Bedazzled (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 1) Page 11

  Benefits and tuxedos were not new to Wyatt. Galas were regular weekend events and had been since he served on the youth board for Children’s Hospital at age 20. However, this was the first time his name was on everything. LHRE had hosted events before, but usually with his father at the helm. This time he would be in charge, his father watching with a critical eye. It was time for him to carry on the family tradition, while upping the stakes, just as his father did to his grandfather, and his grandfather did to his father before that. Improving the family position was one of the key ways to honor family traditions in the Howe household.

  As the oldest, Wyatt understood that the burden fell more to him than to his siblings. He was never allowed to forget the opportunities given to him, the education, training, introductions, everything designed for the moment he would be the patriarch. He was happy with the prospect of being patriarch, but not being president of LHRE. How he could make his father see eye to eye with him on this remained a mystery, but he hoped a roaring success tonight would ease the conversation at least a bit.

  Wyatt stood amongst the crowd still hovering near the entrance, greeting guests as they arrived and thanking God for good weather after the rain last week. Events here were so much better when drinks and dessert were served in the courtyard and dancing was under the stars. It really was a great venue and Wyatt longed to increase funding any way he could. The museum’s collections were some of the finest in the world, but they could always use more. Wyatt spent much of his time combing art fairs and galleries in hopes of finding the next Picasso, Pollack or deKooning. He looked around the room to see their works proudly on display, drawing the eye from the peacocks strutting the room.

  The room was a picture as well, flooded in light, inky black night outside except for a twinkle of tea lights forming a canopy on the terrace. Urns overflowed with flowers in shades of white, green and pale lavender, their fragrance perfuming the room, their leaves thick, green and velvety.

  People had been pouring into the space for almost an hour, filling the open space with colorful dresses interspersed with penguin-like men. The noise had been steadily increasing so that Wyatt could only barely hear the strains of the string quartet off to one side of the room, playing Mozart, Shubert and Bartok.

  Wyatt had a team of assistants flanking him in case he needed anything managed at the last minute or to help him identify the big donors he needed to greet by name. He had used them to run errands but had recognized everyone without prompting. Not a small feat in a room of over 500 people.

  Wyatt watched with satisfaction as his fellow trustees moved about the space, assiduously working the crowd. He saw his father’s white hair just over the heads of the tuxedoed men and elegantly coiffed women and could tell, even from afar, that he was in his element. His uber-fit mother, the epitome of elegance, leaned on her husband’s arm as if unable to stand without the support.

  They made an elegant couple, even now, after almost 40 years of marriage. They had common interests and one common goal – the preservation of the Lyons Howe family and fortune. Everything they said and did instinctively served that single purpose. Looking at them now, stately, elegant and clearly in their element, Wyatt realized he wanted a woman to spend his life with that shared his goals too, who stood side by side with him during important events, who helped him raise a caring, loving family. He may not share his father’s business interests, but he shared his love of family and his desire to be a leader in his community.

  Wyatt Howe III clearly loved these moments, his chance to work a room as a king among Chicago’s elite. Trey - a nickname given to third like Junior or the dreaded Ivy - lived to see the moneyed and powerful pay homage to him. Wyatt saw him throw back his head and a moment later heard that unique guffaw of a laugh.

  He must be separating someone from his or her money. He does it so well and enjoys it so much. He has had years of practice, in business and in philanthropy. Wyatt was hoping to be half as successful tonight as his father was at raising much-needed funds for worthy causes.

  Who am I kidding, I have to beat what he delivered last year or never live it down.

  Wyatt’s date for the evening, the lovely Sloane Huyler, sidled up beside him, slipped her arm through his possessively, took a sip of champagne and comfortably joined Wyatt’s conversation with one of Chicago’s powerful aldermen. The three chatted comfortably for a minute. “…Isn’t that your idea, Wyatt?” Shit. Sloane was talking to him, putting her hand on his arm to draw him back to the conversation. Wyatt’s mind had been wandering all night and she had saved him from embarrassment more than once.

