She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 179

(Julian)

The function is a fundraiser for the critically endangered Yangtze Finless Porpoise.

Not being a well-known philanthropist, I’m assuming they left me off the list on purpose and my invitation didn’t get lost in the mail.

I’m attending anyway.

This is the first lovely thing about my evening.

The second is that the man on the door is someone I know, and he waves me through without even bothering to check the list.

I make a mental note to send him something nice.

Maybe a good whiskey. A boy with that much discretion deserves a single malt.

The third lovely thing is that I am, by my own quick reckoning of the room, the best-dressed man in it.

Which is a low bar at a charity function but I never turn down a low bar.

I consider going to the bar for a cocktail, but half the time the staff working these functions barely know how to do more than open a beer, or splash bourbon into a glass.

No use wasting my time.

I take a flute off a passing tray, hoping it’s the good stuff and not some common sparkling wine, and begin my rounds.

The bit has been going beautifully for two weeks.

I’ve been deploying it at small dinners, at openings, in the elevators of the Beverly Wilshire, in two separate gossip columnist's earshots, and tonight, at a much grander scale.

“Apparently I've been flirting with my own step-sister for the better part of a year. Thank god we’re not actually related.”

I say to a property developer with the comic timing of a fire hydrant and watch him almost choke on his canape.

It works because it's true.

It works because the truth, delivered with a wink, is the cheapest legal product known to public relations.

Behind the bit, of course, I’ve been busy making amends.

Three good stories about Natasha placed quietly in three friendly outlets over ten days.

None of them traceable to me.

One about her work on the Bauer file as the deal collapsed.

The kind of piece that uses the word steady twice.

One about her quiet generosity to St. Jude's.

One, my favorite, a profile of The woman behind Stein M&A's biggest year.

None of them mention me.

All of them serve her.

None of them, I'm certain, have gone past her without being noted.

I have no doubt she knows where they originated from.

She hasn’t thanked me, nor will she.

She’s far too sensible to do anything that could overtly be construed as her forgiving me.

I spot her standing at a small table next to the bar and make my way over.

She’s wearing a dark green dress that looks simple, but accentuates every curve she has magnificently.

Her back is half-turned to the room, which is the move of a woman who came tonight to write a check and leave.

I take the empty chair next to her.

"Mrs Warren."

"Julian."

"You came out for the porpoises."

"I came out for Mason. He's giving the keynote address in twenty minutes."

"Ah. Yes. I’m sure he’ll be magnificent. Where’s the lovely Chloe?”

Natasha’s shoulders stiffen ever so slightly.

“She’s here. Probably backstage with Mason. Don’t even think about making a move on her.”

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