23

Chapter 23

"So, are you not going to talk about it?" We were driving home, and I felt the need to address what happened earlier with Richard.

"About what?" His tone was casual, but I sensed a hint of defensiveness.

"I didn't know you had a fear of heights."

"I don't." he replied tersely.

"Then what happened back there?"

"I don't know. Could we not talk about it, please." he sounded so upset, prompting me to drop the subject.

As we continued our journey, the night grew colder, and a thick fog enveloped the road. In the eerie ambiance, an idea struck me.

"That's it! I've got a name for my cat." I exclaimed excitedly. Richard glances at me, curious about my sudden outburst. "Misty! I'm going to call her misty."

"Lame."

"And what do you think is a good name for a cat?"  I challenged.

"De-"

"Never mind. I asked the wrong person." I cut him off before he can offer a list of horrible names again.

We reached the manor in no time and my cat welcomed me the moment I stepped inside the house. After some pleading, I managed to convince Richard to let her explore the house on her own.

"You are so cute!" I exclaimed and hugged my cat tightly for being her adorable self. "From now on, we're gonna call you Misty."

She meowed in response as a sign of approval.

"I knew you would like it. Say hi to Richard. He had a bit of a scare today." I said, extending Misty towards him. However, he just groaned, despite Misty's adorable meowing. Realizing he has no intention of holding her, I set Misty down and attended to her food bowl.

"Last chance before we call it a night. Are you sure you're feeling fine?" I asked.

"Actually no. I might need to sleep with you on your bed tonight." he replied, half-jokingly.

"Got it. You are well and healthy. Good night Mr. Preston."

"Mr. Preston? They call my dad Mr. Preston." Richard started yapping but I just smiled mischievously retreated to my room with Misty.

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As expected, the venue is glamorously decorated and exudes a feeling of lavish wealth and power which is ironic because we are currently here  for a silent auction and dinner gala for the underprivileged children's education. Tonight's theme is masquerade party. How original.

Sitting alone at a table, I couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place amidst the affluent crowd. Meanwhile, Richard is busy rubbing shoulders with his business partners. I'm baffled as to how Richard secured an invitation for me to an event typically attended by the nation's most powerful and influential figures.  I should be at home on my bed, lost in a book, but instead I am here I am dying from boredom.

"Nice Mask." a voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see a man gesturing to my mask on the table as he pulled up a chair beside me.

"Thank you. Yours is quite impressive too." I returned the compliment back to him.

He removed his mask and if my memory serves me right, according to the seating arrangement, he is Mr. Alexander Young,  CEO of the Skylark Airlines and some luxury brands. How did I end up being seated at the table of some of the wealthiest people in the world? My personal asset literally consists of a collection of books, some work clothes and a cat.

"Have we met before? You seem oddly familiar?" he inquired, though we hadn't encountered each other prior to this. It appeared he was puzzled by my presence at the table among his affluent companions. Maybe I should have waited outside at the art display.

"I don't think we've met before, sir."

"Perhaps not," he said, still mulling it over. "But I feel like I know you from somewhere."

"That's interesting. I'd like to meet that guy sometime."

"My mistake," he apologized with a smile. "I must have confused you with someone else. I suppose being senile is one of the perks of getting older."

"Don't forget the lower back pain," I joked.

"Ah, yes. That too."

Surprisingly, I found myself having an enjoyable conversation with a middle aged man. Despite our different backgrounds we found out that we share the same outlook, hobbies and even music tastes. Though we had just met, it felt as though he had been a friend for a long time. Does this mean I'm getting old?

As the banquet begins, I caught sight of Richard entering the room with Andrea on his am. They passed by me and a familiar scent reached my nose, triggering a memory of Richard returning home late. Suddenly, everything clicked into place, confirming my suspicions about their relationship.

He had spent the night with Andrea. Shouldn't I be happy for him? Finally, he had the girl of his dreams. But why did I feel so... dissatisfied? He had it all—looks, fame, fortune, and now the girl he always longed for.

I knew none of this was his fault, but why am I starting to feel resentment about the world being unfair?

They started to serve the foods to our table and marveled at its exquisite taste but I find no satisfaction in it. I found myself lost in the sea of absurd wealth and status surrounding me and I am unable to engage in their conversation. After finishing my meal, I excused myself and decided to wander around the gallery.

I've seen some decent artworks in the gallery, a sculpture of a woman, an abstract painting, there is also a painting of a black cat which sort of resembles my pet at home. Among all the art pieces here, one painting captured my attention. It depicts two figures separated from each other, their arms outstretched. I don't know how to describe it but it evokes a sense of longingness and curiosity. What's their story? Why are they apart from each other? How did they end up in that position? Lost in contemplation, I was startled by Richard's voice.

