Chapter 6
Chapter 6
A red dress that hugs my body with pearls that shimmered under the chandelier. A dazzling black mask that accentuated the beauty of my temporarily dyed platinum hair as well as the bold red lipstick on my lips. Everything I had on felt like I was wearing an armour because I looked unrecognizable. Caroline was right, with the right amount of transformation, not even I can recognize myself.
The setup of the hall looked like something out of a Renaissance movie. People had on clothes that my entire wardrobe wouldn't dream of competing with.
As I fill my lungs with the scenery, it was hard to curb the anxiety I was feeling which was attributed to the fact that I am a terrible socializer who didn't know how to walk up to a random group of people, join in or start a conversation meanwhile, the goal for tonight was to do just that.
Network with potential investors and I was prepared to do that so where is this stage fright coming from? I am sitting alone at one of the hundreds of tables, listening to the slow and steady waltz from the orchestra while people danced rhythmically to the sound. So this is what rich people do.
My world is much simpler and as much as I admired the sight in front of me, I knew better than to believe all that I see on the outside. For example, my boss. They all appear to have it all, but on the inside suffer moral and much worse problems. Now I am not playing judge or acting a saint, it's just that I would rather they didn't glamorize their perfect world when it's the opposite.
I pick up my first complimentary drink, a Negroni, and finish it. But only for some liquid courage and not to get drunk to the extent of making a mess of myself and topping the headlines tomorrow morning.
I walk towards a group of people and stealthily dissolve into their midst. Great! Just a bunch of misogynistic men who think condemning and judging women makes them the better gender.
Where the hell is the right circle to gatecrash?
I flagged down a passing waiter and took another glass of drink- this time a Paloma because one more glass of strong alcohol will send me to tipsyville- and made a sharp turn without looking, only to bump into someone and spill my entire drink on him.
Jesus! How did clumsy Diana activate herself?
I am going to top the headlines for sure.
"Unknown invitee dumps her drink on an elite"
The thought dreaded me.
"I am so sorry" I instantly retrieved a wad of tissues from my purse and feverishly started to wipe the stain off his white shirt. It's not until I mistakenly rub my hand against the bulge of his pants that I stop to look up and realize how incredibly hot and who the guy was.
Shit! My boss. Alexander Stone. When you work as an assistant, you know your boss to the tooth, surprisingly without your glasses- but thank God I ditched those for black contacts. And even when his face is behind the phantom of the opera mask you'd picked and delivered to his house earlier that morning, you'd know how he smells because you also shop his perfume.
Up close, he looked like a superhero, with dark hair that complemented his devilish look, metallic grey eyes that pierced deep into my body, and a muscular build that towered above me. I could see the top of his chest muscles peeking at me through the buttons he left undone and for some reason drawing my attention more than it should.
And of course, he was armed with the flavour of the night. I watched briefly as the blonde toyed with her pearl pendant, plainly attracting attention to her chest. Her tits were literally screaming for help from that overly tight sweetheart neckline.
Still frozen, Alexander reached for my shoulders to lift me up. He continued to look as if scrutinizing me.
He can't recognize me, right?
Even if he tried, he wouldn't and shouldn't be able to. I don't even understand why I am so bothered about him finding out. He's not my father, nor is he my brother so why am I acting like a child who is afraid of being scolded?
"It's okay" He calmly said. "I will just need to get changed"
Okay...I was expecting a mean outburst but then again, I guess you have to fake being prim and proper in front of all these people and the paparazzi.
I simply nod, knowing I'm not too good at faking my voice. I turn around slowly with a smile and begin to walk away. Believe me when I say I could feel his eyes on my back and now, I am starting to regret liking that massive reveal the dress had at the back.
"Fancy meeting you again, Mr Stone" I hear a refined voice say to him as I disappear into the next circle of a crowd.
The current speaker- a female- was talking about the need to diversify the beauty industry between the younger and older generation.
Finally! Someone who speaks my language.
Another- a male- rose to oppose, citing the fact that targeting the younger generation has brought about a mouth-watering profit over a decade in business and also emphasized the fact that he can not risk all of that for something that is not certain.
"I beg to differ" The words flew right out of my mouth before I could process what to say. This is what happens when you are the defender of older people.
"Beauty knows no colour, age or race. And while it's true that targeting that side of the industry is a risk, isn't business a risk itself?" I continue "The elderly are a key consumer demographic for the beauty industry. The growing importance of the senior population highlights how this market potential has yet to be tapped. Whether she's a mother of three who wants to keep her wrinkles at bay or a fifty-year-old who wants to cheat nature for however long she and science can and have that glassy skin, skincare, colour cosmetics and hair care products that promote benefits for mature skin and hair with adapted colours, textures are key to increasing engagement and usage among seniors"
"And what if marketing fails?" A familiar
voice said and my breathing hitch when I realize who it was. Alexander freaking Stone.
Did he follow me here?
I clear my throat in preparation for faking my voice.
"We are used to advertising models with the perfect skin, face and hair for our brands that we forgot what it feels to be ordinary. This target audience is at home taking care of their family, or working 9-5s. Talk about hitting the streets and picking up about a hundred normal citizens, give them sample products and you'll see them influence your products to other people."
"Hundred is a lot don't you think?" Alexander's voice was as clear as day, behind my ears.
"Hundred compared to millions of other senior citizens. If that is not a jackpot, I do not know what is. Cheers," I hurriedly made my exit, intentionally avoiding Alexander as much as possible.
"Ladies and gentlemen at the annual Mistletoe Beauty Ball, the event will now start." Someone said over the microphone.