raunchiness? But then again, this was a sophisticated gathering with lots of important people coming. As much as I wanted to take a peek, based on the rest of the house, I could already create a mental picture of the luxurious antique furniture in every nook and cranny. I didn't need to see it to know what it looked like in my mind's eye.

Just past the entryway and into the hallway, a doorway on the left goes to a huge library that's probably worth almost as much as the property itself. When I had the original tour, I saw at least seven first editions placed carefully throughout the book-filled room.

But the library isn't going to be the setting for today's party, per Samantha's request. After all, this is a masquerade ball, so they'll be using the grand hall with its lofty ceiling and gracious, paneled walls.

Frankly, there isn't need for much decoration because the house itself is already magnificent and imposing, with its ornate wooden bannisters and gleaming marble floors. But, hey, I have to earn my keep, so I chose to put in some window accents. I used black and white crepe paper, twisted together like for a birthday party, and stretched the strands across the windows. In the middle, I used expensive, hand-painted masks to accentuate the party theme. The masks and colors match the room's mood, and I think they add to the costume party feel of the entire event.

Real peacock feathers brought from India and black and white roses adorn the table centerpieces, while black and white linen covers every table. I suggested the feathers, and Samantha grudgingly acknowledged that they were attractive.

Again, since my company offers full-service party planning and catering, I'm happy as long as she's satisfied. After serving the dinner and setting everything up, we take everything down. I launched the business right out of college, and it has expanded beyond my expectations. I have eight extremely skilled servers, four cooks who handle the food, and twenty personnel for large events like this one. I had to put in a lot of effort to get here, but it was all worthwhile. This is my passion, after all, and I've been surprised yet happy with my success. The business's financial side is the sole issue. I don't have much left over because every cent of profit is either used to grow my business or pay off my education loans. I manage, but in the sweltering summer months, there are occasions when I have to choose between air conditioning and a shower. Given the limited funds, it is definitely not both.

I take a few more moments to look proudly at my work. My staff members are running about, completing the wall decorations and all of the tables. Although it's not the largest space we've ever worked in, it's unquestionably the most impressive. Even though I have faith that my staff won't damage anything priceless, I still get anxious when I see antiques all over. I can't wait for this evening to end. I will be able to forget this place ever existed once we have cleared out and cashed the money.

Samantha, wearing a silky floor-length gown, appears out of nowhere. She looks me up and down, her face crumpling into a grimace.

"Brendan, are you wearing that? Soon, visitors will arrive. Everybody should visit their party posts. I can't trust you to stay out of all the pictures if you don't change into something acceptable. Otherwise, you'll stand out like a sore thumb. I hope you have anything.

I make myself speak in a neutral tone and refrain from rolling my eyes. Naturally, Samantha. I'm glad to. I'm in the kitchen with a dress. I simply didn't want setup to go wrong.

"All right, then, go get it on. Assemble your personnel to their places. She loses her temper, obviously loving being in charge of me.

Samantha stalks off, and I sigh. Although I have dealt with some awful clients, Samantha is by far the worst. Her flawless blond hair and height, slender form only make me detest her more. She resembles a living Barbie. That is, if Barbie only ate lemons and never smiled.

Furthermore, I'm not very short-I'm five feet five-but I'm also not as tall as she is. I have all the appropriate curves and a healthy weight for my height. I don't have to use an iron every morning to get my brown hair straight. I wear minimal makeup that very slightly accentuates my natural features. I'm a pretty woman, by all accounts. But with her model-like figure, Samantha still makes me appear like a slouch.

I summon my employees to attention by clapping my hands into the reverberating ballroom and saying, "All right, everyone." "Our invited guests will be here shortly. Please complete the last details of your job before preparing for the welcoming reception. For the length of the celebration, everyone of you has a task to complete.

Through the huge room, I hear a few muttered answers, and my staff members work a little more quickly to finish the task. Five minutes later, every employee has left, and the space is prepared for the arrival of glitzy men and women. Before the party starts, I head back to the kitchen to get my dress and change in the restroom.

The bodice of my black, calf-length dress features a lovely peacock motif. The fact that I match the centerpieces makes it a little funny, but I don't mind. My goal is to become part of the background, after all. I only need to watch my waiters and waitresses, manage sure everyone is getting food, and make sure nothing disastrous occurs. I don't need to be seen. I'm here to babysit the ball, not to go.

Guests are already removing their coats in the foyer when I come out of the restroom. Some are barefaced, but the majority are wearing masks as specified by the invitation. I suggested that we have extra masks on hand, but Samantha rejected my suggestion right away.

She sighed, "You wouldn't find what we want."

Even if my expression remained the same, I was shocked.

My response was, "I'm sorry." "What do you mean?"

In other words, Mr. Fedrickson is a billionaire, and his guests are also affluent businesspeople. Your party budget wouldn't cover the kind of mask they choose. You wouldn't be able to find something appropriate either.

That was a real putdown, wow. However, I smiled pleasantly and let it go. This was a job after all, and a good one at that.

