LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER THREE

      DAMIAN DIDN’T MIND wearing a suit. Hell, he didn’t even mind wearing a tux. But being forced to look like a cross between the Phantom of the Opera and an Eyes Wide Shut reject was pushing the limits.

      The ballroom of Patterson House stretched out before him, resplendent with gold detailing. The building had been erected in the late 1800s, but the ballroom had been remodelled in the ’30s. It was a fitting location for such an event—heaving with history and old money, blue blood to the very core. The women were dressed in spectacular ballgowns and the men in tuxedos. Everyone wore a mask. Some were simple scraps of lace or filigree, leaving most of the face bare and recognisable. Others were more ornate, heavily beaded and elaborately designed, a feature of a person’s outfit rather than an afterthought.

      He tugged at his own black leather mask. It had been designed to resemble a crow, and included sculpted satin feathers. Apparently, it made him look mysterious. That’s what he got for letting Aaron’s wife pick out a mask for him. But he’d made sure to ask her for one that only covered half his face. He didn’t see the point of attending without letting people know he was here, especially since an invite to the Carmina Ball was supposed to be life changing—acceptance from the people who “mattered.” A chance to get in with Melbourne’s power players.

      But the invite had come with strings attached...to the tune of five thousand dollars for entry and expected participation in the night’s charitable events. Not that Damian had an issue donating to charity, of course. But he’d told his folks a little white lie about coming tonight so they didn’t worry he was frittering away his recently acquired wealth.

      “Don’t you look handsome,” Jessie, Aaron’s wife, said as she placed a hand on his arm. “I knew you’d be a good addition to this circle.”

      “Why, because you wanted some eye candy?” Damian smirked when she slapped her palm lightly against his bicep.

      “Watch it,” Aaron said, sliding an arm around her waist. “You don’t need to worry about me getting jealous, but Jessie plots revenge in the way only a woman can. Hell hath no fury like a grammar girl scorned.”

      Unlike Damian, both Aaron and Jessie had grown up as part of the elite, with expensive private school educations and safety nets padded with zeros. But regardless of their privilege, both were incredibly hardworking people. He’d met Aaron when they were in their early twenties as graduates at a big four consulting firm, doing grunt work and jumping every time a partner made eye contact. They’d learned the ropes together, climbing the corporate ladder in tandem until Damian left to work at Ben’s firm, and he and Aaron had maintained a valuable friendship ever since.

      And it was because of Aaron and Jessie that he was here tonight, so he really should try to have fun.

      “No denial, huh?” Damian said, nudging her with his elbow.

      Jessie laughed. “They wouldn’t have put you on TV if you didn’t look the part.”

      “Don’t encourage him,” Aaron muttered. “I had to find an extra ticket so his ego could attend tonight, too.”

      Damian chuckled and scanned the room. “So, give me the lowdown. Who’s who around here?”

      “That’s Arthur Wentworth and his sons, Parker and Ian,” Jessie said. “They own the Wentworth Group. Department stores, luxury vehicles, couture fashion—you name it.”

      “They’re one of my clients,” Aaron added. “Don’t even think about poaching them.”

      Damian smiled. Aaron had worked his way up to partner at that firm where they’d started their careers. Some days Damian wondered what might’ve been if he’d stayed there, too, instead of following Ben. Would he still have his positive attitude...or his wife?

      “I won’t dip my hand in the cookie jar, I promise,” he drawled.

      “Who else would be of interest?” Jessie clucked her tongue. “The Allbrook family is here—they own a huge architecture firm that does a lot of high-end residential towers in the city. We’ve got judges, politicians, CEOs, barristers, even a few celebrities. I heard a rumour that Cate Blanchett might be coming.”

      “Excellent. I’ll ask for her autograph,” Damian said with a straight face.

      Jessie looked horrified for a moment before she realised he was joking. “Damian, please.”

      “Your South Yarra is showing,” he said. “You might want to cover that up.”

      “Not here.” Aaron chuckled. “It’s practically a requirement for entry.”

      Jessie rolled her eyes and pushed on, pointing out people across the room. “Oh, and my friend Amelia told me the restaurateur Jerry McPartlin is going to be here. I ate at his new place, Gilt, last week. It was absolutely divine.”

      Damian’s ears pricked up, ignoring Aaron, who was giving him a stern look. “Really?”

      Suddenly, the evening had gotten a whole lot more interesting. This would be the perfect opportunity for him to chat with the uptight family man in a social setting and try to figure out exactly what he needed to do to secure the guy’s business.

      Did he need a girlfriend? A fiancée? Promise to give up his firstborn? Whatever it was, Damian was ready to sign on the dotted line. Snagging McPartlin & Co. would be the best possible thing he could do, because another big-name client was extra security. Relying only on one or two big fish meant your business balanced on a knife’s edge, and keeping the client happy often overtook the uncomfortable but necessary process of crafting the right solution for them.

      The fact was, any big client would help him. But he wanted this one.

      Signing McPartlin & Co. would give him the closure he needed to finally shut the door on his past. Or rather, slam it in the faces of those who’d broken his heart.

      A while later, Damian stood at the edge of the crowd, watching. He felt like a kid at the zoo, his face pressed against the glass of the reptile enclosure. Everything happening in front of him was foreign. Alien. This wasn’t his world...yet.

      Sure, he was rich by most people’s standards. He lived in a luxury hotel that cost more per week than what he’d spent on his first car. But that would be nothing to these people.

      And

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