Chapter 24: Rich People Parties Kinda Suck

“Name?”

“Octavia Wilde.”

“Thank you, miss. Right through here. Enjoy your evening.”

As Octavia stepped through the marble entrance of the grand building at which the gala was being held, her eyes roved the area around her in awe.

The gala was staged at one of the most luxurious and expensive hotels around, a historical building that had once been home to some oil millionaire in the 1900s.

Octavia progressed through a massive foyer with high ceilings holding several shimmering gigantic crystal chandeliers above her head.

Tree-trunk-like columns lined the edges of the room, stretching to the roof, morphing from straight lines to curled embellishments that met the edge of the ceiling.

Around her, the sound of people’s shoes clicked on the pearly tiles of the floor, except where a wide red carpet ran down the length of the hall and up the grand staircase at the very end of the hall.

Octavia followed the sparse crowd of people, also decked out in formal attire, all walking up the staircase and heading straight through the double doors that seemed to lead out into an outdoor garden.

The outside garden was even more impressive than the building’s interior. Strings of lights adorned every tree and bush surrounding the wide, rectangular area.

A fountain formed from a jumble of Greek-mythology-like individuals let water trickle and spout into a large, round basin at the feet of the dramatically posed figures.

She could see a jazz band perched on a stage at one end of the area and hear the chill but upbeat music they were playing.

Tables draped in silky white cloth with massive flower arrangements crowning their tops dotted the entire area, and servers dressed in black weaved through the crowd with silver trays held high.

Octavia stepped into the crystal shimmer of lights and music and looked around in appreciation. She wondered what she should do first.

She probably should find her boss—she was, after all, supposed to be working.

But she also wanted to venture to the area she could see off to one side that had long tables piled high with various exotic-looking foods.

She decided in favor of the food first and had just taken a step in that direction when she spotted her boss…and unfortunately, he saw her as well.

She sighed and made her way through the crowd to where he was.

Raemon was standing with a group of penguin-like men surrounding him; they looked that way because they were all in tuxedos, but they were also all rather short and round.

Or maybe that’s just the way they appeared to Octavia because Raemon was much taller than them, and in his tuxedo, he was a dashing figure in black and white.

The men around him were all years older, and each seemed to be competing for his attention, competing for the chance to say something that would have some effect on Mr. Kentworth’s rigid face.

Octavia walked quietly up to them and took her place unobtrusively at Raemon’s side. None of his admirers seemed to notice her arrival.

“You really must come have dinner with me and Gloria one of these days, eh, Raemon?” a spectacled gentleman said. Octavia recognized him as the city mayor.

“I would love to get your thoughts on the city expansion project I proposed. And of course, with elections coming up in a few months’ time—”

“I’ve been watching your stock, Kentworth,” a very red-faced man with horrific sideburns added. He was the owner of one of the largest investment firms in the region.

“Magnificent. Why don’t you tell us some of your secrets?”

Raemon continued to regard them with a detached air, but he eventually found a way to bring their conversation to an end with a single phrase and excused himself. As he walked away, Octavia followed.

“I hope I wasn’t supposed to take notes on any of that,” Octavia said. “Because I didn’t.” She’d managed to cram a tablet into the large clutch that went with her outfit.

“It was nothing of importance,” Raemon said dismissively. One of the servers approached them with a tray of champagne flutes, full and bubbling. Raemon took two and handed one to Octavia.

“And don’t tell me you don’t drink champagne either,” he said.

“Ha. I do, don’t worry about it,” Octavia said, taking the flute from him. She took a sip from the glass and closed her eyes momentarily, savoring the bubbly liquid as it went down her throat.

When she opened her eyes, Raemon was staring at her with an inscrutable expression.

“What?” she asked.

He looked her up and down. “You look…interesting.”

Octavia grinned. “Not like a gold-digging model?”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

“That’s just an…unusual…outfit,” Raemon commented.

“Not the usual you’d expect out of Helena’s, I’m sure,” Octavia said. “Don’t blame her. She did her very best to make me into what the others have looked like.”

His eyes darkened. “The others?”

“You know,” Octavia said, “the other women you send to her if they’re going to accompany you in public.

“I have to say, I think you could have spared yourself the expense in my case. I’m here as your assistant not your date.”

The darkness in his eyes left, and he was once again impassive. “You must have been listening to some idle gossip,” he said, shifting his gaze from Octavia to scan the area around them.

“So it’s not true? You don’t send your dates to Helena to get tortured?” Octavia asked.

Raemon’s eyes shot back to her, and his face wore a look of incredulity. “What?”

“I mean, beauty treatment. To get the beauty treatment,” Octavia corrected herself. “Though, it may as well be torture. You have no idea what dark and disturbing things go on in spas.”