"You like that eh?" he asked catching me off guard as if I  had been caught staring into a private moment.

"It's not bad." I replied, attempting to mask my surprise.

"I like it too." he added.

"Are you planning to bid on it?"

"Maybe." he replied cryptically.

"Where's Andrea?"

"What about her?"

"She's your date, isn't she?"

"You're my plus one tonight so technically that is you. You're my responsibility tonight." he clarified.

I looked at him and my eyes inadvertently landed on his lips. I mentally scolded myself for entertaining the absurd notion that he wanted to kiss me on that Ferris wheel. Such thoughts were nothing more than a foolish delusions fueled by the accident and all that novels I've been reading. Shaking my head, I redirected my focus on the painting.

"You shouldn't be saying things like that." I warned him.

"Why?"

"It's inappropriate."

"Inappropriate how?" he challenged.

"Let's just go back to the function hall. The dance is starting soon. You wouldn't want your date to be on her own once the music starts."

"Aren't you the gentleman." he remarked sarcastically.

"Well, you should act like one too."

We hurried back just in time for the band to strike up a tune. I urged Richard to take Andrea's hand and lead her on the dance floor while also offering some friendly advice by charming her for the possibility that she might be inclined to sway her parents into signing the proposed partnership for the new medical device.

I watched from a distance as they joined the other couples on the dancefloor while sipping on cocktails as I observe them.

"Why aren't you out there dancing?" Mr. Young inquired curiously.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I can't," he gestured to his ring, "I'm married."

"Where's your wife then?"

"Someplace else. She's not much of a fan of these events."

"I see..."

"By the way, forgive me for asking, but what business are you involved in?"

I chuckled at his question.

"I'm sorry but I don't own nor operate any business."

"Ah, so you're one of those tech whizzes who started a company and sold it to a big corporation?"

I shook my head. "Also no."

"Then you must be one of those philanthropists to be here, right?"

I laughed again.  "Oh, Mr. Young, I wish that were true but I am just a butler filling in as an executive assistant temporarily"

"I see. Who do you work for?"

"Richard Preston of the Preston-Astor Group." I replied, glancing at Richard, who seemed to be stealing glances in our direction.

"Interesting..."

Richard must have sensed we were talking about him, as he and Andrea stopped dancing and made their way toward us.

"Here he comes. Why don't you ask him." I set down my drink to introduce the two. "Richard, meet Mr. Alexander Young."

"We're acquainted," Richard mentioned, shaking hands. "How are you, Alexander?"

"Good." he replied. "I was just having the most wonderful talk with your assistant here."

"I hope he hasn't embarrassed one of us this time."

"Not at all. I actually enjoyed our conversation." Mr. Young answered.

"That's good to hear."

Then the three of them delved into business talk while I minded my own business by indulging in more cocktails. They attempted to include me in their discussion, but I found myself unable to contribute much.

A few drinks later, the event concluded. Mr. Young bid us farewell, and Andrea also said her goodbyes.

The moment I left the table, the room seemed to spin on its own accord. Curse that treacherous cocktail! I found myself grasping for support, leaning on the nearest object, which happened to be Richard.

"How many drinks did you have?" he asks as if to scold me.

"I don't know. Five? or maybe more?"

"This doesn't look like five to me."

"That's why I said 'or more'."

"Looks like you had a good time tonight huh?" he declared but he himself doesn't look pleased.

"I did, and I'm glad I'm not the one driving."

He snakes his arm around my back to support me, bringing us closer than ever. It must have been ages since I had physical contact with somebody, or perhaps it was the drinks, because I found myself oddly enjoying this close contact. However, the scent of Andrea lingers on him, her perfume clinging to his clothes as if she were still here.

My senses revolted, and I pushed Richard away abruptly. I think I am going to be sick. I felt my stomach churning, threatening to empty its contents at any moment.

"Don't come near me right now if you don't want vomit on your expensive suit." I warned. I massaged my temples in an attempt to soothe my queasy stomach.

Richard backed away, concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

"I'll be fine," I replied weakly, attempting to steady myself. "I just need a moment."

He nodded, understanding my plight, and fetched a glass of water from the nearby bar. "Here, drink this. It might help settle your stomach."

Grateful for his gesture, I took a sip of the water, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. After a few minutes, the nausea subsided, and I felt well enough to continue. "I think I'm okay now," I said, offering him a weak smile.

"Are you sure?" he asked, still visibly concerned.

"Yes, I'll manage," I assured him while straightening up. "Thank you for your help."

He nodded, his expression softening. "Let's get you home," he suggested gently.