  “Wyatt,” Sloane repeated while squeezing his arm significantly, “Alderman Myers was just saying that extending the hours at the museum was helpful for the restaurants in the area. I reminded him that you pushed for that, didn’t you, darling?” Sloane knew he hated when she called him that, but together with the arm squeeze, it worked to smoothly draw Wyatt back into the conversation.

  Thank God, dinner is only minutes away.

  “It is wonderful for the tourism business overall,” she continued. “And that is good for advertising dollars, and hotels too. And that makes all of us very happy.” She waved her elegant hand between Wyatt and herself, indicating that her marketing consulting business and Lyons Howe, as well as the museum and the city, benefitted from the increased revenues.

  “A win-win for us all. You two make an excellent team,” the alderman agreed as she excused herself politely to work the room. Wyatt had heard that line before of course. He understood that everyone assumed he would finish sowing his wild oats and settle down with Sloane. Many close to him had hinted that they expected an announcement soon. Sloane too never missed an opportunity to remind Wyatt that time was passing, threatening not to wait much longer; she behaved as if every date was just the prelude to a proposal.

  Wyatt considered her seriously for a wife. She fit in well with his family, was successful in her own right and came from money, overcoming his fear that she might just want him for his. The two met when Wyatt was a regular speaker and mentor for her Kellogg MBA class over three years ago. She had caught his eye at the time with her cool beauty and her pedigree. She came from the right family. Her life of privilege showed in her taste and her confidence. She was a classic beauty. Her pale skin, dark hair and ice-blue eyes made a compelling combination. She was a bit skeletal, but who wasn’t in their circle, and she knew how to accentuate her features so that she had a quiet allure underneath her aloof exterior.

  She was hard working, joining her father at Huyler Industries, a consulting company specializing in marketing, helping him triple his business and gain large clients including Lyons Howe. She had hinted that she could hand over the reins to raise a family, although Wyatt had never asked. No one would call Sloane the ‘little’ woman, but she would happily be the big woman behind the big man. She had always been great at sending business his way using her connections on those rare occasions when his had failed. They did in fact make a very good team.

  Oh yes, the business loved her and so did his family. Their fathers worked closely together in various business arrangements over the years, their mothers did garden clubs and charitable luncheons together. Everyone would be happy with the arrangement. Moreover, Wyatt sincerely liked Sloane. She was smart, beautiful, polished, accomplished, and willing to experiment now and then to keep things lively in bed.

  He joined her now, determined to pay more attention to her this evening, although she did not demand it.

  “You look stunning,” he told her belatedly. Wyatt knew her dress was some designer, it always was. Usually he made an effort to know ‘who’ she was wearing and comment on it since that mattered so much to her. Tonight he asked about her jewelry and about other women’s jewelry instead. Not usually something he noticed, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow before she helped him identify the goose egg sized pieces the women wore. He knew his newfound fascination with jewelry had everything to do with his
newfound fascination with a certain jeweler. He waited while Sloane finished her descriptions then determined to drop the subject and his thoughts of Keeli. Only later did he consider that he might have given Sloane the wrong impression with his sudden jewelry questions.

  “Well, your father is certainly enjoying himself, isn’t he?” Sloane would know, having seen his father at both his best and his worst over the last three years. She had been welcomed to dinners, parties and to lounge by the pool with the Howe family as many times as Wyatt had been part of her life at her parents’ elegant Glencoe home. They had dated on and off. Wyatt relied on her to be the perfect hostess or date at these types of events and she took him everywhere as her ‘plus one.’ She was connected with all the ‘right’ people and had the grace, poise and confidence that came from growing up a Huyler.

  Despite all that, she had never gotten his blood as hot and his cock as hard as a few public kisses had last week. Wyatt had confided to the boys after hockey Tuesday night that he felt like a teenager being with Keeli, unable to control himself, hands straying, pulling at her and nibbling on her despite the public setting. He confided this with a measure of embarrassment mixed with pride, and then concluded his story by admitting he took her home to avoid having her turn him down.