“Did you not enjoy your time there?”

Octavia scoffed. “No. Of course not. I was sanded down, smeared with all kinds of unholy substances, and I lost a good amount of hair in the most painful process imaginable.”

“Helena runs the most luxurious and selective spas in the city,” Raemon said.

“Yeah, well, people should save their money. I can think of a lot of cheaper ways to put oneself through pain.”

Raemon sighed and emptied his champagne glass. “You really don’t know how to move among the first circles of society.”

“A valuable skill, I’m sure,” Octavia said dryly, “but one I can live without. Considering the majority of people in the world do not belong to the ‘first circles,’ I don’t think I’ll be lonely.”

Raemon regarded her with a grim look on his face. “In this line of business, moving among the wealthy requires you to abide by their rules.”

“Of course, it does,” Octavia replied placidly. “You must. But I don’t have to.”

“Yes,” Raemon responded, a twinge of bitterness in his voice.

“Also, can I just say, it’s a little weird you have a specific setup for dressing your dates,” Octavia added. “Convenient? Sure. Efficient? Definitely. But still weird.”

Raemon received her words with a small shrug and a wry smile.

“Women like to be pampered. They want to receive those kinds of luxuries when they’re with me. It’s not something I would think to do myself but rather something that is expected of me.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes again roamed the crowd, but this time they were glazed, seeing without taking anything in. “There’s an understanding between myself and the women I…associate with.”

~Sleep with,~ Octavia thought.

Raemon continued. “There are certain…privileges that they expect to get through me. A lifestyle they expect to attain just by being associated with me.”

“I suppose that’s logical,” Octavia said. “If you’re forced to be a size two all your life, you might as well get a spa day out of it.”

“That and much more,” he said. A cruel smile tugged at his lips. “Not really worth the trouble. A couple thousand dollars spent on someone, and she suddenly thinks you should propose marriage.”

“Isn’t that the endgame of relationships?” Octavia asked.

“A relationship requires two people with some interest in the other’s life. I’ve never met a woman whose interest in me went beyond my bank account.”

“Harsh.”

“The truth,” Raemon countered. “They’re all the same. Every single one of them—scheming, conniving opportunists looking to make a fortune without having to work for it.

“Not a shred of anything genuine. They’re entertaining for a while, but eventually even the brightest of them all will bore me.”

Octavia considered his words. “Hmm. Interesting.”

He looked back to her. “What is?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering about you saying they’re all the same,” Octavia said.

“Yes. And?”

“Well… I wonder, who are you when you meet these ‘opportunists’?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you being genuine when you meet these girls? How far does your interest in her go? It’s a little unreasonable to expect something from someone you’re not willing to give.”

Raemon did not reply but fixed his eyes on his assistant. His mouth was frozen in a grim, static line. His expression blank.

He stared at Octavia, and she stared back at him with a calm but frank expression.

It was as if a bubble of complete stillness and silence enveloped them, though the noises of the party continued to drift in the air.

“Mr. Kentworth! So glad I could see you here tonight!”

A greasy-haired man in a rumpled tuxedo appeared behind Raemon and amicably patted him on the back. Raemon turned to regard the speaker.

Octavia stood by while the two of them talked— or while the greasy man chattered on and Raemon possibly listened.

That was pretty much how the evening progressed.

Some diplomat, government official, or business tycoon would accost Raemon with flowery speeches praising his company or an invitation to his home, a lunch at his personal country club.

Raemon’s replies would be civil, but his face and expression showed no encouragement. This did not deter any of the people seeking an audience with him, however.

Octavia stood by his side, observing the procession of groveling suits-and-ties that appeared before the illustrious Mr. Kentworth.

As she looked around, she realized it wasn’t only the suits who were interested in her boss.

Most of the women, from twenty- to sixty-year-olds, were eyeing him with hungry looks. Octavia did her best to blend into the background.

The last thing she needed was any of those women thinking she was anything other than his assistant. This didn’t seem to be a problem; most people looked right through her.

At some point, after a councilman had left him and before the Japanese ambassador could reach where they stood, Octavia whispered hurriedly to him that she’d be right back.

She scuttled off before he could ask where she was going. She’d finally have a chance to get some real food.

At the long tables draped in elegant white, Octavia took her time perusing the appetizer options. Looking around, she couldn’t even recognize the foods before her.

The little placards displaying the names of the dishes didn’t help either. What the hell was scallop carpaccio? Or trout meunière? And oh god! Did that label actually have the words “frog legs” on it?

She stood there for a few minutes, then with a pouted frown, she turned away. Regardless of whether it was food or not, none of the appetizers looked very appetizing.

She wandered through the crowd, not quite willing to find her boss again. She felt a buzz from her purse and pulled out her phone. It was a text from Gracie.