Chapter 2

“Good fortune is what happens when opportunity meets with planning.” -Thomas Edison.

I swirl a flute of champagne in my hand as I look around my ballroom. King of the Night is a masquerade ball I organize every year to promote my conglomerate, King Empire.

Every single item in this ballroom is provided by my companies and subsidiaries. People look at me with envy because they feel like I lack nothing, but everyone–even the most successful–still has an itch to scratch.

I'm wearing a silver themed suit sent to me by one of my subsidiary companies. The mask is also silver-colored and I love the way it contrasts against the dark hair that falls over my left eye.

My mind goes to the lady I helped earlier. I was hoping we could talk but she ran away. I didn't even get to know her name before she left. My fingers tighten on the flute but I'm pulled away from my thoughts before I could do any damage to it.

“So what do you think?” Senator Maxwell asks me after droning for what seems like hours, even though it's just a few minutes. His black mask makes his nose stand out like an anteater's.

I glance down at him in disdain. What were we talking about again?

I'm saved by Dean, my best friend as he sidles up to me, wrapping his hand around my elbow. He's donning a gold themed suit and mask that matches his blonde hair. We always complement each other at events like this. If I'm wearing a black suit, he wears a white. It's one of the basis of our friendship.

“Can I borrow Mr King for a moment? There's an urgent matter I need him to attend to.” Dean places his hand on my chest for emphasis as he beams.

The senator quickly conceals the disgust in his eyes with a smile. “Sure,” he says.

“See you around, Senator.” I shake his hand as I turn to leave.

“Likewise, Mr King.”

Dean's hand is still wrapped around my elbow as we head further into the ballroom. “You like soiling my reputation, Dean.” I sigh in exasperation.

“Of course, what are best friends for? Besides, you looked like you needed saving and after everything that has happened tonight, I think you need some time to yourself. Come on, let's go to the bar and get you whiskey.”

He finally releases his grip on my elbow and leads in the direction of the bar. I hand my flute of champagne over to a server as he comes around with a tray, following after Dean.

People greet me as I pass but I don my cold look, making it hard for them to approach me for a conversation. I hate these kinds of events but it's a necessary evil that is fast becoming a tradition.

Finally, we get to the bar and grab a stool each. Austin, the bartender, takes one look at me and brings out a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers.

“Leave the bottle, Austin.” I instruct him after he pours the whiskey.

“So…” Dean drawls as he takes a sip from his tumbler. “What do you think of that lady?”

I give him an indifferent look and shrug. “Nothing. I hope she got home safe.”

He smiles like he knows a secret I don't. “So you want to tell me that Carl didn't revive an instruction to pose like an Uber driver and take her home?”

I turn away from him and drain my glass of whiskey. Of course, he knows. I pour myself another glass before turning back to face him. “How many times have I told you to stop hacking into my phone, Dean?”

“Even if I didn't hack into your phone, I'll still guess it right. I was there when you carried her to the ladies room, Damon. You could have just let security handle it, you know?”

My mood was already sour and he was making it worse. “Whatever,” I flippantly replied, not in the mood to talk much.

I sipped my whiskey, letting the spicy liquid swirl in my mouth before gulping it down. Even the drink reminded me of her scent–chocolate mixed with jasmine–and I groaned. A mistake.

“She got you that bad, huh?” Dean capitalizes on the sound and I ignore him.

“I could find everything about her for you in minutes, you know that right? I don't know why you're torturing yourself.” Again, I don't answer him.

“She's the only girl you've found interesting after Sheila. Might as well give it a shot. Besides, you know you've only got a week left. I'm just saying.” He adds the last part quickly after I shoot him a glare, raising his hands in surrender as he gets up from the bar stool.

“I'm going to mingle with my potential clients. Catch you later.”

“And by potential clients, do you mean people you want to fuck by the end of the night?” I take a jab at him. I'm being petty but he got on my last nerve when he mentioned Sheila.

But he doesn't retort. Instead, he leans closer and whispers, “Maybe you should try it too, Damon. It could help in removing the stick you have up your ass.”

Before I could think of a comeback, he was gone. I watch his tall form disappear into the crowd and I sigh as I turn back to my whiskey.

Raking my hands through my hair, I pondered on what to do. Even though Dean was clearly being an asshole when he brought up Sheila, there was still some truth in what he had said. Actually, a whole lot of truth.

I need to get engaged to a lady in a week. I have been procrastinating for weeks now but I can't push it further any longer.

A month ago, I was in a meeting with the presidents of the companies under me and they raised some concerns.

Most of my shareholders were threatening to pull out their shares if I don't get married or at least get engaged soon. The media has been posting some really scandalous stories about me being gay.

While I don't have a problem with gay men, I hate to be labeled as one. Apparently, I have always been seen at events with Dean and the stories about him are not helping either.

He is a billionaire playboy, sleeping around with both men and women. Besides, he enjoys creating scandals a lot more than is necessary.

Minutes later, I make up my mind and go in search of Dean. I see him in the hallway after a lot of searching, his mask on the floor and his tongue shoved down a man's throat. See why I said he loves scandals?

I grab him, my patience thin as I lead him out of the ballroom and into my waiting limo.

“This better be good. I can't believe you would cock block me like that. It must be because you're not getting some ac–”

“I want you to search for that lady. Now.” I interrupted his whining.

He looks at me in confusion before his lips quirk into a self-satisfied smile. “Which lady are you talking about?”

“Dean…” I growl in annoyance.

“Fine. Don't go all apeshit on me, Mr Grumpy. Anyway, her name is Alisha Thompson.” He starts and I realize he has already done his research. He was just waiting for me to admit my interest this whole time. Sly bastard.

“Her father is late and her mother is a drunk. She's currently neck deep in debts due to student loans and her mother's rendezvous…” He drones on but my mind is elsewhere.

She's neck deep in debts. I smile as an idea comes to mind.

“Damon, what's got you smiling like an idiot?” Dean asks, looking at me suspiciously.

“Send me her address. I'm going to pay her a visit later today.” Seems like I won't be losing my shareholders after all.