  The great Wyatt Howe confessed to his buddies that he was going to strike out with a naïve, small-town artist. He wanted her, he explained to the men, but he was not sure she wanted him. Oh, sure, he told them, she kissed him back readily enough; let him fondle her a bit, once she got over her shock. However, he explained, when they came up for air, he felt her repeatedly pulling back.

  The boys could not believe he didn’t ‘go for it’ and he took the gentle ribbing from them and acknowledged his insecurity. They were astonished that “love ‘em and leave ‘em Howe” had not even tried.

  “You need to do this girl before you settle down, Ivy, or she will always haunt you as the one that got away,” Randall had commanded melodramatically. They had all laughed and changed the subject at the time, but the thought had stayed with Wyatt all week.

  Putting Keeli back out of his mind, Wyatt made one more circle of the room, encouraging people to participate in the silent auction, to write that extra check. “Remember why you are here, Howe,” he mumbled to himself. “It is not so you can think about lush lips and pillowy breasts.”

  “Did you say something?” Sloane was looking at him strangely and he knew she at least heard the word “breasts.” Thinking quickly, he said, “Yes. Let’s get everyone into dinner. I think that would be best.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Saturday night. Date night. Well, date night for the rest of the world. Not me.

  Catching a glimpse of herself in the reflective glass of the long museum window, Keeli saw her grim face and practiced her server smile. Her thick curls were tightly pulled back, the low chignon already giving her a headache. She was shoved into a slightly too tight black and white uniform and extremely uncomfortable 1-inch heels. The uniform accentuating her busty form, she hunched her shoulders slightly to compensate. An extra inch at the bottom would have made her more comfortable too. Well, she could not do anything about that now.

  Keeli berated herself for the thousandth time, cursing her lack of backbone. It had taken Theo all of ten minutes to talk her into working tonight despite her objections. The Howe Museum fundraiser was a guarantee that she would see Wyatt but Theo had been relentless.

  “I know you think he doesn’t want to see you, but I don’t care. Five hundred people will be there, and he will not be looking at the servers. If you don’t want him to see you he won’t, but I need the help, Hon. I lost three of my best servers today and I can’t replace them all on such short notice, you would be a godsend.”

  “My uniform isn’t even clean Theo, my pants are still crumpled in the hamper and I have no time to run to the Laundromat.” She thought that would stop him in his tracks.

  “I borrowed one for you, it should fit pretty close if not perfectly.” That was her last excuse so she gave in. She loved Theo like a brother, knew this was a big night for him and wanted to help. If only it was any other event but this one.

  She looked at her reflection again. If she kept her shoulders hunched and her head down she could blend in with the servers. She was sure she could get away with this. She just had to because she would be horrified to run into Wyatt.

  First, there was the whole week with no word. No text, no email, no phone call. Second, she knew their positions tonight would be the final nail in the coffin. She would never have a chance with Prince Charming once he saw her in the role of Cinderella. He was the host. She was the server. The gulf between them was enormous.

  She had rehashed the date repeatedly. Was she too easy? Not easy enough? Had she been too unsophisticated? Said something stupid? Had his friend not liked her? His kisses had been unbelievably hot, but the night ended so coldly.

  She had been mortified; looking in the mirror once she was safely in her bedroom. She looked like a drowned rat - hair wet and straggly, blouse plastered to her wet skin, mouth ripe and red from Wyatt’s onslaught of kisses, the soft skin around it pink from chafing against his rougher male scruff. She felt like Cinderella to his Prince Charming then too. Even wet he had been handsome as hell.

  So where is my fairytale ending? You idiot, you idiot, you idiot. Why the hell did you have to let him kiss you? And kiss you, and kiss you.