My polite reply was, "Of course." "So, no more masks. I understand.

And I understand what Samantha meant as the invitees start to show up. All of the visitors are gorgeous, wealthy individuals wearing sweeping ballgowns in jewel tones and exquisitely fitted tuxedos. Despite wearing five-inch heels, the women manage to look refined and kind. The men are tall, good-looking, and all tanned.

Who are these individuals? More precisely, who is the enigmatic host? Pedro Fedrickson, the client, was the subject of my inquiry, but I came to no firm findings. The man wasn't born wealthy, despite the fact that his name sounded significant. Rather, he left college long ago to start his own business, and today he's a multimillionaire with money flowing from the wazoo.

In addition, he seems like a bit of a bad boy from the stuff I've read. Pedro Fedrickson narrowly escaped being arrested for fighting at a charity function less than a year ago. According to the report I read, Mr. Fedrickson had not one but two attractive women at the party. As expected, the three were expelled after the two women got into a brawl. Whoa.

However, there was more to the story than that, since one of the women in the accompanying photo looked a lot like Pedro. Their jet-black hair, dazzling blue eyes, and prominent foreheads were identical. This wasn't your typical catfight, and I suspected she was his sister. There is undoubtedly more to the altercation than the typical female hormones gone wrong, though I'm not sure what it was about.

I'm startled out of my reverie by a sound to my right. The centerpiece on an adjacent table is being admired by a woman in a stylish black dress and a lovely green and white mask.

The female purrs to her male mate, "Do you see the peacock feather?" "What a lovely concept. Don't you think it truly brings everything together?

I grin. Samantha complimented my decor, and I wish she was here to hear it. Well, anything. Even if I'm the only one who hears the words of gratitude, a work well done is a job well done.

I watch the party from my position behind a wall, invisible but able to see everything. When guests arrive, they comment on the mansion's built-in fixtures, the centerpieces, and the window masks. For the first time since this work began, I let myself unwind because everything is going smoothly.

The masquerade ball is still looking fantastic an hour in. There are no dropped trays or drinks, and nothing has broken. I came up with the menu myself, and I've heard several comments about the meal. This party is proceeding according to plan, and I'm proud of that. The last time I saw Samantha, even with her constantly pinched face, she appeared delighted. I mentally record that as a minor triumph. It's challenging to impress the challenging hostess, but I believe I've done it.

My back is suddenly grazed by a hand. I look around, thinking I'll see one of my staff, but all I see is a wall of black. Hold on a minute. A tall, masked man's wide chest is level with my eyes. He shades his full face, in contrast to the other visitors who just have their eyes covered by their disguises. I see deep blue eyes and a square, powerful jaw, but nothing else.

Without saying a word, the enigmatic man skillfully leads me into a waltz as the music reaches a crescendo. My first reaction is to distance myself from him. He keeps me firmly in place, but I'm the help, so I shouldn't be dancing. Samantha would be outraged beyond belief if I tried to leave right now since it would create a scene. Instead, his powerful arms gracefully and fluidly lead me around the room as I glide along. My heart is racing, and I'm taking shallow breaths. Who is this enigmatic outsider?

A tiny orchestra is positioned in the back of the ballroom, and we follow the music as it flows. After all, without string instruments to serve as the dancing backdrop, a masquerade ball wouldn't be complete, and Mr. Fedrickson was prepared to spend the money. A CD simply doesn't have the same impact as a DJ playing the wrong song. Samantha and I probably only agreed on one thing: the music had to be performed live.

The lengthy instrumental song comes to a conclusion, and my enigmatic dance companion lets go of me. As he bows to me, he takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips for a soft kiss. I feel compelled to curtsy, but doing so would just make me look foolish. Instead, I give him a feeble smile, reasoning that it's better to do nothing than to try and look foolish.

When my weird partner lets go of my hand, he straightens his coat and gets up. His eyes look familiar when they contact mine, but I'm not sure where I've seen them before.

The man lifts his mask silently, his stunning, eerie blue eyes staring at me with unrelenting determination. His impeccably made tux completes his princely appearance, which includes a chiseled face and coal-black hair. Even down to the dimple in his cheek and his strong shoulders, he appears just like the photos I've seen. He also appears to fit nicely with his opulent surroundings. After all, it's his house and party.

The man rumbles, "Hello," maintaining eye contact with me. As though we hadn't already been introduced in the most personal way possible, he reaches out and shakes my hand with his right. While a handshake is official, dancing and a hand kiss are passionate and lovely. I can't think of what I should do, so I extend my hand to shake his. This is not how I had envisioned meeting the man will unfold.

With ease, he introduces himself as Pedro Fedrickson. "Are you, too?"

Oh, no. How should I respond? I'm the assistance, after all, and dancing wasn't my job. So, should I tell the truth or fabricate a story? Since this is my dream... But will Mr. Fedrickson expect me to meet all of his needs if he knows I work for the company?