  Keeli had been punishing herself since the moment she bolted from Wyatt’s car. She never behaved like that on a first date – not ever. She was old enough not to let lust rule her decisions and she knew that at least for her, sex always muddied the waters. She had let his hands roam too far, then run from him without even saying good night and thank you, too confused because he brought her home instead of bedding her.

  She was so confused. Keeli knew she would have felt worse if she had slept with him. She knew this was Wyatt Lyons Howe IV. He took a different woman to bed every weekend, women far more sophisticated and beautiful than she could ever dream of being. He was a player, she had read the stories, seen him with the women. She didn’t want to be another notch in his bedpost.

  Then she was angry and hurt because he didn’t want to sleep with her. The man slept with everyone. Why not her? She had been on fire for him. Thought he felt the same. He had cooled so suddenly and then nothing, not a peep since then. What did all those other women have that she was lacking?

  The clashing viewpoints had already caused her six sleepless nights, nights waiting for him to contact her, to want to see her again. Six nights and just when she had come to terms with it and convinced herself to let it go, she was about to be in the same room with him.

  For a full week, she had questioned her judgment. How could she let him kiss her like that, touch her like that? She had decided he was just copping a quick feel while she had felt a real connection. The conversation had been witty, well matched. At least she had thought so. She had actually believed they might have a chance, a connection that could turn into something real.

  Wyatt had been her fantasy man for two years, since the first time she saw him in the lobby of his office building. For two years, she had debated with herself about him. Her heart believed he was the man for her, her head knew he was out of reach. Her head always won, but her heart refused to let go.

  Well, it was letting go now. Serving wench and Greek God cannot build a future together.

  Keeli moved away from the window, plastered on her server smile and grabbed a tray. Using her hip to push through the kitchen door she moved through the crowd. It was just another catered event.

  Keeli was not so jaded though. She recognized that this was a gorgeous, no expense spared party. She was wowed by the elegance, admiring it as she circled the room. Keeli coveted the centerpieces, admiring the skill of the florist and enjoying the mild floral scents. She wondered what would happen to them after tonight, wishing she could take one home, knowing she could not.<
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  The smells in the kitchen were heavenly and Keeli was blissfully aware that at the end of the night she would get to sample all the delicacies. It was one of her favorite things about helping Theo, that and the money. Dylan was here tonight too, taking a night off from the restaurant since Theo was especially nervous. The Howe Museum event attracted the elite of the elite and presented big possibilities for Theo if all went well.

  Feeling the pressure, Theo was barking orders like an episode of “Hell’s Kitchen”. Keeli felt grateful to escape, even if it meant circulating with hors d’oeuvres while wearing too-tight shoes. She wished now that she had gone with her dress flats. So it was a dress, who said she had to wear heels with it? What had she been thinking?

  Putting her sore feet out of her mind, Keeli concentrated on the women instead. She knew that these galas were the best place by far for her to see extraordinary jewelry all under one roof. The huge stones were the bluest blues, the reddest reds. The pearls were the size of gumdrops and had the most beautiful luster. They were done in the best of taste, of course, to match the elegant designer dresses worn by Chicago’s upper crust. She recognized the Armani gown from the window at Sak’s on one woman and the Monique Lhuiller from the Neiman Marcus window on that gorgeous brunette. Both dresses were the perfect backdrops for their jewels. Perfection.

  No Carrie Bradshaw in this crowd. All subdued elegance like Charlotte. If Keeli had just one or two of these women as clients, she knew she would have it made. She was finally cognizant of how this business worked. Getting into the inner sanctum was nearly impossible, but once there it would guarantee her success.

  When she saw a David Webb bracelet on someone’s wrist, she was so mesmerized by the black enamel and diamond snake that Keeli almost dropped a full tray of hors d’oeuvres on a man’s spotless shoes. She saw that bracelet just last week in a trade magazine selling for over $50,000. Now, she realized in wonder, she was in the same room with it. At moments like this, she almost missed working at Tiffany’s. But, she reminded herself; she had never seen anything there like this David Webb.